The Metropolis

Think London has too many coffee shops? You should have seen the 18th century

Mike Pollitt | Thursday 16 June, 2011 10:48

This map of c.1746 shows no fewer than 19 coffee shops squeezed between Cornhill and Lombard St in the City. Remarkable. Let’s learn something about them.

“There was a rabble going hither and thither, reminding me of a swarm of rats in a ruinous cheese-store. Some came, others went; some were scribbling, others were talking; some were drinking (coffee), some smoking, and some arguing; the whole place stank of tobacco like the cabin of a barge.”

That’s a description of a Starbucks from c.1700 by someone who didn’t enjoy his frappuccino. Coffee houses were not just meeting points, but also crucibles of debate. Here’s a rundown of notable locations.

The Grecian
A sciencey crowd, just off Fleet St: Isaac Newton, Edmund Halley, and the great Sir Hans Sloane used to come and shoot the breeze, while educated gentlemen sat around debating the Iliad. There’s a story here that two customers got into an argument about the correct accent of an ancient Greek word. Neither would yield, so it was decided to settle the matter with swords. The loser was run through and died. Over the accent on some ancient Greek.

London Coffee House
A favourite of lovable dogsbody Boswell and American sex addiction sufferer Benjamin Franklin.

Lloyd’s
Whence the insurance company sprang. Lloyds had a pulpit where resident bores would stand and tell the customers what to think about the great issues of the day.

Jonathan’s
Home of a possible Popish plot to kill the king, epicentre of the South sea bubble crash, and origin of the Stock Exchange. This place really knew how to dominate the 18th century news cycle.

Will’s
“And indeed the worst conversation I ever remember to have heard in my life was that at Will’s coffee-house, where the wits (as they were called) used formerly to assemble.” Jonathan Swift, not a fan of this Covent Garden joint.

Button’s
Where the wits went next. Alexander Pope got in a huff when his fellow caffeine junkies decided that they preferred a rival’s translation of the Iliad to his own, and he refused to go there anymore. You’d be forgiven for thinking that all anyone did in 18th century London was fight over the Iliad. And people say we’ve dumbed down.

Here is an outstandingly thorough account of the whole scene. Here is a brisker run down for the attention deficient. And here is what happened when I spent a day doing a coffee crawl of modern day independent coffee shops in East London. It got messy.

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