London Part 1 - Westbourne Terrace

We reached the Mitre Pub at the corner of a quiet residential street, minutes on foot from our flat at Westbourne Terrace. At the corner above a double door entrance the pubs name in large gold letters, masts the building like most London pubs emboldened by a deep red background. We chose to go in the side entrance just past a small hotel and local shops. Rebecca started her new job in London working for The Motion Picture Company and JJ and I arrived for a two week visit to help her settle in.


The area commonly referred to as Bayswater is bordered on the south by Hyde Park, on the north by the Westbourne Bridge, on the west Notting Hill and east by Marble Arch is quintessential 19th Century Victorian. At the center of it all is Paddington Station, the quickest way to get to Heathrow Airport and central to the Underground lines including the Circle, Bakerloo, Hammersmith and other destinations I haven’t figured out yet. The area around Paddington station is not well known for great food but in searching for best fish and chips the Mitre seemed to be a good choice close by. We were greeted by a stout barmaid with thick glasses and bright rosaceous cheeks. She advised us to have a seat and a Young’s bitter along with the cod fish and chips. We navigated a table between the two entrances tucked up against a wall covered in deep mahogany paneling. I was thrilled to have my first beer and fish and chips at a pub in London and the three of us, Rebecca, JJ and I sat back to enjoy the warm homey atmosphere.

The homes nearby were built in the 1840’s and 1850’s and according to one report our street Westbourne Terrace was considered the neighborhood centerpiece in its time: “The most spacious and dignified avenue unrivalled in its class in London or even Great Britain.” Typically four stories the white stucco houses built side to side sport large portico entrances with massive wood doors and neatly framed balconies on top with black railing. Roof tops are reminiscent of Mary Poppins with varying sized chimney peaks and tutor roofs with plenty of hips and valleys. The neighborhood has had some famous inhabitants including writers William Thackeray, James Barrie, and Bret Harte, politicians Winston and Randolph Churchill, as well as numerous well known socialites, artists and businessmen. Down the street from our flat are the headquarters for the Royal Parks and the home for Conservatives Friends of Israel. An antiquity bookstore used to be located somewhere close by as was the world’s first bicycle shop. It was important to find a neighborhood where Rebecca felt safe, easy to get to work in Soho on public transit and close to the famous sites of central London. Westbourne Terrace seemed to have everything going for it.

Our fish and chips arrived, an impressive golden brown crisply fried in beer batter. A crunch of bodies coming and going was neatly penetrated by the barmaid who suggested a darker brew and I succumbed to a flat warm beer, something I am not particularly fond of. I cut into the fish and a puff of steam revealed a soft white cod cooked to perfection. I spiced it up with a splash of vinegar and stuck a fork into the crisp cover, scooped up the white fish with a couple of chips and savored the moment.

The London 1800’s had its underside. In its Victorian grandeur and wealth the real villain that lurked among the Mews and fog was a city gripped by cholera and sewage problems, and a sharp contrast between rich and poor. Just two Underground stops away from Paddington Station is Baker Street, stomping ground of the fictional London sleuth Sherlock Holmes made popular at a time when the notorious mass murderer, Jack the Ripper stalked the ladies of the night on London’s East Side. In the 1850’s and 1860’s a sensational press wrote often about street robberies termed “garroting” where Londoners were accosted, beaten and robbed even though the actual practice was not that wide spread.

We were satiated and a little tipsy from the beer. Happily we got up to leave. Rebecca looked for her purse and it was gone. Her camera, iPod, credit cards, California Drivers License and US Passport all gone from the back of her chair where she had put it. We were stunned and despair fell on us like the darkness of the London sunset.

During the day the weather changes from cloud to sunshine and back again constantly. At night seagulls can be heard still cruising the waterways that were once rivers but are now canals or culverts paved over with development. Pigeons are plentiful but not a single bug could be found. A fat little church mouse sat preoccupied on the sidewalk as we left the Mitre in search of the Paddington Green Police Station.