Blackfriars - The Blackfriar

Tuesday 7th March 2023

"That's an exuberant facade when you consider the real estate it must be sitting on", Dad said as we stared across at Blackfriars Tube Station before we went our separate ways. All this chat I've been giving him about urban planning in London is clearly rubbing off.

It's true, the facade is quite impressive. Constructed as part of a £500m upgrade which completed in 2012 replacing the old ticket hall, Blackfriars tube doesn't quite have the same novelty as the Nation Rail station, with an entrance only on the North side of the river and no platforms sitting above the Thames. The Underground station, however, has been here much longer than the mainline and for a brief year in the 1870s was even the Eastern terminus of the District Line.

As you exit the station and jolt your head to the right, staring back at you is The Blackfriar. Compressed into a triangular wedge by winding Victorian streets which no longer house buildings on either side. There's a slight look of the Flat Iron Building in New York to it; had that building been considerably shorter and built for the purposes of alcohol consumption. There's a small public square next to the pub now, acting as a beer garden for the hardy drinkers opting to sit outside on the coldest evening of the year.

Both pub and station take their name from the monastery which occupied this site for centuries. This history isn't lost on the pub. As well as the sculpture of a Black Friar below the clock face on the pub's skinniest frontage, above the bar are monks cast in glorious bronze enacting various scenes depicting harvest time and fishing for Friday's supper among others. Flickers of the modern world; car headlights, illuminated buses and flashing emergency vehicles peer through the stained glass windows which too display images of monks clad in the local black robes.

We sat on a small table conveniently vacated upon our arrival near one of two entrance doors, giving us full view of the interior. This is very much a modern privilege. Historically, seating was determined by which social class you belonged to. Those of a higher standing sat in the saloon, treated to the delights of the marble and bronze decor, while others were situated by the lowly wooden bar.

I opted for a Neck Oil, Dad a pint of Moor Beer Company's Revival. Collectively they came to £13.15, reasonable for Central London I thought. There was a bustle to The Blackfriar when we arrived though the attendance thinned out as the evening wore on further and further away from the end of the working day. Though the cling film-wrapped card machines hinted that things might get much messier here as the weekend approaches.

Lining the walk down stairs to the toilets are pictures of the poet, Sir John Betjeman who campaigned for the pub's preservation in the 1960s when it was earmarked for demolition. This is prime real estate after all. Now with a Grade II Listing and the spectacular monastic decor included on the National Inventory of Historic Pub Interiors, The Blackfriar should now stick around for generations, and what a joy they have awaiting them.