The Royal Standard was a brand new hostelry built in 1955/6 that replaced the old Royal Standard, a family pub situated a couple of streets back, on Fleming Street.

The Royal Standard had a prominent position on Kingsland Road opposite The Geffrye Museum, now known as The Museum of the Home. The Museum was once the site of almshouses dating back to 1714, bequeathed from Sir Robert Geffrye, the Lord Mayor of London, in 1685. Sir Robert was an eminent East India Merchant involved in slavery. There was some debate about taking his statue down from the building in light of the Black Lives Matter movement but Hackney Council decided to keep it.

As children, we would visit this museum at least once or twice a month. We loved it. The caretakers got to know myself and my brother quite well and would give us little jobs, such as sorting leaflets and tidying the children’s corner. The museum didn’t have the lovely facilities it has now.

I mention the museum now as, later on, it played quite a part in my life at The Royal Standard.

So, we had been in The Duke of Edinburgh for just a few months. Mum and Dad had been earmarked to take on this new pub in Hoxton, for which the brewery had big plans. They thought the pub was close enough to the City for the financial businessmen to use for lunches and dinners. So, this newly built pub came equipped with all the modcons, including a large industrial kitchen. My brother Stephen & I helped unpack and wash boxes full of crockery and cutlery, pots and pans and everything a commercial kitchen could possibly need. A cook, a big woman called Maureen, had been hired. We also had a housekeeper who did the cleaning, shopping and laundry. The brewery was sure Mum would not have time for any household duties as the pub was going to be very busy, and she would be pivotal in the smooth running of the pub and restaurant. How wrong they were.

The building was typical of the day. Square. Big picture windows. Very 1960s. Modern. It had a lovely gilded pub sign that lit up our living room at night.

The flat was also modern, smart light and bright. We all had a bedroom to ourselves, each one had built-in cupboards. Dad had a small office with bookshelves, a filing cabinet, a safe and a desk. The state-of-the-art bathroom even had a shower! Unheard of in most homes in the 50s. There was a second cloakroom for the staff, also a rarity. You were lucky if you had one toilet inside the flat. We could ride our bikes around the huge, light, airy and, above all, clean landing. Mum was in heaven.

This hallway landing had a pull-down ladder that led to the flat roof above the pub. Now, as a family, we were used to having a garden and, of course, pubs don’t tend to have a private outside space. But that never stopped us from finding some way to be outside. The roof was tarmac and had water tanks and aerials. It had a brick wall, about four foot high, running around the perimeter. Dad used wooden planks to cover most of the tarmac so that the deckchairs and table didn’t sink into the tarmac in the summer, otherwise the tarmac would become soft and sticky. We would all climb the ladder on sunny afternoons and go up during closing hours to sunbathe. The dog even came along! Then, when my Grandparents came to live with us, we managed to get them up there as well. We would bring up picnic baskets and flasks of tea. 

On hot days, Dad rigged up a pump and hose system from one of the water tanks, and we would hose ourselves down. Great fun. Nana and Grandad missed their garden, so Grandad made some window boxes in which Nana grew flowers and runner beans. My school friends loved it as they mostly lived in flats with no outside space. Dad even rigged up a tent for us and we roller skated up there too. . 

The large and modern bars had new matching furniture. The public bar had a carpet in place of the typical linoleum. The saloon bar at the back was very swish. Plush upholstered chairs, deep pile carpet and velvet curtains. Dad played the piano on a small dais on Saturday nights. A small bar would act as an off licence in between the Public and Saloon bars.

The high-ceilinged cellar was the best one Dad ever had. It came fitted with a small electric lift that brought the beer crates up behind the bar. You didn’t have to duck your head like in most old cellars. The cellar spread under the entire pub and came equipped with sinks, water and good lighting. A grill-covered drain ran the length of the cellar to take away the water that would be reused for cleaning. There were rows of wooden racks for the barrels and a spirit and wine section fitted out with shelving which sported a metal mesh frame. There was also a refrigerated area. Dad didn’t have to modify or build anything.

My Dad was a brilliant DIY man due, I expect, to his signwriting experiences and his time in The R.E.M.E. He also loved making and repairing things. He made a lot of our toys, renovated old bikes for us and kept our old cars on the road. He could mend anything, a regular Mr Fix-It. In later years, he would restore stuff in many of the old pubs we lived in and invent new ways of doing things. We called these repairs and innovations ‘a ‘Markham Mod’ (Markham being our surname and ‘mod’ being shorthand for ‘modifications’). Dad was always modifying something.

We could move in at leisure to this pub. We had a month to get it ready. Stephen and I went off to the local school, Randal Cremer, and my parents, older brother Tony and Grandparents set about unpacking everything for the pub and setting it up. 

Come the grand opening, they cut a ribbon that stretched across the bar door. Directors from Whitbread’s came along with the Mayor of Hackney, directors of some of the banks and financial houses in the city, local businessmen and shop owners, and probably the press were invited. Food was laid on, and everyone dressed up. Champagne, canapés and extra waiters and bar staff. We were at school, so I don’t remember any of this. But we did see the remnants of it all when we came home. We had a private entrance to the flat, so we didn’t walk through the bars to get to our home like in other pubs. But on this day, we went through the bar and helped with the clearing up. However, I doubt whether we helped much, as I remember collecting a lot of the leftover food and eating it whilst sitting on the cellar steps.

That evening, the pub was very busy and noisy. The local families that had used the old Royal Standard turned out in force. The brewery didn’t think these locals would use the pub at all. It was a far cry from their cosy old pub and slightly out of their way. But they did use it, and that put paid to the big idea of the pub becoming a smart City establishment.

It was hoped that the lunch and early evening sessions would prove so lucrative that it would enable a change of opening hours, meaning the pub would close in the evenings and we could avoid the hazards of opening at night. In those days, Hoxton and the surrounding areas had a heavy gang presence.

But it soon became evident that these families would not move. They had ‘owned‘ the old Royal Standard and were going to take over the new one. London was territorial then, and the large ‘families’ would rule their patch fiercely. Our new pub was no exception.

I won’t name the families that used our pub, but it soon became clear that this prestigious venue was not going to be used as Whitbread’s had planned.  

Fortunately, my parents were popular. So, compared to some licensees, we were relatively trouble-free. Mum and Dad excelled at diplomacy and knew how to handle people. My Mum was very attractive, and Dad was also quite good-looking; people called them the Errol Flynn and Susan Hayward of Hoxton. They were a charismatic pair, which stood them in good stead with these gangland customers. 

As children, we didn’t really see what went on in this pub. We just went to school and came home. The cook and extra kitchen staff eventually left. But our housekeeper stayed. She became part of the family and looked after me, my brother Stephen and the flat. She cooked for us, and I remember the lovely smell of baking wafting down the stairs as we came home from school.

The next few memories were explained to me as an adult and clarified a lot of things that, at the time, seemed a bit odd..

As we were so young, Mum and Dad shielded us as much as they could. We often wondered why, as we left for school, Harry the barman or one of his many brothers would happen to be walking our way. They would always be a few yards behind us, and although they did talk to us, they kept their distance. One of them would also shadow us home. Of course, they were our ‘bodyguards‘. Eventually, we didn’t question this. We both knew Harry very well. A really warm, smiley man, we loved him. He became part of the family, and when we moved on to other pubs, he followed us to be our barman in them too. . 

As adults, we talked about our life in The Royal Standard with Mum and Dad, who explained that we were guarded everywhere we went by members of the families that used our pub. Even shopping and going to friends or the park. It was a safety precaution; as criminal gangs were known to intimidate business owners through their the children. . My parents couldn’t afford to send us to private school, which they would have liked to do. We were always at risk. 

This next story sounds a bit far-fetched, but it is true. This is how the museum played a part in my life.

I was about ten years old and, like all little girls, had crushes on boys at school. We would exchange letters. All very sweet and harmless. I still have a couple of these letters.

Well, one day, I received a letter I thought came from my current favourite, George. It asked if I would meet him outside the Geffrye Museum on Wednesday at 7.30 pm. It said other things too, but I can’t remember what. I really thought it was from George.

Although I thought it a bit strange to ask to meet in the evening, I felt like an adult about to go on a ‘date’.

So, I showed my Mum the letter. I was so excited about it but knew I would need permission to be out at night as Stephen and I never left the pub alone, and certainly not at night. I was hoping I could go; Mum said she would speak to Dad about it and see what could be arranged.

I didn’t know the full story for years.

Mum said I could go, but I was to stay outside the museum and not go into the gardens. Benches lined the pathway entrance, and she suggested I sit on one of those and wait for George. I was so excited.

Well, I sat on this bench for just a few minutes and then it was chaos. Lots of people rushed around, shouting and running. I remember lights flashing and Dad lifting me up and rushing me home.

I know it may sound odd, but apart from wondering why I hadn’t seen George, I sort of accepted what had happened. I can’t remember what Dad said, but it must have been good as I wasn’t frightened. I knew that I had been instrumental in catching a ring of kidnappers, but it wasn’t until years later, when I knew what had happened in detail, that I felt rather wobbly, thinking about what could have happened to me. There was a dairy in Kingsland Road quite close to us, and the daughter[4] of the owner there had been taken and held for ransom a few months earlier.

When I showed my letter to Mum, Dad phoned the police as he thought it odd that a ten-year-old boy would ask to meet me like that. My parents had been alerted to the dangers at the time and had been asked to report anything suspicious. The police asked if I could act as a decoy in an attempt to catch this gang. They assured Dad that nothing bad would happen as they would be out in force, and I would be protected.

I knew nothing. The gang were caught, and that was that. Dad’s customers called him a hero and applauded his bravery.[5] Although they themselves were villains, the customers didn’t condone anything to do with children and were as pleased as anyone that the police had stopped these criminals.

'I didn’t feel frightened just bemused. I’m sure I must have wondered what was going on but until I was a grown woman, I had no idea.  

They certainly would have wanted to protect me and as I obviously had coped with it, they probably thought it best not to talk to me about it'. 

A lot of things just weren't spoken about publicly in those days, once they had happened. Especially regarding children.

I do also remember showing my letter to Mum  from ‘George ‘ asking me to meet him. 

I also remember the commotion around me and Dad carrying me home. 

I didn’t feel frightened just bemused. I’m sure I must have wondered what was going on but until I was an adult I had no idea. 

Remember the life of a publican was busy, long hours away from family, just snatched moments, so if I had wanted to ask questions it would have been difficult to have my parents to myself for long enough to ask them. I suppose like most children, I probably gave up and just forgot about it.

I wonder if I ever mentioned it to George. 

Our little dog, Topper, was notorious for running away. When we took him out, he had to stay on the lead as he would smell something and off he would go. We often spent ages looking for him in the parks and the forest. He was a lovely little dog, though, and we loved him. He disappeared a couple of times when we lived in The Standard. Once again, as youngsters, we didn’t pay much attention to this as we knew how naughty he could be, and if a door was open, off he would go.

But he was taken on more than one occasion, and Dad had to buy him back each time. It happened so often that a difficult decision was made not to pay anymore. So, Topper didn’t come home. We were very sad, but we thought he had just run away again and hoped another family would look after him. Our next dog was a huge Alsatian, Dandy. He more or less lived in the bar. I guess he was a guard dog. Once again, we were oblivious to this, although we thought it odd that Dandy roamed the bars at night and wasn’t allowed to sleep with us as Topper had.

Harry, our barman, was a window cleaner who could somehow ‘acquire’ things! I once said I wished I had a typewriter like my Grandad, a sports reporter on the News of the World. Grandad would let me have a go on it when we visited him and Nana. Well, one day after school, I went into my bedroom, and there was a typewriter, courtesy of Harry! Another time, an eye test found that I needed glasses to correct astigmatism. I had these awful pink things which I threw a tantrum over and refused to wear. Somehow, a tray of spectacle frames appeared on the kitchen table one day for me. I picked a pair, and once the new lenses were put in, I was a happy bunny. I felt the bees’ knees in them at school. Harry ‘acquired’ all sorts of things for us. He accompanied us to the pictures and came shopping at the market on Sunday mornings. He was a big part of our lives for quite a few years. A surrogate uncle. He would disappear occasionally. Again, we didn’t know at the time, but I believe he often spent short spells at Her Majesty’s Pleasure.

After a few months, it became apparent that the pub would be just that: a pub. So, we went back to regular pub hours, Saturday nights with Dad on the piano and Sunday morning bar snacks. The pub was busy most of the time. It also had a good off-sales trade. The customers were not, strictly speaking, on the right side of the law. But, apart from the occasional fight between themselves, they behaved fine. Stephen and I were too young to be in the bars. We would sometimes go downstairs to ask Mum and Dad something, only to be ushered quickly upstairs. We would only get a glimpse at the customers. Not like at The Duke of Edinburgh, where we would talk to the customers and have a fuss made of us. That pub was so cosy. This new place had a side entrance, meaning we didn’t need to walk through the bars to reach our flat or had any interaction with the clientele.

At weekends, we would watch out of the upstairs windows to see the customers entering and leaving the pub. The men mostly wore trilby hats and suits. For the ladies, fur coats and jewellery. A couple of the men had huge scars on their faces, which looked scary. The pub was very noisy at the weekend, too. We would be in bed by the time it closed. Still, police sirens and noise most Saturday nights in Kingsland Road was a regular occurrence; fortunately, the fights took place outside the pub, not inside. 

One Saturday night after closing, we heard a siren and a lot of noise downstairs. We went to the top of the stairs to see what was happening. Once again, we were ushered back to bed. But the next day, we heard that an elderly lady had died in the pub. Apparently, she had been dead for some time, and no one had noticed. The pub had emptied, and she remained in her chair. Dad had gone to ‘wake’ her up, thinking her the worse for drink, and she had fallen on the floor. Her family then realised she wasn’t with them and came banging on the doors, which is the sound we had heard. The police and ambulance had been called, and the family were up in arms over that. They boycotted the pub for a while as they blamed Dad for her death in some way. He should have noticed, they said.

The area was very poor, rough and dirty. We were shielded from so much. I had made a friend called Sheila through our bar cleaner, Jeanie, her Mum. Sheila came with her Mum to clean quite often. She was in my class at school but rarely there. Jeanie was Italian and didn’t speak much English. Her husband, George, was a coal man. He was tall and always covered in coal dust. They were a lovely family. But like most families then, the Dad drank. Jeanie would often have a black eye. Sheila was often with me in the flat, and Mum would wash and comb her thick hair. I didn’t realise that Mum did this because Sheila had fleas. Sheila loved being with us. One day, Jeanie asked Mum if I could go to tea with them. Bearing in mind all the shielding and danger when we went out, I couldn’t wait to go to a friend’s home. 

I had such a shock, though, when I did go. I didn’t realise how other families lived; I had always had a good home. Sheila lived in one of the flats adjacent to the pub. When I went in, I became aware of some very strange smells. Jeanie sat at a sewing machine surrounded by boxes of fabric. She had a baby on her lap who didn’t have a nappy on, just a vest. Other children of various ages ran around. Very dishevelled and grubby. We sat at a long table with a loaf of cut bread in a wrapper placed in the middle, a tub of margarine, a pot of jam and a few plates and knives. Cups without saucers, a large brown teapot and a bottle of milk. That was tea. I had never seen anything like this. At home, our bread was an uncut loaf, fresh every day. We would have a cooked tea with rice pudding or something for dessert. We had cups with saucers and never would the milk be in a bottle on the table. Here, the bread felt wet, and I couldn’t eat much, let alone drink the tea. But I had good manners and was brought up to be respectful, so I hope I didn’t show my dismay. Jeanie said to Sheila to take me upstairs for a while to play before George took me home. Well, upstairs was as poor as downstairs. No carpets or rugs anywhere. Sheila shared a bed with her sisters. No blankets, just old coats. We sat on the floor, and Sheila brought out her pencils and colouring books. She used to hide them, she said, as her younger sisters would scribble in them. Sheila was the oldest, and I’m guessing she had to stay home to help with her siblings. She was very adept with the baby, who eventually had a nappy put on. The other children also looked to Sheila to help them. However, Sheila and her family were happy and not at all bothered about how they lived. This was their normal. It was me who was shocked and wanted to make things better. It made such an impression. I hadn’t realised until then how fortunate I was. I resolved never to complain at home again. But I’m sure I did.

Jeanie and George used the pub at weekends and left the children with Sheila. This practice happened a lot in those days. The parents worked hard and had a tough life; to ease it all, they drank. Jeanie was often the brunt of jokes[6]. All meant in a light-hearted way, but George apparently didn’t see it like that and would drag outside the person he thought had made fun of his wife and knock seven sorts out of them. One of the jokes involved teaching Jeanie the wrong type of English. So, along with using swear words and so on, the poor woman had no idea why people laughed at her. One time, Dad told me she came to the bar to buy a round of drinks and said, ‘Two shins, two tonics, a pint of Mildew and a bag of craps, yes?’ All in her Italian accent.

So, Dad and Mum made a good living out of these folks’ hard lives and gave them some joy too. A bit of fun away from the trials of everyday life. A couple of pints, a sing-song, and their lives didn’t seem so bad.

Close to the pub were factories that made garments, known as ‘sweatshops’. I expect Jeanie was an outworker for one of them. On Mondays, a long line of women would wait to go in and collect their next week's work. They had their prams and pushchairs full of their previous week’s sewing ready to exchange for the brown envelopes containing their wages. Often, they would spend that money straightaway in the pub’s off licence: they would go out of the factory and into the pub for a few bottles of stout or sherry. Unofficially, the off licence always remained open. It had a bell outside: one push and someone would come to serve you. We were very handy for these ladies, weren’t we?

My parents were managers for Whitbread’s, so they didn’t take a share of the profits, though I’m sure a canny publican had ways of ‘making a bit on the side’. Also, as you spent so little on living costs, you could save money that way. My parents, being new to the trade, saved as they had done in their private life. At that time, they didn’t live for the day as many publicans did, spending on non-essentials, holidays and the like.

So, after about three years, my parents looked at becoming tenants. They looked for quite a while and eventually found The Hop Pole, an affordable little pub in the East End of London. They would be in charge of it and not restricted by brewery rules so much. Your own boss. Your own profits. Although the better you did, the higher the rent!