Borough - The Lord Clyde

Thursday 9th March 2023

Just thirty-one tube stations lie south of the river and there's a whole host of reasons why this is the case. From the historic abundance of above ground railways negating the need for the underground to be extended south, to the complexities of 19th century British law restricting railway development through Central London but only small pockets across the river bank. And then of course there's soil. Unlike the clay rich north, the soil on this side of the river is awash with sand, silt, a bit of peat and the odd sea shell.

Despite all these reasons not build one, Borough has had a station since 1890, though it has closed and reopened twice since then, including as recently as last year when it was renovated as part of the upgrade to Bank Station.

I arrived at Borough coming from the north and trudged up the stairs behind the mass of commuters only to find the northbound platform was on an entirely different level above the one I just disembarked on. This gives the station the unique peculiarity of being half accessible. For passengers heading north, you can do so entirely step-free thanks to the dated lifts that elevate you up to the entrance. If you're heading south, however, there's no such luck.

Feeling lazy and still dining out on the excuse of the leg I broke three months earlier, I took the lift up to the station's entrance, passing through the small ticket hall before turning left down Marshalsea Road. As the street bends to tempt you back to the clay-abundant north over Southwark Bridge, peeking through the gap of two Victorian sets of flats is The Lord Clyde.

The pub owes its name to the noble title of Sir Colin Campbell, a Scottish army officer who commanded the Highland Brigade during the Crimean War before going on to serve as Commander in Chief in India. This, however, is not his only tribute. In Glasgow's George Square his statue sits among the likes of Scott, Burns and Watt in the pantheon of 18th and 19th century Scottish icons. And more locally, in Kilburn another pub bears his non-aristocratic name. Google suggests it may even be in walking distance from the tube station. If ever you needed an incentive to subscribe, finding out whether I'll visit surely is the perfect one.

Approaching The Lord Clyde there was a smattering of people outside gathered around high tables and bar stools. Drawn curtains and frosted windows gave no signal as to whether the hubbub continued inside. Pushing through the heavy wooden door, a large l-shaped bar revealed itself with stools partly occupied by the mixed crowd of locals and yuppies pouring out of the surrounding offices.

I ordered a Portobello Brewing London Pilsner (£7.25) and headed for the one remaining table in sight awaiting Jonny and Charlie's arrival, barely lifting my feet from the carpeted floor in the process. The Lord Clyde was busy and the crowds only strengthened as the evening wore on, though "Thursday is the new Friday" as the three middle-aged men to my right remarked, taking a break from their debate on how to solve the issue of small boats crossing the channel.

Our seats, once again located next to an inoperable fireplace, provided an excellent view of all the pub's eccentricities; the tankards hanging on the wall, the great variety of beer glasses reaching out towards the yellow ceiling on a shelf that curved above the bar, and the serving hatch which peered into a side room where a game of darts was in full flow, whilst others watched football and re-runs of horse racing on televisions tucked away in the upper corners. Passing through the room on the way to the toilet, it has another surprise, a piano, though not in use this evening. The setting is a wonder and CAMRA agree, listing the interior as having a regional importance along with its Grade II Listing.

As we sat admiring our surroundings, our pints resting on coasters adorned with a photo of The Lord Clyde's exterior (pub not man just before you start imagining the outline of an 18th century Field Marshall), Charlie spotted a plaque behind me. It read '1997 Courage Pub of the Year'. That may have been an award granted before I was born but it would be every bit as deserved twenty-six years later.