The Pub Decorum Police are back


The second half of the 20th century saw a gradual democratisation of English pubs. Spaces which had been formally segregated by class and gender (with other informal but profound discrimination too), where speech and activity was carefully parcelled into manageable areas slowly moved to open up. They became places people from different backgrounds shared together. In particular, large new-build post-war pubs represented a pragmatic, practical (if not always aesthetically pleasing) reaction to a society moving in a municipal, community-centred direction with a burgeoning middle class, aspects of which came to fruition in some parts of the country during the 1960s and 1970s.

Relaxation of licensing laws, codes on dress, and ease of bar access casualised pub spaces to a great deal. The umbrella of reasons why people might meet in a pub increased dramatically and with that, the needs of the wider audience became better catered-for. By the end of the century, great progress had been made – even confronting the most difficult and stubborn areas of discrimination – sectarianism, sexism, racism, ableism, homophobia and transphobia. Arguably this was not just a one-way process: there was a call and response. The presence of different sorts of people in a casual atmosphere engendered a tolerance, first hand evidence that things people feared were not to be as feared, but that they  themselves could be enhanced, become better people – a lesson people took away with them into their private lives, attitudes, and personal politics, shaping the country in a different direction. It wasn’t utopia, but it was progress.

There is of course plenty still to do in the face of plenty trying to roll this back. As seen in the decades since, some of that progress has slipped, most notably application of an EHRC code applying to trans people which came into force this week.

The very same week, it comes to our attention that Westminster Council have tabled a recommendation in its new draft licensing policy to ban ordering and drinking at the bar of a pub. Westminster Council includes the area of Soho, which you won’t need me to point out is world famous, internationally acclaimed for its theatre culture and nightlife in the West End. Anyone who has been for a night out in Soho can tell you this would be a profound change. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so…real.

This curiously regressive statement of intent takes the conversation about English pub culture back centuries to the fights of the temperance movement and the influence of the Enlightenment on the rich and powerful up to the Victorian & Edwardian age. Always tempted to see themselves as paragons of virtue, patrician moral grandstanders (often Industrialists, Colonists, sometimes Slavers, not to mention alcoholics, adulterers, gamblers, etc) combined with a church-propagandised working class railing against the abuses of alcohol as seen in their family lives, creating a pincer movement on pubs.

The rest of Northern Europe was not spared. In Sweden, the effect was devastating – losing nearly all its pubs, with alcohol sold on a ration card until the 1950s. Even today, with one exception, every licensed premises must serve food, while outside pubs and restaurants alcohol above 3% abv can only be purchased in a state-run off-license, Systembolaget which operates rather conservative opening hours that Brits might remember from 30 years earlier. Finland too only saw its first licensed pub in Helsinki in the 1970s once it became clear that moving alcohol abuse from pubs into homes didn’t solve the problem.

In England during that period, spaces became more closely controlled and segregated. Lower rent alehouses were stripped of licenses given any opportunity or pretext and there was a push to ‘clean up’ pubs. Local councils even introduced temperance pubs, popular in the North West.

One of the most notable surviving temperance bars is Mr Fitzpatricks.

This bar in Rawtenstall, Lancashire has been serving non-alcoholic drinks since 1899. These days they trade on the novelty factor and there is more of a café atmosphere.

The state itself even opened and ran pubs: an experiment in Carlisle resulting from efforts to tackle poor productivity during World War I and pushed lower alcohol products in efforts to curb excess. (The article is fascinating reading, by the way, so do give it a quick look through.)

Those who had control of activity throughout the late 1800s into the 1900s were always intent on prescribing decorum as a controlling tool. That is to say, how one should dress and act in a certain space. Decorum is now as it is then, largely a tool someone else, usually richer and more powerful than you, to put you in your place. The very presence of a bar separate from a saloon lounge implied that people of different classes could not successfully associate with one another but also that it would be preferable not to try. In the process of opening up pubs, a great amount of damage and vandalism was done to these often magnificent fixtures and fittings – partitions, snugs and smokerooms destroyed along with the overall character of pubs which had been carefully conceived as an intact whole by master craftsmen, but conversely, pubs became more democratic.

Westminster Council is of course, Tory through-and-through. Even today, with the Conservative Party in existential dire straits, the makeup of the council is 32 Conservative and 22 Labour councillors. Old money and highly patrician. The lives, interests and agendas of residents who elected these councillors do not exactly align with the international audience spending money in Soho, in short, the people that London not only attracts but relies upon, not just for its economy but its prestige. At major city level, prestige and the capacity for power projection underpins the investment and talent it can attract and London needs an area like Soho to not just compete but dazzle. For a combination of reasons, Soho’s reputation on that front has been slipping for a while now.

A second factor is the Soho Society who have developed something of a reputation for vetoing incoming investment into pubs and bars, something their homepage manifesto appears to acknowledge with an amusing degree of self-awareness (or should that be insecurity).


Table service is nothing new, however, and not itself any kind of armageddon for pubs. Anyone who has ventured to bars abroad will have found it operating as standard, whether that’s in a German Gaststätte like Brauerei Spezial in Bamberg or a Grand Café like Cirio in Brussels. It’s also extremely common in Czechia down to the most humble pubs. There are certain venues where it sets the tone, like Grand Cafés and Beer Halls, and others where service is so prompt and the atmosphere so casual, like Czechia that it doesn’t detract from the experience. However, a blanket application of this is likely to cause issues.

In English pubs the congregation at a bar, whether you like it or not, represents a cultural practise that people enjoy and even naturally slip into doing in the right spaces. It has never in and of itself created alcohol related problems or disorder. Bar socialising adds to the vibrancy and depth of a pub in subtle ways.


The Rutland Arms, Sheffield and its patrons will soon let you know what they think about your ‘decorum’.

The shape of English pubs recognises a preference for bar socialising with long sweeping bar tops for broad access which, if rendered obsolete may lead to further destruction of original fixtures and fittings if businesses decide a few more tables means more money. Table service may also require pubs to take on more staff, making their business models unviable. It also recalls the dreadful era during Covid where hospitality was forced to pretend that choreographed table service would reduce viral transmission even in tiny bars where tables were centimetres next to one another.

But just as important as all that is to remember that your purpose at the bar, providing you are being civil, is nobody’s business but your own. How dare any tone-policing councillor or their residents in the year 2026 tell you what you are allowed to do, where you are allowed to move, if you are doing no harm?


The working classes descending into debauched anarchy as they chat civilly at the bar at The Vat & Fiddle, Nottingham before a football match.

Thankfully, online reaction to the news from Westminster has been scathing and the Mayor of London quickly announced they were against the move. We can hope that this movement to drag part of England back to the era where ordinary people were treated by their ‘betters’ as animals to be herded, hectored at, forced into formal clothing, put in their place and taught to narrow their speech and their thoughts conclusively fails.

I’m not going to be ‘put in my place’ and neither should you. If there’s a bar you want to stand at and drink in, I stand with you.

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The Seven Stars, London

back to England

53 Carey St, London WC2A 2JB
  • Quality and/or choice of drinks – 7/10
  • Style and Décor – 9/10
  • Character, Atmosphere and/or Local Life – 9/10
  • Amenities, Events & Community – 7/10
  • Value for Money – 5/10
  • The Pub-Going Factor –  8/10

Claiming to originate in 1602, the building itself containing The Seven Stars has survived The Great Fire of London, and – just as impressively in my view – the next 400 years of change unscathed, all the while serving as a public house. It’s a remarkable feat that places  it as  one of London’s core heritage pubs.

Many pubs trade on their history, (and that of The Seven Stars is an interesting read) , without backing that up by being an enjoyable place to drink in the here and now. Thankfully, The Seven Stars is not one of those places: it’s a little cracker.

Carey Street has a row of townhouses that are overshadowed by the enormous London County Court, Royal Courts of Justice and LSE library, so it is quite easy to wander halfway past The Seven Stars before realising. It’s a very quiet street and doesn’t seem the most likely place for a pub to be situated these days, though that makes it a perfect venue for those in-the-know. The frontage of The Seven Stars is squat and compact with the predictable (but entirely appropriate) gothic signage. It looks like a small place and it is – there’s no TARDIS effect once you walk inside.

 

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Although micro-pubs may now be reversing the trend for enormous, open plan pubs, none of them are made quite like this old thing. You’ll walk through the entrance to find a low-beamed venerable establishment with a bar directly opposite the entrance, and a narrow space set over two rooms. There are stools to sit at the bar and drink, and tables decorated with checked tablecloths and candles (a little dressy for my tastes, but it did make me think fondly of Den Turk in Ghent, which is not dissimilar).

For the last decade or so, The Seven Stars has been the domain of a ruff-sporting and locally famous pub cat who sadly passed away not so long back. Nevertheless, I have been informed a new cat has entered the premises! If you venture into conversation at the bar with the owner Roxy, she may expand on the and possibly get into the tale of one punter who mistook the cat bowl for bar snacks. Don’t be shocked – anything can happen in London.

The décor and ‘lived-in’ nature of the pub is where most of its character comes from, a pleasingly ungentrified and carefully preserved sense of welcome that tends to strike an immediately positive impression with people regardless of any preconceived ideas. This impression is important to cling onto for when you order a beer (or food), because those London prices hit hard and hit deep. This isn’t worth singling The Seven Stars out for, however, that’s just how things are. It is worth bearing in mind a lot of lawyers drink here.

Nevertheless, you’ll find a set of well kept cask ales from regional breweries served via hand pump – it’s a decent if unspectacular range which will keep you satisfied for at least a few.

In a similar way to Whitelock’s in Leeds, the toilets are located above the pub itself via a satisfyingly creaky staircase, where you will also pass by the kitchens and a room crammed full of odds and ends. By any standards these days (particularly London’s), this is a characterful and individual place that isn’t interesting in the Farrow & Ball school of interior design or repainting itself to remain ‘on-trend’ every ten years.

As mentioned above, the pub is popular with local lawyers and court staff, and due to the small size you may find yourself unable to grab a seat. However, trade is brisk in the evenings so be patient and things will move along – grab your chance when you see it. There’s nothing like being seated to enjoy the atmosphere of a tangle at the bar in a traditional pub such as this.

As the lights from the outside dim, and those from the inside take over, there can be no question of whether this is a pub of outstanding merit.

Although The Seven Stars may have lasted 400 years, the obnoxious pace of gentrification in the last 30 years means that pubs like these perpetually under threat from people who simply want to run poor facsimiles of bars they’ve seen elsewhere. This is a pub that demonstrates the importance of being your own thing. That’s worth something.

I’ll leave you with this anecdote from their website:

While enjoying a few Friday afternoon wind-down drinks, a group of 15 or so lawyers (young ones) entered the Seven Stars awkwardly and decamped nearby. There then began a cacophonous symphony of table and chair scraping, until they had blocked all passage in or out of the bar. Regaling of a most competitive flavour followed, ever louder, underwritten by a desperate, pleading “notice me” subtext. Its volume only matched by the ethereal transparency of its content. We drank up and moved on – our seats snatched hungrily into their possession before we got to the door. Congratulations, you’ve emptied the pub! Not all lawyers are like this, true, but this was selfish and shameful behaviour. Hopefully, few noticed.

Have you visited The Seven Stars? Any comments, feedback or suggestions for our write-up? Please get in touch!