Review

An 1830s listed building and known locally as the 'Fist and Clippers', the scars of the pub's antiquity are evident in the years of scuffing apparent along the base of the central, heavily battered bar. With an interior seemingly made entirely of wood, The Hand & Shears consists of several rooms, nooks and crannies, some of which are only big enough for two or three people. The miniture bell hanging at the bar isn't going to fool anybody at 'last orders', as its diminutive size must produce a clang that's wholly drowned in a nearby City-workers latest phone ringtone.

On the walls are framaed Cartoons of yesteryear and such tatty items as a framed collection of money (notes), a large, octaconal old-fashioned clock and a large gold-framed blackboard detailing the day's food specials. The pressed paper on the ceiling is cracked, and monstrous lilac-headed flowers sit in old bottles, looking like a floral tribute to Dame Cleo Laine's hairstyle.

What the hell is a 'Goujohn of plaice'? Whatever it is, the The Hand & Shears specialises in it, as it's advertised everywhere. There's a Goujon of plaice - a fishy dish - but a Goujohn is a mystery! Sir John Betjeman lived nearby and apparently this was his local, so hopefully such a bookish personage knew what is was.

A staircase from the back room leads to the upstairs room where the Court of Pieds Poudres, or Dusty Feet, used to sit. The area has a history of cloth trading, hence the Cloth Fair address, and the court was held to deal with traders accused of selling short measures. The Dusty Feet was a result of the 'travelling' nature of the court.

Befitting of a pub is the origin of the The Hand & Shears' name. Cloth merchants and tailors traded at the annual Bartholomew Fair on 'Smeth Field' (Smithfield), of which Cloth Fair used to border, and and after a skinful, no doubt, it was custom for the Lord Mayor to emerge from the pub and cut the ribbon pronouncing the Fair open.

There's a 1950s fireguard around the 1950s narrow-bricked fireplace that seems to have suffered under the weight of a heavy object, its meshed wire construction heavily dented. Either the Lord Mayor 'made merry' too much at a Bartholemew Fair and took a tumble or the din of the 'last orders' bell knocked someone of their feet and into the fireplace.

Review by mr_psm