Showing posts with label Hatchard's. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hatchard's. Show all posts

Sunday, January 24, 2016

Posh London: A tour of St James Street


St James Street, photo courtesy of S. McKee

London:  So you’ve viewed the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, heard the Beefeaters’ fascinating stories of lopped off heads and deep dungeons at the Tower of London, scaled the heights of the London Eye, and glimpsed St Paul’s from the all-metal Millennium Bridge.
The St James Palace
Time to get off at the Green Park tube station and find your way to the St James area, which I choose to call Posh London.  In truth there are lots of Posh Londons, but my favorite is the few blocks near the Palace of St James.  You know about the Palace, right?  Once the home of the Royal Family, it is now used for ceremonial occasions and not opened to the public.  One of those occasions was the signing of the treaty creating the Charter of the United Nations in 1941. 

Did you know Ambassadors to Great Britain still present their credentials there?  Yes, the U.S. Ambassador’s title is Ambassador to the Court of St James.

That’s the nutshell version.  But, you might want to know it was built by Henry VIII on the site of a leper’s hospital,  and often served as a royal residence until 1837, when Queen Victoria officially moved her residence to Buckingham Palace.  Some lesser royals still have apartments there.

Besides the historical references, why even mention this red brick wonder to an avid shopper and bon vivant?  Simple. In early England, where there was royal blood, there was tons of money.  So, it’s here that London’s oldest shops sprang up, many of which still open their doors to those of lesser bloodlines, with fat wallets, who crave the finer things in life.

Here’s a very short list and one that will occupy a very full Saturday.




1676 – Lock & Company, 6 St James Street.  It’s both the world’s oldest hat store and one of the oldest family businesses.  Winston Churchill bought hats here and so did Admiral Lord Nelson, Britain’s greatest naval hero (Trafalgar Square is named after him.)  Walk to the back of the shop to see history behind glass. Go upstairs to find ladies hats.  All hats are designed and made locally.   http://www.lockhatters.co.uk




1698 - Berry Brothers & Rudd, 3 St James Street.  London’s oldest wine store. They also sell spirits to everyone, including the Royal Family.  Been in the same spot and run by the same family for eight generations.  Walk into the shop and be greeted with smiles and cordiality.  Check out the ancient plank floors and gasp at the variety of wines and spirits from around the world.  They also do special events and tastings by appointment.  Ask to speak to Alice! http://www.bbr.com



Don’t neglect the narrow alley right beside Berry Bros & Rudd, Pickering Place.  Walk through the alleyway to the smallest square in London, which used to be called Stroud’s Court and was also the site of the Embassy of the Republic of Texas.  

1707 – Fortnum & Mason (around the corner), 181 Piccadilly, a fine food emporium, which also has floors of other luxury goods.  The store was begun by William Fortnum, a footman to the court of Queen Anne, who began selling candle stubs from the palace, and used his earnings to establish a grocery store.   https://www.fortnumandmason.com

1730 – Floris, 89 Jermyn Street.  Begun by a Spaniard, Juan Famenias Floris and still on the same site, owned by the same family.  A perfumery?  So what?  So, Floris 89 is the scent favored by Ian Fleming and also his creation, James Bond.  The counter and wooden display cases date to the Great Exhibition of 1851.  Walk in and be lovingly cloaked by a wonderland  of scents.  The soaps are so luxurious I use no other.  But, on the off chance you don’t see what you’re looking for, Floris is happy to blend a bespoke scent for her ladyship.  If you’re lucky, as we were, the owner will be traipsing through and if so, be sure to shake his hand, mention my name and note the perplexed look on his face.  However, if you see Donika, please say hello.  http://www.florislondon.com/en_eur/

1787 – James J. Fox (once Robert Lewis), 19 St James Street,  is a cigar store.  Even if you don’t smoke, at least take a moment to peer through the window at the store where Winston Churchill bought his Habanas.   https://www.jjfox.co.uk

1790 – D.R. Harris & Company,  29 St James Street, began as Harris’s Apothecary (Harris was a surgeon)  Another place for wonderful floral perfumes and shaving products, still at the original spot.  http://www.drharris.co.uk


1797 – Hatchard’s Books, 187 Piccadilly.  Back up a second and let’s go back to Fortnum and Mason’s.  Hatchard’s, Britain’s oldest bookstore is right next door.  So?  If you’ve seen one bookstore…..forget that old saw.  Hatchard’s is home to many of the world’s wonderful authors, and by that I mean they stop here frequently.  Want a signed copy?  Autographed books seem to be on every shelf, in every room, and there are lots of rooms.   https://www.hatchards.co.uk


1805 – Truefitt & Hill, 71 St James Street.  Although not on the Bond Street site where it began, I cannot but mention the Guinness Book certified ‘Oldest Barbershop in the World.’  They’ve been cutting hair for the families of nine British monarchs, dating back to George III.  Mention a man of note and he’s probably had his hair cut here, from Winston Churchill to John Wayne and a galore of blue bloods, extending to the present day.  Yes, Truefitt & Hill’s barbers journey to Buckingham Palace to cut the hair of  H.R.H. The Duke of Edinburgh, but other Royals come to them.  I chatted with some of the employees who had nothing but good to say about The House of Windsor.  Gentlemen all. Of course services come at a price.  Walk in, sit down and tell them how you want your $65 haircut done.  While you’re there, be sure and say hello to U-la.  (U = oo, as in school)

As a personal endorsement, I use no other products than T & H shaving cream (Sandalwood), aftershave balm, and men’s cologne, all of which come in a variety of scents.  Once I discovered these exceptional products, I suddenly looked forward to shaving again.

photo courtesy of S. McKee

photo courtesy of S. McKee
So, now it’s time for a drink.  No better place in St James than Dukes Bar in the Dukes Hotel (35 St James Place, a small alley off St James Street).  It’s where Ian Fleming came to loiter, drink, and plot Bond’s exploits, and where they serve the Vesper martini described by 007 in Casino Royal.  Yes, it is pricy (about $27), but  it’s worth every penny to settle into a bit of butter soft leather, feel the comfort that permeates the gentlemen’s club atmosphere, hear the history, and see such a famous drink mixed just for you, at possibly the most famous watering hole in London.  For more, see my blog at: http://stroudallover.blogspot.de/2015/04/a-martini-worthy-of-james-bond-dukes.html

Which brings up the question, what does luxury mean?  More expensive?  Exclusive? Often, but that’s far from the whole story.  In the St James area, not only do you get shops that withstood the test of centuries, but shopkeepers and clerks and hairdressers and bartenders who absolutely know their business and their exclusive products.  Take the case of footwear.  


1866- John Lobb Bootmaker, 9 St James Street, which is called by Esquire Magazine the most beautiful shop in the world.  Here you can have footwear made that fits your foot exactly, and with quality you find in few other places.  Many of the greats I’ve mentioned came here for their shoes and boots, as did Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin.   Ladies, they will make your shoes, too.  Buy Lobb footwear and you own them for life.  Never out of style.  Need repairs?  Easily done.  After all, the people who make your shoes know your foot.  The fitter.  The last-maker (wooden form).  The pattern cutter. The clicker. The closer.  The maker.  The socker.  The tree maker.  Check out the web site to read about all these meticulous people who hand construct every step of the way, from precise measurements to finished product.   A pair of men’s shoes run in the neighborhood of $5500.  But, check out the complete price list.

More about luxury.  How about the less expensive items, such as perfume and toiletry?  At Floris, you’ll find a package of three bars of soaps that cost about $15.  Pay about the same price for a tube of shaving cream at Truefitt & Hill.  At both places the clerks will explain the exact ingredients and how each item is made.  What do you get for your money?  Soaps that feel like silk on your skin.  Bars of soap that never crack because they’ve been triple French milled.  Shaving cream that will make you look forward to your next shave and make you swear you’ll never use anything else.

On your next trip to London, do yourself a big favor and wander the streets around St James.  What an experience!  Craftsmanship and service still live!  Now, I’m going to sit back and have another sip of this almost indescribably delicious martini…want to join me?



Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Finding London Bookstores! An Adventure


Besides pubs and theater, other musts for any worthwhile, thinking traveler to London, are the array of not-to-be-missed bookstores.  I’m not talking about the grab a novel newspaper stands in the airports, or the thin selection in American malls.  London is blessed with tome filled islands of wonder that lure you inside and steal your hours, soaking in the smell of printed works, reveling in the atmosphere of rebounding knowledge, in the presence of brilliant minds.  Speaking of brilliant minds, in my benevolence, as you might guess, I have a few personal treasures to share.

Foyles Books on Charing Cross Road.  Five stories high.  There are Foyles outlets all over London.  But, you’re going to Leicester Square to pick up theater tickets anyway, so why not wander down Charing Cross Road, which is noted for its array of second hand bookstores.  Forget the musty stacks for now…although they do have the charm and elegance of gray haired men, with frayed cuffs and knotted ties.   Time is short.  Let’s keep going down a few blocks and step into the Foyles flag ship.

Used books on Charing Cross Road
Teenage brothers, William and Gilbert Foyle failed their Civil Service Exams and decided to sell their textbooks.  The rest of the story reads like a script for a Hollywood movie.  Bought used textbooks, sold them for a profit.  Opened a store, outgrew it, opened another, etc.  Finally settled in the current location in 113-121 Charing Cross Road (1929!).  See, even in a depression, there are those who roll their money to the bank in wheelbarrows!  Foyles has branches all over the world, but I always prefer the original.  By the way, Foyles is still family owned and operated.  (http://www.foyles.co.uk/about-foyles)


You step through the door into the world of books.  First thought.  This shop isn’t so big. Hahahaha…you’re only in the new book section, surrounded by a few thousand selections.  Traipse upstairs, or downstairs.  There are more worlds to conquer.  Now, get to it.



Hatchard’s  has been selling books from the shop on Piccadilly since 1797!  Prime location, right next to Fortnum & Mason.  Now owned by Waterstone, Hatchard’s is still a fabulous bookstore of high, polished-wood shelving, and there’s no way I can think of stepping into the food emporium next door before I gaze over a few new titles, and browse the never-ending stacks that stretch through fiction, non-fiction, art, travel, and god only knows what else.  It’s a wonderful place to get lost in your dreams.  Hatchard’s often features book signings, with significantly famous authors.  (http://www.hatchards.co.uk)



Daunt Books, 83-84 Marylebone High Street , is not easy to find.  (http://www.dauntbooks.co.uk) By the way, the street is pronounced Mar-lee-bone.  Nearby are Marylebone Road (huge), Marylebone Rd (small), and Marylebone Street (tiny) Follow my directions closely:  Take the underground to Marylebone Tube Station. (Baker Street Station is closer, but who knew?) Get out of the underground and up to the road.  Look perplexed.  I scratch my head.  Ask a few people for directions.  Watch them scratch their heads. Unfold my map and notice that London is a tiny dot, while the rest of England unfolds endlessly.  Notice the huge Landmark Hotel.  Race inside.  Get a better map from the concierge and let him mark the spot.  Walk down Marylebone Road until I’m blocks past Madame Tussaud’s.  This isn’t turning out well.  Did the concierge say to turn at Madame Tussaud’s?  Maybe.  Memory isn’t what it used to be after that last pub.  I wander the several blocks back to Madame T’s.  Turn at the spot I think I remember and find myself on Luxborough Street.  Keep walking he said.  I had several pints of beer an hour ago.  This is beginning to be troubling.  Rain with a chance of soggy socks.

Luxborough Street is a looooong street.  I pass the point of bladder control and am headed toward the abyss of self-control.  I hurry back to the Landmark Hotel, which is several blocks behind me, but offers the only faint hope I’ve got.

The Landmark gents room is a lovely place.  All polished marble and mirrors.  I spend an hour there, holding my own, idly watching people come and go as I continue to unleash a torrent of after-market beer.

I begin again.  Past Madame Tussauds and a hard right turn.  Looks familiar.  Oh, yeah, been here before.  Seems like only moments ago.  Luxborough Street, check.  Somewhere, the hip bone has got to be connected go the thigh bone.  I run into Crawford Street.  But, since this is a T intersection, I’m faced with a dilemma.  With great trepidation (and half my brain calculating how far it is back to the Landmark), I chance a left turn.  This may be the longest walk since Chairman Mao took his first step on the thousand mile journey.

My need to find Daunt Books has changed from sunny joy, to golden rapture (at finding a men’s room), to steel gray determination, to the red heat of passion.

I once again stop and ask directions.  The lady backs off a few steps and wraps her arms protectively around her child.  It’s over there, she points and I hear the click of her heels as she speeds the kid to safety.  Was it my tone, or the perhaps the way spittle flew in wide arcs?  It’s getting dark.  If this fucking place is closed…

I catch a glimpse of heaven.  The magic words, Marylebone High Street.  I ask again, just to be sure.  Daunt Books, I say so calmly I don’t recognize my own voice.

Right over there.  The man points across the street and down about fifty paces.

I race.  Blessed sweet mother of angels, it’s open!  I gander at endlessly long oak shelves, stare up at the high gallery, peel back a few covers, browse until my eyes ache.  Find tales I simply cannot live without. Daunt Books specializes in travel, but they have everything.  Although parts of the building date to 1912, the owner and the name date only to 1990, when the shop was purchased by a former banker, James Daunt.  No matter the date or pedigree, this is another London treasure.

It’s now pitch black outside and I have no remote idea how to trek back toward any known tube stop, or bus stop, or where I might find a frightened mother and child to clear the path ahead.

Ah, but all is well.  Diagonally across the street is a championship pub. Prince Regent, reads the sign over the heavy stone front.  Better yet, the bar is not crowded and they have my favorite, DOOM Ale on tap.  It may be raining outside, but in here it’s sunny as a warm day on the beach with a bosom buddy, and the gents toilet is only a short glance from where I’m celebrating with a few pints.




Before I finish this thumbnail sketch of London booksellers, I must mention one small bookshop that never makes anyone’s list.  South Kensington Books is just steps away from the South Kensington tube stop.  It’s small, it’s independent, but two things make it really special:  price and selection.  Most of the books, which include best sellers and many prominent authors, sell for half price or less.  We’ve all seen half-price bookstores, but I’ve never seen one that grabbed me and made me walk out the door with three books under my arm.  Only an iron will and the airline’s baggage limit stopped my free-fall toward financial ruin.


Don’t for a minute think the South Kensington underground station is out of the way.  Right on the Piccadilly, District, and Circle lines.  Very artsy, quaint area surrounding the tube stop, including pubs, coffee shops, restaurants, and ice cream parlors.


As was famously said, A man who’s tired of London is tired of life.


Remember this short list of bookshops.  They’re my favorites.