Mid-afternoon is a good time to amble through the streets, taking in the details one might normally miss. The city seems a little quieter, caught in a lull before school runs and rush hour.
Here are three short walks pointing out some lesser-known oddities in well-known areas. You’ll need some kind of map, digital or otherwise, to help navigate.
Start at Admiralty Arch. There’s a nose on the inside of one of its portals. No, seriously. Look just above head height on the north-west side, and there it is. Popular myth declares it the symbolic nose of the Duke of Wellington, and that all soldiers must rub it as they pass through. It’s all nonsense. The nose is one of dozens appended to the walls of London over the years, a project initiated by artist Rick Butler. Only about ten remain, including the one on the Arch. A particular concentration can be found in Soho, and one enterprising guide offers occasional tours.
Now, we’re going to find central London’s most secret alleyway. I know a few Westminster tour guides who’ve never heard about it. Head up Spring Gardens then, as you reach the British Council building, carry on straight ahead beneath the arch. Aim for the tall conifer. To its left you’ll find a narrow passage and steps – it even has its own bit of sculpture at the top – leading to Carlton House Terrace. Walk along this extremely posh street, noting the various institutions and statuary. You should have no problem finding the Grand Old Duke of York. The nursery-rhyme soldier perches on top of a large column, regularly mistaken for Nelson, halfway along the street. This granite erection was used for London’s first outdoor demonstration of electric lighting, in 1848. Right next to the Duke of York’s column you will see a large plane tree. Beneath, and unseen by most passers-by, is what appears to be a miniature garden shed. Still curiouser, a German memorial stone inside commemorates Giro. This was the dog of German Ambassador Leopold von Hoesch who presided over the nearby Embassy just before the Second World War. The pooch was buried with full Third Reich honours and is often referred to as ‘Giro the Nazi dog’, but in truth, the hound’s political leanings were never recorded. A little further along Carlton House Terrace is the site of that Embassy, now the Royal Society. This august scientific body, which holds regular free events for the public, recently celebrated its 350th anniversary. If you can’t get in for a snoop around its marbled halls, at least observe the door handles, which contain sculptures representing the DNA double helix.
The German influence on the street continues towards its end, where you’ll find various plaques and a statue to Charles de Gaulle. The big-nosed General set up the headquarters of the Free French here after being driven out of France by the Nazis following the invasion in 1940. His statue was unveiled by the Queen Mother in 1993. As you descend on to the Mall from Carlton House Terrace, you’ll find a rather lovely memorial to her as well, including some superb panels in high relief showing scenes from her life.
Head back north along the Mall, and turn right just before Admiralty Arch onto Horse Guards Road. Note the imposing and windowless concrete building on the corner. This is a rather obvious military bunker known as the Admiralty Citadel and described by Winston Churchill as a ‘Vast monstrosity which weighs upon the Horse Guards Parade’. The vines draped over the top help. A bit. The National Police Memorial in front of it conceals a ventilation shaft for the tube.
Continue on to Horse Guards itself. This ancient parade ground has been used by Royal troops since at least Tudor times, and you’ll see a couple standing guard as you pass through the arch (ignore the tourist farrago). Once out on Whitehall, cross the road and look back at the clock tower of Horse Guards. See the black mark at 2pm? That signifies the hour at which King Charles I was beheaded in 1649, pretty much on the spot where you’re standing outside the Banqueting House (pay the fee and head inside if you want to see an incredible Rubens ceiling).
Let’s look at one last oddity round here. Head north along Whitehall until you come to the Silver Cross pub on the right-hand side. Craig’s Court, the short street leading off to its side, is thought to contain an entrance to a complex of secret tunnels. Known as Q-Whitehall, this set of passages connects up the various government buildings in the area, allowing bigwigs to wander back and forth without having to encounter the hoi polloi.
Start outside Shakespeare’s Globe, the modern re-creation of the Bard’s great theatre. What most people don’t realise is that it was rebuilt (deliberately) in the wrong place. We’ll see the original location in a short while. For now, have a quick look around the Globe’s courtyard, which includes a number of notable features. The wrought-iron gates almost hide in plain sight, but are among the most important modern sculptures in London. They depict over 100 plants, creatures and objects from Shakespeare’s plays, and were crafted by blacksmiths from all over the country. The courtyard itself is paved with stones acknowledging donor names. John Cleese paid for two, one for himself and one for Michael Palin. In typical Cleese style, he insisted that his fellow Python’s name should be misspelled, and thus Michael Pallin is immortalised.
Leave the court and cast your eyes west, where a row of quaint 17th-century houses gives a flavour of old Bankside. One of these dwellings, marked with a plaque, was supposedly occupied by Sir Christopher Wren while he oversaw the building of St Paul’s Cathedral on the other bank. The other peculiarity is the narrow and fenced off Cardinal Cap Alley running between two of these buildings. It was possible, until land disputes in the 1990s, to walk along the alley. I have it on good authority that it also served as a popular resort for illicit nocturnal encounters when the area was not so bustling as it is today.
Head east along the river and duck along Bear Gardens. This short street gets its name from the bear-baiting ring that once stood here. The sport was so popular that a swollen crowd caused the stands to collapse in 1583, killing eight spectators.
At the end of the street turn left on to Park Street. Head along until you’ve passed under Southwark Bridge and you’ll immediately see a large plaque to the right. This is the site of the original Globe theatre, marked out in coloured tiles across the paved area. It’s tantalising to ponder what archaeological remains might exist beneath the nearby row of houses.
Carrying on along Park Street, the housing estate beyond the next corner was once home to the Anchor Brewery, one of London’s major manufacturers of beer. It was established in 1616, the very year of Shakespeare’s death, and eventually demolished in 1981. The Anchor pub nearby is the only physical reminder, but a series of plaques gives some history of the site. My favourite, round on the northern continuation of Park Street, commemorates the ‘international incident’ when a bunch of brewery drayman handed out a sound thrashing to a noted brute called General Haynau, otherwise known as the ‘Austrian Butcher’. I can’t think of any other plaque that celebrates a mugging.
From here, all roads lead to Borough Market. But look out for the scruffy old properties beyond the railway bridge, next to the Little Dorrit café. These have become simulacra of ‘rough and ready London’ in any number of films, most notably Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998). While you’re here, see if you can find the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron from the Harry Potter films (clue, it’s round the corner), and the flat belonging to Bridget Jones.
Local business groups have been trying to rebrand this area as Midtown for years – an eminently sensible, and therefore utterly inappropriate candidate for a London place name. We must call it Holborn, and we must pronounce it properly; that is, using as few letters as possible. Aim for ‘O’b’n’, rather than ‘Hole-bourne’. (That said, the latter is closer to its original derivation, meaning a hollow near the river, or borne.) We’ll start with the British Museum tourists, piling out of Holborn tube station to confront one of the worst crossroads in the capital. Turn right and head east along High Holborn, just a short way before turning right again into New Turnstile. The curious name relates to times of yore when Holborn was used to drive cattle up to Smithfield Market – the turnstiles were pedestrian routes that would not allow livestock. Turn left at the end, and follow this passage to its conclusion. Here you can see Lincoln’s Inn Fields, the largest square in London, to your right and another alley to the left. Take the alley. No good reason, other than that the passageways of London are worth learning as valuable shortcuts and sidesteps around crowded pavements. You’ll pass The Ship, one of the oldest pubs in the area, and a former gathering place for the Catholic faithful during the centuries of persecution and mistrust.
Back out on Holborn, cross the busy road and head forward to Red Lion Square. This small patch of green is supposedly haunted by the shade of Oliver Cromwell, whose exhumed corpse was stowed overnight in a nearby pub, on its way to be ceremonially hanged by Royalists. Less ridiculous is the nearby Conway Hall, a centre of rationalist and humanist debate for decades. It runs a nourishing events programme, and it’s always worth sticking your head in to see what’s happening.
It’s hard to escape pubs and ghosts in this part of town, and we’re approaching one of the capital’s most curious pairings. The Dolphin at the end of Red Lion Passage was struck by a Zeppelin bomb in the First World War. Several people were killed. A clock, damaged beyond repair in the raid, still hangs in the tiny tap room, frozen at the time of impact. Its hands never move, but it’s said to chime the hour on the anniversary of the attack. Head north now, along Lamb’s Conduit Street (the neighbouring Lacon House is a former government building whose name is an abridgement of the street). This is one of London’s most traditional shopping streets, with artisan bakers, specialist book shops, pricey wine bars and exclusive fashion boutiques… plus the wonderful Sid’s Café, with its ever-reliable jacket potatoes. Long may such contrasts blossom beside one another, for this is the true character of London.
Great Ormond Street leads you past the famous hospital into Queen Square. George III convalesced here during his famous madness, and The Queen’s Larder pub recalls his spouse’s local accommodation. There’s a statue of Queen Charlotte in the square, although some say it’s Queen Anne. The same Zeppelin raid that did for The Dolphin’s clock also struck this square, but without consequence. The eagle-eyed will find a plaque marking the exact spot in the middle of the lawn.