Pubs have always been so much more than mere places to drink. They’re woven tightly into the fabric of Britain’s story, forming a backdrop to — and quite often playing a pivotal role in — historic events, both for good and for ill. For every Seven Stars in Bristol, whose landlord was instrumental in the abolition of slavery, there is an Eclipse Inn in Winchester, Hampshire, where Lady Alice Lisle was beheaded in 1685 for harbouring fugitives (and is said to have haunted ever since).
Where did it all begin? When the Romans invaded in AD43, they brought tabernae —roadside shops that sold fortifying drinks and food to soldiers — to these shores, but Britons swiftly swapped their wine for ale, paving the way for us to frequent what were known as alehouses, taverns and coaching inns. In 1552, an Act of Parliament decreed that all landlords of alcohol-dispensing premises needed a licence and, in 1577, Elizabeth I’s Privy Council commissioned a survey revealing that there was roughly one drinking establishment for every 200 people in England and Wales. These were a home from home for people of all ages and occupations: ale and beer were safer to drink than much water at the time and were generally much less potent than they are today (unlike gin, which tended to be stronger).
'Even the most innocuous-looking locals can have surprisingly rich histories'
By the 1700s, the catch-all term ‘public house’ was in use as a way to differentiate such hostelries from private houses that were not looking for custom. By Georgian times, it was in such common use that most people simply shortened it to the ‘pub’. By the early 1800s, the stagecoach routes crisscrossing the country were bringing more (and a greater variety of) people than ever through the doors: many establishments introduced various bars and stables for different classes of guest and their horses, a system that was adopted by the railways.
Ironically, the status of the pub as neutral ground also made it a stage for various explosive encounters, such as the Bill o’Jacks Murders of 1832 at the Moor Cock Inn in Saddleworth, then in the West Riding of Yorkshire, in which the landlord and his son were beaten to death. The pub soon drew crowds that wanted to see the bloodstains.
Today, your local is much more likely to serve craft beers and have Farrow & Ball on the walls than witness anything so dramatic, but even the most innocuous-looking locals can have surprisingly rich histories — here are a few of the most interesting, all well worth a visit.
The epicurean epicentre: The Bell Inn at Stilton, Cambridgeshire
Daniel Defoe — author of Robinson Crusoe — was a regular at The Bell Inn at Stilton and, in 1724, described the village in his Tour through the villages of England & Wales as a place ‘famous for cheese, which is call’d our English Parmesan’. That fame had been built by The Bell’s charismatic manager and later landlord, Cooper Thornhill. When he took charge of the premises in 1705, Thornhill turned The Bell Inn into the best food stop in the Midlands, which was a lucrative position when you’re placed on the main thoroughfare for carriages travelling north from London.
As demand grew for the blue cheeses made 30 miles north of Stilton, he went into partnership with a well-respected cheesemaker from Wymondham in Leicestershire, Frances Pawlett. It’s believed that she created a co-operative, recruiting other neighbouring cheesemakers to make cheese to her recipe that would then be sold from The Bell. Stilton cheese retained its status from then on, but with the advent of rail travel the Great North Road (now the A1) became less influential. After Stilton gained a bypass in 1958, The Bell Inn actually closed for a period, but was refurbished in 2024 and is now an excellent stop off for a hearty dinner.
A scientist’s sanctum: The Eagle, Cambridgeshire
The Eagle has been slaking the thirst of Cambridge scholars since the 17th century, but it wasn’t until February 28, 1953, that it earned its blue plaque. It was the lunch spot of choice for Francis Crick and James Watson when they worked in the nearby Cavendish Laboratory, which specialised in experimental physics. When they realised they’d made a discovery — DNA’s double helix structure — that would change science forever, Crick burst into their local and exclaimed that they’d ‘discovered the secret of life’.
Since its original plaque went up, fellow Cambridge scientist Rosalind Franklin’s contribution to the discovery has been acknowledged and an updated plaque now credits all three of the scientists — which will save the people who were regularly adding her name to the first iteration a fortune in Sharpies. Current owners Greene King will happily pour you a pint of Eagle’s DNA in liquid tribute. Sup it at a table in the RAF Bar, where the ceiling is covered in names, squadron numbers and doodles made by Allied airmen — using wax crayons, petrol lighters and even lipstick — during the Second World War.
A bard’s bolthole: The Globe Inn, Dumfries and Galloway
Down a stone-paved alley in the centre of Dumfries, two bronze plaques immediately reveal what makes The Globe Inn a place of Scottish pilgrimage: it was Rabbie Burns’s favourite haunt (or ‘howff’, as he’d have put it).
The Scottish poet moved his family to Dumfriesshire in 1788 and was a regular at The Globe until his death in 1796. His habit of enjoying affairs with women in service was further enabled here; the landlady’s niece, Anna Park, was employed as a barmaid in the inn and was the inspiration for Burns’s much-loved song The Gowden Locks of Anna. Park gave birth to his illegitimate daughter, but it’s thought she died after childbirth, as the baby — Elizabeth ‘Betty’ Burns — was taken in and raised by Burns’s wife, Jean Armour.
The pub does not wear its Burns links lightly: today, you can still see the window panes into which the poet etched his verse using a diamond stylus and learn about the gloriously Scottish dishes he was served by the landlady, Mrs Hyslop; sheep’s heid was a particular favourite. The restaurant is well regarded today and celebrates the finest Scottish ingredients.
The riverside refuge: Town of Ramsgate, London
George ‘Hanging Judge’ Jeffreys had a notorious legal career: presiding over the Bloody Assizes of 1685, during which participants in the failed Monmouth Rebellion against James II were punished, he was known for making dark jokes ahead of his sentencings and seemingly chose execution at any opportunity.
When the King fled the country following the Glorious Revolution in 1688, Jeffreys attempted to follow, hiding in a pub in Wapping now known as The Town of Ramsgate to wait for the boat to Hamburg. To avoid suspicion, he dressed as a sailor, but despite his commitment to the disguise — he even shaved off his eyebrows — a surviving victim of his harsh judgement recognised him. He was captured and imprisoned.
These days, the pub is a classic locals’ drinking hole, with Young’s London Original on the hand-pull pump and pie and mash at the top of the food menu. Its name was adopted due to its position next to Wapping Old Stairs, a River Thames mooring that 19th-century fishermen from Ramsgate used to avoid the river taxes that had been imposed up near Billingsgate Market. The stairs were also the spot where sailors would meet their sweethearts upon their return to London.
Let battle commence: The Bells of Peover, Cheshire
At less than 200 years old, The Bells of Peover is practically a whippersnapper by pub standards, but it’s certainly packed a lot into its two centuries. Originally named the Warren de Tabley in tribute to a local lord of the manor, the current name is also a nod to well-respected locals (and not the church close at hand). The Bells were members of a local brewing family who ran the place for 55 years, until Alma Bell retired from the business following a chain of family tragedies.
Peover’s real moment in the spotlight, however, came during the Second World War. US Gen George S. Patton used Peover Hall outside Knutsford as his headquarters and, when Dwight D. Eisenhower (future US President, then commander of the Allied forces) joined him for secret strategy meetings, they lunched at The Bells of Peover. The unassuming upstairs room at this country pub became the office in which the D-Day plans were finalised.
Current landlord Phil Smith still flies both a Union Flag and the Stars and Stripes in front of the pub in commemoration, as well as displaying maps of the Normandy beaches and even Patton’s diary from 1944, left open at the pages for June 5 and 6, of course.