Cabbie’s Curios: Lovely Day for a Guinness on Fleet Street
Fleet Street is home to some of the capital’s most historic pubs- one of which is The Tipperary.
The spot upon which this wee pub sits is a location which has long been associated with boozing.
Way back in the 13th century, the land was occupied by the ‘White Friars’ monastery- where the pious monks spent considerable time and effort brewing ale.
White Friars monastery, as seen on the ‘Copperplate’ map in the 1550s, shortly after the Dissolution.
After Henry VIII kicked up a fuss in the 1530s and 40s, such monasteries were wiped from the landscape and the land upon which they stood was turned over to other purposes.
By the 16th century, the first tavern had appeared on the spot now occupied by The Tipperary.
This forerunner was known as The Bolt-in-Tun (the pub sign outside signalling the name with an image of a lightning bolt stuck through a barrel) which, having been built from tough, flame-proof stones belonging to the former monastery, managed to survive the 1666 Great Fire of London intact.
The Bolt-in-Tun eventually became a popular coaching tavern for those traveling between London and the West Country.
Poster advertising coach services from Fleet Street’s Bolt-in-Tun to the West Country (image: Look and Learn)
In the 1880s, the pub was re-built and renamed The Boar’s Head.
However, a reminder of the previous name can still be found across the road- a small alley called ‘Bolt Court’.
Location of Bolt Court (marked in green) which can be found opposite the present day Tipperary pub (A-Z imaging)
Perhaps the most interesting fact for alcohol aficionados though is that the Bolt-in-Tun was purchased in the 1700s by Mooney’s– a Dublin based company.
Once the pub was in their hands, the new owners decided to introduce a new drink which had recently become popular back on the Emerald Isle… a sturdy, black stout, so rich in iron that it was said to be ‘good for you’… the drink was Guinness, and its introduction at the Bolt-in-Tun made the Fleet Street pub the first ever drinking den to sell the now world-famous drink outside of its native Ireland.
One of Guinness’ many famous, classic posters.
During World War One, what was essentially the capital’s first Irish pub attracted many young Irish soldiers as they passed through London.
Irish WWI recruitment poster
Such was the popularity with the Irish squaddies who were a long way from home that the pub was re-christened The Tipperary… the name which remains to this day.
The present day sign for the Tipperary on Fleet Street.
304 Holloway Road: Inside the Tortured Mind of the ‘Telstar Man’
At 304 Holloway Road you’ll find a 24 hour grocery store, above which sits a shabby three-storey flat, complete with decaying paintwork and a boarded up window.
304 Holloway Road
Despite its dilapidated state, the apartment on this north London road actually has quite a tale to tell… a story involving music, madness and murder.
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Between 1961 and 1967, the accommodation above 304 Holloway Road was rented out by a fellow named Joe Meek.
Joe Meek (photo: Getty Images)
Born in Newent in Gloucestershire’s Forest of Dean in 1929, Joe Meek’s early upbringing was rather bizarre- for the first four years of his life he was raised as a girl thanks to his mother’s intense desire to have a daughter.
Joe Meek first arrived in London in 1954 after landing a job as a sound engineer for Stones; a popular radio and record shop on the Edgware Road.
It was a job which suited him well. From an early Joe had been fascinated with electronics and was always scavenging components with which he could tinker. With these various bits and bobs he would experiment, cobbling together circuits, radios and so on.
Joe Meek was also fascinated by outer space; a passion which was nurtured when he became a radar mechanic for the RAF during his period of national service.
Joe Meek whilst serving in the RAF
After spending time working at Stones, Joe progressed to a new job, becoming a producer at Lansdowne Recording Studios, moments away from his home on Arundel Gardens in Notting Hill.
Confident in his new role, he wrote a letter home to his mother stating, “I’m sure your son is going to be famous one day, Mum.”
Lansdowne Recording Studios (photo: Google Street View)
At Lansdowne, Joe Meek proved to be quite the maverick, frequently ignoring his superiors in order to pursue his quest of developing new sound techniques.
Whilst at the Notting Hill studio, he maintained a strictly guarded ‘secret box of sounds’; a container kept under lock and key which held all manner of unusual objects for creating unorthodox audio effects.
Before long, Joe became tired of working within a large organisation and decided to go it alone as an independent record producer.
In pursuit of his ambition, he moved into 304 Holloway Road where he set about creating a makeshift but innovative studio.
304 Holloway Road (marked in red) as it appeared in the early 1960s (copyright Jim Blake)
The independent label established in Holloway became known as RGM Records (Joe’s full birth name actually being Robert George Meek).
At the time, such a move was revolutionary.
In the late 1950s and early 60s, pop records were the domain of big corporations, tightly controlled by cigar-puffing businessmen. The sound engineers who worked for these companies did so in strict, clinical environments, armed with clipboards and donned in white lab coats.
Sound engineering in the traditional way
Joe Meek’s way of working was the complete opposite to this traditional method.
Packed with all manner of improvised equipment, his Holloway Road studio was easy-going and unconventional.
From the stairway to the bathroom, all rooms were made available for recording sessions. Joe would also use seemingly every day domestic items to create all manner of new sounds, the flat itself more or less becoming an instrument in its own right. He was particularly fond of stamping on the upper floors to enhance drumming effects.
As his experiments developed, Joe Meek’s work took on an eerie, futuristic sound; one which he hoped would define an era as the space-age began to grip the 1960s.
Joe Meek at work in his Holloway Road studio
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The first major hit to be produced at 304 Holloway Road was Johnny Remember Me, a song about a young man haunted by his dead lover. Sung by John Leyton, the single reached UK number one in July 1961.
The success of Johnny Remember Me was followed by an even bigger hit in August 1962… Telstar.
Written and recorded by Joe Meek at 304 Holloway Road, Telstar was an instrumental track created to celebrate the success of the radical new communications satellite which had been launched in July 1962.
The original Telstar satellite under construction
Played by Meek’s backing group, The Tornados, the ode to space technology featured all manner of sci-fi sounds which had been concocted in the unlikely setting of the north London studio.
The record was an instant success. As well scoring a number one in the UK, it became the first single by a British group to hit number one in the United States; a massive achievement.
Telstar is now considered to be Joe Meek’s masterpiece (it can be heard at the end of this article) and such was its popularity that it should have set him up financially for life.
However, a French composer by the name of Jean Ledrut claimed that Meek had pinched the tune from a score he’d written for the Napoleonic film, Austerlitz. This led to a lengthy legal battle which prevented Joe Meek and the Tornados receiving any royalties from their hit.
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Joe Meek continued to forge extraordinary new sounds in his cramped studio, but the stresses of life and business were beginning to take their toll.
Joe Meek in 1966; photo copyright David Peters (David managed a group called ‘Dannys Passion’ who recorded with Joe Meek. You can read about his memories here: http://www.dannyspassion.webeden.co.uk/)
Joe was homosexual- illegal in Britain at the time and something which led to the producer being blackmailed on numerous occasions.
By the mid-1960s, the music scene was changing rapidly and Joe Meek’s once innovative melodies were beginning to lose favour. The last major hit to be produced at Holloway Road was Have I the Right by The Honeycombs (a band noted for having a female drummer) which was released in 1965.
As the decade pushed on, RGM records began to struggle financially. Convinced he’d win the Telstar case, Joe had been spending heavily, confident that the money would eventually come through. It didn’t though of course.
Friends of Joe Meek noticed a distinct change in his character.
Clearly under stress, he’d developed a short, volatile temper and, more worryingly, had become intensely paranoid, convinced that his Holloway Road flat had been bugged by rival companies in order to steal his ideas.
So paranoid was Joe that he refused to leave anyone alone in the studio for fear that they’d snoop on his work.
Joe Meek outside his Holloway Road studio
He was also becoming deeply obsessed with the occult and took to setting up recording equipment in graveyards, hoping that spirits from the other side would offer him guidance.
One evening, one of these graveyard recorders picked up the sound of a cat mewing- Meek was convinced that a human spirit was trapped in the feline body and that the cat-like noises were in fact desperate calls for help.
He even began to claim that his idol, Buddy Holly (killed in a plane crash in 1959) made frequent visitations to the Holloway Road flat late at night, offering snippets of musical wisdom.
The legendary Buddy Holly… whom Joe Meek claimed would regularly visit 304 Holloway in spirit form…
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Joe’s mental state was deteriorating rapidly.
in January 1967 things came to a head when the body of a 17 year old youth named Bernard Oliver was discovered in rural Suffolk. The victim had been murdered in a particularly gruesome manner; expertly cut into eight pieces before being packed into a suitcase.
Bernard Oliver had been working as a factory hand in North London and, prior to his murder, had been missing for two weeks.
When the Metropolitan police stated that they would be interviewing all known gay men in London, Joe Meek became terrified. Even though he had absolutely nothing to do with the case, his delusions were pushed to new heights as he became convinced that the police would somehow find a way of implicating him.
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On the morning of 3rd February 1967 (which happened to be the 8th anniversary of Buddy Holly’s tragic death), Patrick Pink who was a friend and studio assistant, called in to see Joe- who refused to speak and promptly stormed off upstairs.
Patrick mentioned the fact that Joe was in a bad mood to Violet Shenton, the long suffering landlady of 304 Holloway Road who often took to knocking the ceiling with a broom handle when the sound levels became too much.
Violet Shenton
In her typically blunt, but motherly and well-meaning manner, Mrs Shenton stubbed out a cigarette and told Patrick that she’d go and sort her tenant out. When she arrived upstairs, the last words Violet was heard to say were “calm down Joe”… a statement which was suddenly followed by two gunshots…
Using a hunting gun which had been left in the flat by singer, Heinz Burt, Joe Meek had committed both murder and suicide within seconds, shooting Violet before quickly turning the weapon on himself.
He was 37 years old.
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Just three weeks after the lethal shooting, a French court finally brought the Telstar case to a close.
They ruled in Meek’s favour, stating that he couldn’t possibly have plagiarised Jean Ledrut’s work as the film wasn’t released in the UK until 1965; three years after the success of Telstar.
Today, Joe Meek’s former home and studio sits quietly on the Holloway Road, offering little sign as to the creativity and tragedy which played out within decades before.
304 Holloway Road… a shadow of its former self
The only reminder of the premises’ former role is a black plaque… which, quite fittingly, is located right beside a derelict satellite dish; an item which Joe Meek would no doubt have taken great interest in.
A few hundred yards away, another small reference can be found… a Banksy-esque graffiti mural depicting Joe Meek on a grubby wall opposite Holloway Road tube station.
To listen to Joe Meek’s most famous work, click the clip below:
Lower Robert Street… a Ghostly Tunnel in the Heart of London
Mere moments away from the very centre of London there lies a quiet, almost secret little road called Lower Robert Street.
Entrance to Lower Robert Street…
Sandwiched between the Strand and Victoria Embankment and running through a twisting tunnel, Lower Robert Street is a covert cut-through we cabbies sometimes like to use if in the area and wishing to make a quick exit down to Victoria Embankment.
Map showing the location and approximate path (marked in red) of Lower Robert Street
Apart from the echo of the odd Taxi or bike courier, the archaic lane is pretty much devoid of any other traffic or people…
In recent years, Lower Robert Street’s grotto like appearance has gained it a nickname: the ‘Bat Cave‘!
Going underground… the modern extension of Lower Robert Street
Lower Robert Street dates back to the late 18th century, created as a by-product of ‘The Adelphi’; a large housing development consisting of 24 grand, terraced houses.
The Adelphi
The project was developed by four Scottish brothers; John, Robert, James and William Adam, whose fraternal bond blessed the scheme with its name- ‘Adelphi’ being the Greek word for brothers.
Construction began in 1772, with many of the labourers who worked on the project also being Scottish.
Nowadays of course you’ll often hear battered radios crackling away on building sites, but when the Adelphi was being built, music for the toiling workers was provided by a group of specially employed bagpipers!
The Adelphi in later life, shortly before its demolition in the 1930s
Because it was so close to the river Thames, the Adelphi was located on a slope.
The main building – the row of ornate houses- remained level with the Strand, jutting out over the incline.
To fill in the large void below, a complex of vaulted arches and subterranean streets were created- of which Lower Robert Street is now the only remaining example in practical, public use.
Vintage photo of the entrance to Lower Robert Street (image: British History website)
One other vault does exist it can be found in the rather more protected environment of the Royal Society of Arts on nearby Durham House Street:
Remaining Adelphi arches incorporated within the Royal Society (image: Royal Society)
Many famous people lived in the grand apartments above including the actor David Garrick, Richard D’Oyly Carte (founder of the nearby Savoy hotel), Charles Booth (the great, Victorian social reformer) and a number of notable literary figures including George Bernard Shaw, Sir J.M Barrie and Thomas Hardy.
The Adelphi- and in particular the subterranean lair which lurked beneath- was also mentioned in Charles Dickens’ 1850 masterpiece, David Copperfield;
“I was fond of wandering about the Adelphi, because it was a mysterious place, with those dark arches. I see myself emerging one evening from some of these arches, on a little public-house close to the river, with an open space before it, where some coal-heavers were dancing; to look at whom I sat down upon a bench. I wonder what they thought of me!”
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In the late 1860s much of the Thames in central London was reclaimed as part of a vast engineering program to improve the city’s sanitation, the waters pushed back as the wide Victoria Embankment was built.
Victoria Embankment under construction, 1865 (image: Wikipedia)
This major road (which to do this day still conceals a vital sewer) was built right in front of the Adelphi’s lower vaults and roads, robbing them of their tranquil riverside location.
Once cut off from the Thames, the area beneath the Adelphi sank into decline, rapidly becoming a gloomy, foreboding place.
In line with much of Victorian London, the twisting underground roads became a haven for beggars and criminals. As one historian noted; “the most abandoned characters have often passed the night” beneath the Adelphi, “nestling upon foul straw.”
A famous image depicting the appalling conditions in which London’s Victorian poor existed. Such a sad sight would have been common place beneath the Adelphi.
Unsettlingly (and, perhaps unsurprisingly), Lower Robert Street, which was once an ingrained part of this depressing area, has its own resident ghost….
The phantom is known as ‘Poor Jenny’; a prostitute who lived and worked in the depths of Lower Robert Street, the bed upon which she languished being no more than a grotty pile of rags.
Deep within Lower Robert Street…. the haunt of ‘Poor Jenny’…
It is said that late one night, Jenny was throttled by one of her clients… today, her screams and gasps can be heard echoing through Lower Robert Street, the awful noise accompanied by a rhythmic tapping; the sound of Jenny kicking the floor as she fights against the strangulation…
Perhaps that’s why the powers that be choose to close the road every night between midnight and 7am…
The exit to Lower Robert Street, located on Savoy Place
View from the Mirror 