Mr. J. F. Herring, the animal painter, used to relate how he once painted a signboard for a carpenter employed by him. The carpenter afterwards took a beer shop and put the sign, which represented the “Flying Dutchman,” over the door. Eventually he sold it for £50, and with the money emigrated to Australia.
Most old inns contain pictures more or less valuable, or at least old sporting prints. Few can compare in this respect with the George at Aylesbury, rebuilt about 1810, which from time immemorial has possessed a remarkable collection of good pictures; portraits by Sir Joshua Reynolds and Mytens, besides some well executed copies of Rubens, Raphael and others. It is supposed to have been brought from Eythorpe House, demolished in the early years of the nineteenth century.
CHAPTER XII
FANCIFUL SIGNS AND CURIOUS SIGNBOARDS
The antiquarian magazines of the last century are full of correspondence and ingenious explanations of such signs as the Pig and Whistle, Cat and Fiddle, or Goat in Boots. Many of the suggestions offered are far more whimsical in character than the devices they profess to explain. “Cat and Fiddle” is supposed to be a corruption of Caton Fidèle, a certain incorruptible Governor of Calais. Pig and Whistle has been traced to “Peg and Wassail,” with reference to the pegged tankards formerly passed round for the loving cup, each guest being expected to drink down to the next peg. “Pix and Housel,” in honour of the Blessed Sacrament, or the Danish Ave Maria, and “Pige Washail” have also been suggested by the learned. Mr. T. C. Croker, in his “Walk to Fulham,” attempted to derive the Goat in Boots at Fulham from der Goden Boode, the “Messenger of the Gods,” or Mercury; the idea being that the house was originally a posting inn. The Pig and Whistle may possibly be a rustic corruption of the Bear and Ragged Staff on a somewhat faded signboard.
Animals masquerading in human attire or performing human actions were a favourite conceit of the mediæval craftsman, as may be seen by the carvings on the stalls of our old cathedrals. Most likely we owe these humorous signs to the sign-painter himself. He was commissioned to design an advertisement that would puzzle inquisitive people and so attract customers.
The Goat and Compasses is supposed to be a corruption of a motto set up over inns during the period of puritan tyranny, “God encompasses us”; Bag of Nails of “Bacchanals.” In default of better explanations we must accept these. Until recently a public house existed in St. James’ Street, called the Savoy Weepers—a name which might open up an endless mystification if we did not know that the house was previously occupied by the Savoir Vivre Club. The Goose and Gridiron is, according to the Tatler, a parody of the favourite trade-mark of early music houses, the Swan and Harp; while the Monster in Pimlico may have been the monastery inn, built during the time that the monks of Westminster Abbey farmed this estate.
Why Not, and Dew Drop Inn are, of course, invitations to the wayfarer; Bird in Hand and Last House, or Final, suggestion that he should not waste his opportunities to imbibe.