Whitechapel - The Blind Beggar

Thursday 9th February 2023

It almost feels appropriate to start this journey in Whitechapel. Since the opening of the Elizabeth Line last May I've passed through Whitechapel on an almost daily basis and bar a couple of changes onto the Overground, like so many other stations I've passed through, not once have I explored what lies beyond the platform.

I arrived via Overground which peculiarly sits below the Hammersmith and City and District Lines of the Underground. Covered by a magnificent arched ceiling constructed as part of the Whitechapel's £830million refurbishment to accommodate the Elizabeth Line, the station was humming as I headed towards the exit. This is one of only eight stations in England with bilingual signage and the only one bearing Bengali, owing to the large local population.

Whitechapel is well-served by watering holes. Within a five minute walk of the station's entrance I counted four pubs and whilst The Hospital Tavern sitting directly opposite the station was the closest, there was only really one choice for where to visit.

The Blind Beggar can trace its history back to at least 1654 though the current building has only stood for a measly 129 years. Owing its a name to a riches to rags legend of a 13th century English nobleman, Henry de Montfort, who lost his sight in battle and was left to plead for a livelihood, The Blind Beggar is best known for its role in the story of London's most notorious gangsters.

In 1966, incidentally the same year that Bobby Moore achieved a lifelong ambition by becoming the pub's landlord, Ronnie Kray arrived at The Blind Beggar armed with a 9mm pistol, walked up to the bar and shot George Cornell in the head before turning round and leaving with his driver. Two years later Kray was sentenced to life imprisonment for Cornell's murder.

You'd think that being a crime scene isn't a great USP for a pub, or anywhere for that matter, but this is Whitechapel, a place which has been making the most of its murderous past since Jack the Ripper elusively roamed its streets in the 1880s. Therefore it perhaps isn't particularly surprising that The Blind Beggar is awash with Krays memorabilia telling the tale of Cornell's murder in 1966.

The decor can't have changed much since those days. The burgundy peeling cushioned booths match the ceiling, which in itself is only interrupted by dimly lit chandeliers. Dan and I sat in the front corner of the pub next to one of two unused fireplaces. This spot acted as a great viewpoint to watch the strolling resident ginger cat.

He (Dan, not the cat) opted for a Guinness followed by a Jute. I, light and bubbly about the prospect of having my first pint of this odyssey, went for the malted equivalent of my mood, a Czech Pilsner; Pravha, as the Staropramen had ran out. My round came to £13.60 which in these narrowly not in recession times I can live with.

On the whole The Blind Beggar has an impressive range of beers available on draught, though perhaps a little lager heavy. Behind the bar each of member of staff had listed their drink of choice on a large blackboard, a nice touch despite some less than respectable preferences. Further round from the bar was a snooker table caved away in the back corner by the Gents.

Now full disclosure, I'm a man, and therefore my review of lavatories is always going to be from the perspective of male or gender neutral facilities, and even then it will largely depend on my fellow patrons ability to reach what, in my opinion, has always been a perfectly reasonable sized basin. Unfortunately, more Henry de Montforts than Ronnie Krays had frequented the urinals that evening, or to put it without the use of a poor metaphor; yes, there was piss on the floor. To add to the misery the tap was stuck on cold.

It seems wrong to conclude on the only downside of my experience at The Blind Beggar. The whole evening had been nicely soundtracked by a selection of alternative but not unrecognisable songs and just before heading on to a curry house (because curries don't belong in pubs, see my first post) we took a peek into the beer garden. This was a real departure from the interior, well decorated not with posters of gangster twins but that other trusty duo of Buddha statues and disco balls. However, for a cold Thursday evening in February the serenity of Siddhartha and seduction of Saturday Night Fever had lured a healthy number of customers outside. The beer garden like the rest of The Blind Beggar was doing something right.