Historic London Pubcast

Pubs at War - Flying Drays and Fallen Pubs

• Eric Blair • Season 1 • Episode 50

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This special Remembrance Sunday episode of The Historic London Pubcast takes us into the lesser-known wartime history of British pubs. From the cellars of London to the beaches of Normandy, discover how these beloved local landmarks became unlikely heroes during World War II.

We revisit The Black Horse in Marylebone, where D-Day plans were floated over pints, and tell the Spitfire beer story that led to the legendary Flying Drays - aircraft ferrying beer to troops during the Normandy beer run. 

We hear how the Wenlock Brewery became a lifesaving shelter, and how pilots like Robert Stanford Tuck and Douglas Bader made The Chesterfield Arms/The Shepherd’s Arms in Mayfair their wartime HQ.

We also honor lost pubs - The Hare and Hounds in Hampstead and The White Horse Hotel in East Ham - and explore the enduring symbolism of pubs like The Douglas Bader Pub in Ipswich. With research drawn from Martin Cornell’s Strange Tales of Ale, this episode pays tribute to the resilience, spirit, and community found in pubs across the UK.

Whether you're a history buff, pub lover, or planning a walking tour of London, this is one episode you won’t want to miss.

Cover Image Source

https://www.spitfires.com/post/ale-delivery-spitfires

Website: https://historiclondonpubcast.com

E-mail: hosteric@historiclondonpubcast.com

If you tuned in today expecting our promised visit to Hackney - as mentioned at the end of Episode 49 - I’m going to ask you to hold on just a little longer. That episode will now arrive on November 17. So, why the change?

Well, today’s episode tackles a different, more somber subject. One that both our Host, Eric Blair, and I - Podcast Producer, Andy Meddick - spent time considering carefully. We asked ourselves: should we even include it? And if so, where should it sit in the schedule?

In the end, we realized that pubs, as central as they are to British life, don’t just reflect the nation’s joys - they also mirror its struggles. And as we turned the calendar to November, we were reminded that Remembrance Sunday is just around the corner.

Observed on the second Sunday of November, Remembrance Sunday is a solemn day across the UK and Commonwealth nations. Its roots lie in Armistice Day, which falls on 11 November each year. That date marks the moment in 1918 when, after more than four brutal years, the guns on the Western Front finally fell silent. At 11 a.m., the Armistice - an agreement between the Allies and Germany - came into effect, bringing the First World War to an end.

Each year since that moment has been honored with a two-minute silence, allowing space for reflection on the cost of war, the courage of those who serve, and the hope for peace.

Initially, Armistice Day alone held this space for national remembrance. But following the Second World War, the UK introduced Remembrance Sunday - a broader, more inclusive day to honor all who served and sacrificed in all conflicts, not just the First World War. It also gave communities across the country a chance to gather more easily in collective tribute.

Today, both days are observed. But it is Remembrance Sunday that carries the full weight of national ceremony, with services held across the country and at the Cenotaph in London.

So, in short:

  • Armistice Day marks the end of WWI.
  • Remembrance Sunday honors all who served and sacrificed, in all wars.

In that spirit, today’s episode is dedicated to every man and woman who served in any capacity. To the soldiers, sailors, and aircrew who fought abroad. To the nurses, engineers, and codebreakers who supported them. And to the civilians on the home front, who kept the nation going - often under fire, always under strain.

Thank you. For your service, your sacrifice, and your strength.

This episode considers an often-overlooked part of Britain’s wartime resilience: its pubs. These weren’t just places to drink. In wartime, they became so much more—air raid shelters, morale lifelines, and even unexpected contributors to the war effort.

From Spitfires converted into "flying pubs" hauling beer to Normandy, to the bravery of pub staff and patrons during the Blitz, these stories are a rich part of our national fabric. They deserve to be remembered.

So today, join us as we recognize the extraordinary ways that ordinary people - and ordinary places - stood tall in extraordinary times.

Eric, over to you.

The title of our episode today is Pubs at War Flying Drays and Fallen Pubs. Pubs at War. What does that mean? It means cellars pressed into service as air raid shelters, beloved locals reduced to rubble, and Spitfires like the dregs of old, hauling beer to thirsty troops across the channel. 

This episode is about the way that pubs and breweries stood in the blast zone of history, and how they carried on. Some of these stories are tragic, others defiant, and a few downright ingenious. Together, they remind us that in Britain, even in the darkest days, the pub was never just a place to drink. It was a lifeline of spirit, community and sheer stubborn cheer. This year is the 85th Anniversary of The Battle of Britain, so it's all the more appropriate we remember these events and the historic actions of many. 

We've mentioned a couple of these stories in our previous episodes, but they are so good, they're worth the retelling, and with perhaps a little more detail. 

Let's start with one of my all-time favorite pub stories. It happened at a pub in Marylebone that is, alas, no more. The Black Horse that stood at 109 Marylebone High Street for over 200 years, closing in 2001.

But for this story, we have to go back to the tough times of the 1940s. Picture this. It's early 1944 and London is still cloaked in the blackout gloom. A Canadian officer named Peter Wright, a senior intelligence man who is part of the staff that would plan the D-Day invasion itself, slips down to Marylebone High Street toward The Black Horse.

He wasn't the sort of fellow to sit brooding over a pint alone for long. Soon enough, the chatter of the regulars caught his ear. Arguments about football, grumbles about government and bold pronouncements on how to run the war. Wright realized that this smoky little bar was no mere refuge. It was a laboratory of opinion, and he found it so useful that whenever he faced a knotty invasion problem, he wandered back pint in hand and tossed a question into the circle just to see what bubbled up.

Now, Wright's boss was no lightweight. He was General Sir Frederick Morgan, Chief of Staff to Dwight Eisenhower himself. Hard to imagine, but Morgan occasionally joined these sessions in plain clothes, bowler hat and all - sitting quietly in the corner as the locals let fly with their views on strategy and leadership. According to Morgan's memoirs, entitled Overture to Overlord, he and Wright listened in on the, 

“Thoroughly representative body of opinion at that hospitable bar.”

Unwittingly, The Black Horse drinkers were contributing to the greatest amphibious assault in history. Never guessing that their off-the-cuff remarks were being weighted at the highest levels of command. When Morgan's book finally came out in 1950, reporters hurried to Marylebone to test the tale. They found the old regulars, still at their usual spots, proud to hear of their unlikely role. Shown a photograph of the General, one man shrugged and said, 

“Oh, sure, that's the bowler hat bloke!”

Today there's no plaque at 109 Marylebone High Street. Perhaps there doesn't need to be. The Black Horse is in every pub. Morgan himself put it best. 

“Sound opinions are not the prerogative of those who are paid to give them. It's comforting to record that our operation was not launched without, at any rate, some consultation with that cornerstone of Western democracy, the English pub.”

Isn't that a great story? But unbelievably, they left out a key aspect of planning for D-Day and the days thereafter. No criticism. Mind you, things did go pretty well in that operation. But, you know, we always learn something to consider for next time. For that story, we turned to a book by the well-regarded beer and pub writer Martin Cornell.

Let me say that Martin passed away suddenly in June of this year, and posthumous comments submitted by his friends and fans are a tribute to how well he was regarded for his painstakingly accurate research on beer and pub culture. Any of his books are well worth checking out. The one I will reference today is Strange Tales of Ale.

It contains 27 stories, ranging from the Great London Beer Flood to the origin of a dimpled beer mug, and is a fun read. One of the stories tells us about what the blokes at The Black Horse didn't account for. Within a couple of weeks of D-Day, the Reuters news agency special correspondent was reporting that,

“All that was available in the newly liberated land, a few miles inland from the beaches, was cider,”

and it was, 

“Pretty watery stuff.”

It would not be until mid-July that real British beer finally officially reached the battling troops in Normandy, and even then, quantities were limited. One pint per man. So, the troops were on the wagon during that time, not bloody likely! Weeks before official supplies began flowing, British, Canadian and American pilots had risen to the challenge and had set up beer shipments to the troops privately, using what the troops called, ‘Flying Pubs’.

First efforts to get beer flowing started less than a week after the initial invasion on June 6th, and used drop tanks that had been carried by aircraft such as Spitfires and Typhoons until the invasion. These planes took off from Britain and needed the extra fuel to extend their range. Drop tanks would be carried across the channel and jettisoned before the planes went into action over the continent.

The first known landing of beer was on June 13th, a mere week after the start of the invasion. Martin quotes a description given by one of the pilots of the mission, Flight Lieutenant Lloyd Berryman of the Royal Canadian Air Force, 

“Our instructions went something like this. Get a couple of other pilots and arrange with the officer's mess to steam out the jettison tanks and load them up with beer. When we get over the beachhead, drop out of formation and land on the strip. We were told that the Nazis are fouling the drinking water, so it will be appreciated. We'll be flying at over 13,000 feet so the beer will be cold enough when you arrive.”

So, with these orders in hand, Berryman described what happened when he arrived, 

“Wheels down and in we go. Three spits with 90-gallon jet tanks fully loaded with cool beer. As I rolled to the end of the mesh runway, it was hard to figure there was absolutely no one in sight. What do we do now, I wondered? We can't just sit here and wait for someone to show up. Finally, I saw someone peering out at us from behind a tree in a way frantically to get him to come up to the aircraft.

He climbs under the wing with the welcome. What the hell are you doing here? Look, can you see that church steeple at the far end of the strip? Well, it's loaded with German snipers, and we've been all day trying to clear them out. So, you'd better drop your tanks and bugger off before it's too late. In moments, we were out of there. Such was the welcoming for the first Spitfire at our B4 airstrip in Normandy.”

Thanks, Lieutenant Berryman. Despite the abrupt welcome received on the first attempt, the good efforts continued. Three days later, the Canadians dropped another tank of beer at a newly constructed airfield. Hopefully, this one was cleared of snipers. The beer runs became more numerous. On July 2nd, Time Magazine published an article with the title, “Flying Pubs A Great Thirst Attack, British Troops Rushing Emergency Landing Strips to Completion in the Dust of Normandy.”

They wanted beer. They got it. The piece went on to describe the use of the auxiliary fuel tanks and concluded the first tank falls tasted bad because of the tank linings. This flavor was overcome by chemical means and later loads were delicious. Just like the corner pub at home. Thanks, Time. Soon clean belly tanks were being sent from France empty and returning with beer. Increasingly, the tanks were not needed for their form or purpose. With landing strips now on the continent, jettison tanks were no longer a part of the plan. Another improvement. It was discovered that beer barrels could be used directly. Geoffrey Quill, Chief Test Pilot of the company that made the Spitfire airplanes, wrote, 

“We adapted the Spitfire bomb rack so that an 18-gallon barrel could be carried under each wing of the planes, which were being ferried over on a daily basis,”

Apparently in a bit of a tongue in cheek comment, pilot Quill added, 

“We were in fact a little concerned about the strength situation of the barrels. We were astonished to find at the eventuality of being flown on a bomb rack of a Spitfire, was a case which had not been taken into consideration in the brewer's design of the barrels. However, flight testing proved them up to the job.”

Great work, Mr. Quill. These loaded Spitfires were called Flying Drays, a dray being the traditional horse drawn wagon used to deliver beer from the brewery to the pub.

Eventually, organized supplies of beer for the troops took over, and the Flying Drays went the way of their namesake. Once the tap to the soldiers was established, it was opened wide. In November 1944, the government actually ruled that supplies of beer for the troops overseas should equal 5% of the total national production. The beers that had a good shelf life and could travel well were earmarked for the troops and these included the stronger beers and the beers that could be pasteurized. Also, breweries in the liberated areas of France were cranked up to supply the troops, but with all of that, a shortage on the home front began to emerge. Brewers blame production limitation on a shortage of labor at the breweries. Women initially replaced men who had been called into service. Then those workers thinned out when women and children were evacuated as V1 and V2 threat increased. 

The Nottingham Evening Post reported that in some pubs there had been an outbreak of panic drinking customers gulping their beer and shouting for an encore, lest their neighbors at the bar got more than they did. Also, some pubs adopted restricted hours because they regularly ran out of beer.

Thanks to Martin Cornell for writing up this great ale tale. The ISBN of Martin's book is provided in the notes. Okay, on to other war stories. The aerial bombing of London, including the V1 and V2 rocket bombs, took its toll on both pubs and breweries. The list of London breweries reporting damage include Whitbread's Chiswick Street Brewery in the City of London, Courage’s Suffolk brewery near Tower Bridge. Truman's brewery on Brick Lane in Spitalfields, and Watney’s Stag Brewery in Pimlico. 

In each of these cases, some facilities were damaged or destroyed, but it doesn't seem that any of these were put out of commission. The most serious brewery bombing in London was the Wenlock Brewery, as we described in Episode 25. During the Blitz, the basements of many pubs and breweries were used as communal air raid shelters.

They were often sturdier than the nearby residential buildings and offered a sense of security. On the night of September 11th, 1940, several hundred people from the Hoxton area of London, including families with young children, were taking shelter in the basement of the Wenlock Brewery on Wenlock Road. As the air raid raged on, they could hear the terrifying sound of bombs falling and the ground shook with each explosion.

Just after 4 a.m., a series of bombs landed on the surrounding area, including the adjacent Wenlock Road School and nearby houses. The blast was so powerful that it brought down debris that blocked the main basement doors, trapping the occupants inside. But the threat to life was not the blast directly. The bomb damage to the brewery caused masonry to fall onto the refrigeration plant, rupturing it and causing a major leak of ammonia gas.

The deathly acrid fumes began to sweep through the ventilation system into the packed basement. Suddenly, the shelter became a death trap. People began to choke violently, their eyes streaming with tears, their lungs burning. In the darkness and panic with the smell of ammonia filling the air, a frightened shout went up, 

“It's a German gas attack!”

This caused even more chaos as people without gas masks desperately tried to find a way out. Amid the fear and confusion, several brewery workers who were also sheltering in the basement knew of a secondary escape route. They were able to guide people through the suffocating fumes and over a large pipe to a small staircase that led to the outside. It was a terrifying and desperate struggle to get out, with people fighting for air and trampling over each other in the dark.

Fortunately, thanks to the quick thinking of the brewery workers and the sheer will of the trapped civilians, many were able to escape the basement. Casualty figures don't seem to be available because this disaster was horribly unique. The extent of the carnage took time to reveal itself. Victims severely affected by ammonia gas died from its effects in the ensuing weeks or months.

Like the breweries, various pubs were damaged, but most were not destroyed. I did find two cases of total destruction. The Hare and Hounds in Hampstead. It was completely destroyed as a result of two separate bombings in October of 1940. The pub operated as a shed type building for years until it was rebuilt from the ground up in the 1960s, and The White Horse Hotel and pub.

There were major casualties and destruction from, like the Hampstead pub, not one, but two buzz bomb hits. Again, the pub was rebuilt after the war. It's sad to know that both of these pubs returned to service. They have now been demolished. Victims of what pub writer Ted Bruning calls, 

“The dreadful carnage that was being wrought on London's built heritage. Far worse than anything the Luftwaffe had achieved.”

We have a bit more about The White Horse’s history, thanks to a blog post by Mr. Malcolm Oakley and some informative commenters. You can find the link in the notes. Mr. Oakley writes, 

“The White Horse Hotel was a historic pub and hotel located in High Street South, East Ham, London. It was established in 1769 and was well known for its elegant architecture and spacious rooms. The hotel was also a popular venue for social events such as weddings, dances and concerts. It was built by John Charrington, the founder of the company that would become the beer giant of the same name. The hotel was designed by Robert Adam, a famous Scottish architect who also worked on Buckingham Palace. The hotel attracted many guests from different walks of life, such as merchants, travelers, artists, politicians and royalty.

Some of the notable guests who stayed at the hotel were King George III in 1789, Lord Nelson in 1801, Charles Dickens in 1836, and Queen Victoria in 1843. In June 1944, bombing severely damaged the pub and hotel, and then four days later another bomb struck, killing six people and seriously injuring another six. The pub, not the hotel, returning to service after the war but was closed and demolished in 2017.”

Thank you, Mr. Oakley. I mentioned that the blog collected some interesting comments, including one from Keith Eagland, 

“I was almost five years old when The White Horse pub was bombed by a V-1 doodlebug rocket in 1944. I was in the entrance of the Anderson shelter at number three Gresham Road, some 200 yards from the pub. I even saw the Doodlebug engine stop, and it dropped like a stone directly onto The White Horse.

The blast blew out the whole back of our house in Gresham Road. I also saw some workmen who were repairing roofs of houses in Whitehorse Road, blown off the roofs from the blast. I'm sure that some of them must have been seriously injured. Soon after the end of the war, in May 1945, the bombed out White Horse pub became a fantastic playground for some of us local youngsters.

It was in 1948 that I and some of my friends were playing in the building when I fell into the cellar, fracturing my arm in three places. My arm has never been right since, and I am now fast approaching 80. But remember those times as if it were yesterday.”

Great story, Mr. Eagland. Thank you for sharing it with us.

I think we have some time for just one more war story before I get to that. Let me anticipate a question that some frequent listeners might ask. What about The Dolphin Tavern? Good point. The Dolphin Tavern on Red Lion Street in Holborn was struck by a German Zeppelin bomb during a raid on the 8th of September 1915. The explosion caused severe damage to the pub and three men inside.

A waiter, a bar and a customer were killed. Of course, that was World War I and a little outside of our grouping today of World War II war stories. An interesting tale, nonetheless. You can check it out in our Episode Ten.

For our last one today, let's start at The Chesterfield Arms at 50 Hertford Street in Mayfair. We covered this pub in Episode 35, and mentioned briefly that the pub got some fame during World War II, when it became the main drinking haunt for the Fighter Command due to its proximity to RAF Club in Piccadilly.

We then moved on and didn't talk more about the pub's war service. Good, because what we left out fits in well with our War Stories theme today. For most of its 200 years or so, the pub was known by today's name The Chesterfield Arms. But after a rebuild in 1938, the pub took the name The Shepherd's Arms for a while.

And that's how the two famous RAF pilots we'll talk about today knew the pub. The first hero aviator is Robert Stanford Tuck, 1916 to 1987. One of Britain's most celebrated fighter aces of the war. He joined the Royal Air Force in 1935 and quickly proved himself a gifted pilot. When war broke out, Tuck flew with the 92nd Squadron during the Battle of France and later played a prominent role in the Battle of Britain, claiming numerous victories against Luftwaffe. His skill, daring, and charisma made him a household name at the height of the air war with newspapers celebrating his exploits as those,

“Of a historic ace.”

Tuck was credited with over 20 enemy aircraft destroyed. In January 1942, Tuck was brought down over northern France and taken prisoner as a P.O.W.. He was held in several camps, including the infamous Stalag Luft three. Ever restless, he threw himself into escape attempts, including tunneling during his years in captivity.

In early 1944, with the war's end approaching, he and a fellow prisoner slipped away from their camp in Poland and made contact with advancing Soviet forces. With their help, Tuck eventually returned to Britain. After the war, he left the RAF with the rank of Wing Commander and settled into a quieter life, first running a mushroom farm and later advising on films about the air war, including the Battle of Britain in 1969.

A well-known biography of Tuck is Fly for Your Life by Larry Forester. Tuck's fondness for the pub is mentioned a couple of times in the book. Let me share those stories with you. 

The first one begins with Tuck flying into an airfield on the outskirts of London to attend a conference that included some high-ranking folks from the Air Ministry. 

“The meeting would begin the next day, so he had some mix and mingle time. But Tuck seemed to be just a regular guy. He found the atmosphere a bit too stiff and formal for his taste. With the evening free, he borrowed a car and headed out to the west end. The book tells us he would go to Shepherd's - The Mayfair pub, which was the acknowledged rendezvous of fighter pilots on leave in London. There he'd be sure to find a bunch of the boys, but as soon as he left the base, he found that the air raid warnings had sounded and the city was in blackout.” 

Back to the book's description. 

“Driving through blacked out near deserted streets, he couldn't help glance up occasionally at the night sky, but he saw nothing. Save a few more probing searchlights and a high, insolent moon. He heard no bombs fall, but several miles away, somewhere in the south of the river, he guessed, a heavy anti-aircraft battery began firing and the air of the city was filled with soft jolts. As he drew near the west end, the city streets suddenly became busier, yet the scene was colorless and shabby. The war's crudeness had swept away nearly all of light and color. By the time he reached Shepherd's, he felt worn out, both physically and mentally. But the moment he fought his way through the blackout curtains into the warm haze and babble, a voice roared, “Hiyah Tommy! Over here, you blighter, and buy us all a drink.” And there they were, a bunch of his mates.” 

The book concludes a story like this.

“His gloom evaporated as he started toward them, squeezing through the densely packed throng of drinkers. Then, just as he reached them above the din of the place came a low rumble. The windows rattled in their frames. A bomb exploded in the distance, but nobody took the slightest notice.” 

Wow! A good description of wartime London and how important the pub was, and keeping morale up.

The book gives us another story about Bob Tuck and the pub. This one involves his close friend, Canadian pilot Peter Bashford, nicknamed ‘Cowboy’. 

“During one of the few nights that Tuck and Cowboy had up in London during this period, they came out of Shepherd’s with two pretty ATS officers in the middle of a raid.”

Side note the ATS is the Auxiliary Territorial Service, the women's branch of the wartime British Army. 

“After one particularly heavy explosion, they saw an aged taxi driver with a walrus mustache stop his cab, run to the middle of the road, and wave his fist at the dark and hostile sky. In sulfurous Cockney, this old man told the Cream of Germany to go and do some rather awkward things. He was completely oblivious to the young people watching him. This was a purely private conversation, and he ended it with a very eloquent raspberry that made his droopy mustache flutter. He then hobbled back to his cab and drove off with a fierce grinding of gears. 

The two girls were rather shocked, but their escorts howled with delight. Nothing could have typified so gloriously the earthly defiance of the ordinary British people, and the incident brought home to them just how things had changed since the summer fighting. Then they had felt remote from the civilian populace. Now they felt like they were bound together by common experience and a common anger.” 

Another great story giving us insight into wartime Britain. The book Fly for Your Life is linked in the notes. Sadly, Tuck's good friend Cowboy, was lost when his plane crashed into the sea in May of 1943, a time at which Tuck himself was a POW.

Another hero, flier and patron of Sheperd's was Douglas Bader. I couldn't find any reference to Shepherd’s in Bader's biography, but I think at the end here you will have little doubt that he was a pub fan and likely knew Shepherd's pretty well. 

Douglas Bader, 1910 to 1982, was also one of Britain's most famous fighter pilots of World War II, remembered as much for his indomitable spirit as for his flying skill.

A promising RAF officer in the 1930s, Badder lost both legs in a flying accident in 1931 and was forced to retire. Undaunted, he learned to walk and eventually fly again, using prosthetic legs. With the outbreak of war, he was reinstated to the RAF and became a Squadron Leader, flying Hurricanes and Spitfires in the Battle of Britain. His leadership, energy and determination inspired those under his command, and he was credited with more than 20 aerial victories.

Also, like Tuck, Bader was shot down over France and taken prisoner. In Bader’s case, in 1941, the year before Tuck's downing. He spent most of the war as a P.O.W., but he did everything he could to change that. His multiple escape attempts led the Luftwaffe to eventually confine him to the Colditz Castle, a Renaissance fortress in Saxony, Germany, infamous as an escape proof prisoner of war camp for Allied officers.

After the war, he became a symbol of resilience and courage. Active and cheery, supporting disabled people and veterans. So, both Tuck and Bader spent years as prisoners, and both found a curious bond with their old adversaries. During his captivity, Bader struck up an unlikely friendship with Adolf Galland, the German Head of Fighter Command, who admired him as a flier who had overcome extraordinary adversity.

That respect showed up early on when the Luftwaffe arranged safe passage for the RAF to drop a replacement prosthetic leg after Bader’s  capture - a gesture that spoke volumes about the strange chivalry of the air war. 

Tuck, for his part, came to know Galland after the war. The two men found more common ground and shared experience than they did an old enmity. They visited each other regularly after the war, rough shooting and practicing aerobatics together put Adolf Gowan, Robert Stanford Tuck into Google images and you will see several pictures of these two old warriors swapping stories. 

Back to Douglas Bader, he was never one to slow down and took that spirit back to peacetime England. Bader campaigned vigorously for people with disabilities, and set an example of how one could thrive with a disability.

In June 1976, he was Knighted for his service to disabled people. Now, Knighthood is quite a recognition, I admit. But three years later he received, to my mind, the greatest honor of them all. In 1979, he was present at the opening of a pub named after him on Martlesham Heath in Ipswich. 

Martlesham was an RAF base opened in 1917. During The Battle of Britain, a number of fighter squadrons were stationed there, with Bader being one of the many famous pilots who flew out of the space. Martlesham was closed as an air station in 1963, and in the next decade part of the site became home to The Douglas Bader pub, which is still going strong today. 

That's a really good way to end our collection of war stories today. In the end, old adversaries commiserate together in friendship like Tuck and Gallant, and we do the modern equivalent of beating spears into plowshares - converting airfields to pubs. But we still remember our war heroes by naming the resulting pubs after them. It's all good. 

Thank you for listening today. We'd love to hear from you. Got a comment, suggestion or pub story? Drop us a line at the email in the notes. Until next time then cheers.

As we draw this episode to a close, and Remembrance Sunday nears, we hope these stories of wartime pubs have offered a fresh, heartfelt perspective on the resilience and ingenuity of a nation under siege. 

From the bustling chatter of The Black Horse in Marylebone - unknowingly shaping the course of D-Day - to the brave brewery workers guiding families through ammonia-filled basements, and the Spitfires transformed into “flying drays” hauling beer to the beaches of Normandy, each tale reminds us that courage isn’t always found on the battlefield. Sometimes, it’s in the everyday acts of endurance, kindness, and community.

We honor the service of those who fought abroad, and those who kept the home fires burning - land girls, factory workers, emergency workers, pub landlords, and families who found comfort and connection in these local havens. These pubs weren’t just places to drink. They were places to hold on. Places to laugh, plan, grieve, and carry on.

So, this Remembrance Sunday, whether you’re standing in silence at a cenotaph or quietly raising a glass at your local, we invite you to remember the stories of these pubs - and the people who found shelter and solidarity within their walls.

Thank you to those who served and continue to serve. 

Thank you for listening. 

Up next on Episode 51 of The Historic London Pubcast, we’re (definitely) heading to Hackney. Once London’s gritty, working-class underdog, now a hipster haven buzzing with street art, artisan coffee, and converted warehouses turned cultural hotspots. 

From the birthplace of the hackney carriage to the meeting point of two future Sex Pistols punk legends, this episode uncovers radical history, pub-saving protests, a Norwegian moose head, and a karaoke-fueled pub that flirted with infamy. We’ll see you in Hackney. Now if I could just find a cab…

This has been Podcast Producer, Andy Meddick. Until next time, remember, every pub has a story to tell, if you know where to look.