The Nelson, Maidstone
The public-house has been described as “the forum of the English.” We may sneer at pot-house politics, but it is only in the tavern, the haven of free speech, that the burning questions of the day can be discussed with freedom and sincerity. Washington Irving called the inn “the temple of true liberty.” The Punch Bowl was a Whig sign, because that party preferred that beverage (possibly because it was favoured by Fox), whereas the Tories remained faithful to old-fashioned drinks like claret and sack. Most of the political idols obtaining a recognition over the tavern door have been champions of reform, such as John Wilkes, Sir Francis Burdett, Palmerston, and Gladstone. Traditionally the innkeeper was strongly inclined to this side until the bitter attacks of a section of the Liberal party on his business and very existence forced him in self-protection into alliance with modern conservatism.
Little interesting fragments of local history are sometimes recorded on the signboards. For instance, in High Street, South Norwood, there are three public-houses in succession, the Ship, Jolly Sailor, and Albion. But for these we might forget that the Croydon Canal once ran through this district with a wharf for unloading barges. The Sloop Inn, at Blackhouse, in Sussex, dates from the time when the river Ouse was navigable as far as Lindfield. At the foot of Gipsy Hill is the Gipsy Queen, named after Margaret Finch, who ruled over the encampment of nomads in the forest and told fortunes to all comers. She died in 1760, at the age of 109, and was buried in Beckenham Churchyard. Owing to her constant habit of sitting with her chin resting on her knees, it was necessary to employ a deep square box in place of an ordinary coffin for her interment. Local worthies are not very frequent; but John Winchcombe, the famous clothier of Newbury, “the most considerable clothier that England ever had,” is honoured at intervals along the Bath Road as Jack of Newbury. General Wolfe, unlike the prophets, finds special remembrance in his own birthplace, Westerham; but Sir Walter Raleigh has been quite overlooked at Mitcham, in spite of the fact that he was the founder of its leading manufacture. The inhabitants of Islington are more grateful to Sir Hugh Middleton for providing them with the New River, and more than one house bearing this sign exists in the district.
Foreign princes have occasionally attained the distinction of tavern popularity, but none so frequently as Frederick the Great, whose portrait over the inspiring words “The Glorious Protestant Hero,” was painted on many a signboard after the battle of Rosbach, and the King of Prussia is still a familiar name. Garibaldi is an instance of British sympathy with the political aspirations of a foreign people. Many English adventurers joined in the struggles of the young Italian nation, and its principal hero became for the time a popular idol of the very first order. The length to which a section of the community were led in their worship of the red-shirted revolutionist is satirised happily in Mortimer Collins’ “Village Comedy,” wherein the local publican constantly cites “Old Garry” as the proper person to appeal to in deciding delicate questions of etiquette and morality.
The Anchor at Liphook, on the old Portsmouth road, was a favourite resort of Edward II, when hunting in Woolmer Forest, and Queen Anne when visiting the Staghunt also put up here. To this inn came Samuel Pepys in 1668, “exceeding tremulous about highwaymen,” having missed his way to Guildford while coming over Hindhead. Another inn which could many a tale unfold, if walls had tongues as well as ears, is the Bull at Coventry. Half a dozen conspiracies have been hatched under its spreading gables. Henry VII made it his headquarters before the Battle of Bosworth. Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned here for a short time; and it was the first meeting-place for the devisers of Gunpowder Plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament.
A handsomely-panelled and pilastered room in the Crown and Treaty at Uxbridge, is shown to visitors as part of the hall in which took place those six months of fruitless negotiations between King and Parliament in 1644, which ended in sealing the fate of the monarchy. We have not been able to trace the particular establishment, but it is said that an alehouse had its share in accomplishing the restoration of Charles II. It appears that a messenger from the Parliament carrying letters to General Monk at Edinburgh travelled in company with one of the General’s sergeants, and happened to mention that he also held despatches for the Governor of Edinburgh Castle. The circumstance aroused the suspicions of his companion. The messenger was induced to stop at a wayside inn and plied with brandy until he became so intoxicated that the papers could be taken from his person without detection. Then the sergeant posted by forced stages to his general with the packet, which was opened and perused. It turned out to contain an order for Monk’s arrest. Policy and resentment combined to direct the eyes of Monk to Charles Stuart, and in due course the Restoration became an accomplished fact.
