Jackie – French Poodle

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THIS is a sad little story, in a way, since it is the last of the series
for the time being, at any rate.

We have had a lot of fun (at least I hope we have) popping
in and out of the infinite variety of taverns, inns, and pubs
that make the life of the Londoner richer than it might other-
wise be.

And if the pubs are of infinite variety, what shall we say of the
countless canine friends we have made? But if we feel in the least
sad at parting, we have only to consider Jackie of ,
and once again there will be a song in our hearts.


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It will be plain that from all the  pubs that I have entered
to find new friends,human and canine, there must be one which
I use above all others. Of course, there is, Its name? .

and Jackie

But it’s no good pretending that I just entered this highly agree-
able house, ordered a pint, and sunk into an artistic coma. Nothing
of the sort. For one thing, I had to contend with Jackie, and between
ourselves, his constant interruptions have become a great source
of pleasure to me, so much so that I had to draw him. What do you
think of our Jackie? –

He’s a handsome French poodle, liver-coloured, of two summers.
He’s not a standard size; neither is he a miniature. He’s an in
between, if you follow me.

No one could fail to become fond of Jackie. For one thing, he’s
an extremely friendly dog. Who can resist the appeal of a friendly
dog? I know I can’t, nor do I want to. He is also the proud father
of seven youngsters. I don’t know whether he looks after his children’s
welfare or not, but he looks after his own very well, so I expect
he spares a fatherly thought for his offspring who live only a stone’s
throw away from The Denmark.

His wife takes charge of the children,
and doubtless there are not infrequent canine conversaziones, the
code of which has for ever largely remained a mystery to mere

As for the house itself, there is a good deal of mystery about
that, too. That it is very old weiknow; that there must be an
abundance of historical associations is obvious. Yet, try as I can
and have done, I have found very little to go on.

There is, though, one tradition: this has it that when the Danes
came up the Thames and landed at Chelsea Reach, they wanted
to establish a place for drinking purposes, and having to call
their “house” something, very naturally called it The Denmark.

Whether there is the least truth in the legend, I do not know.
Certainly it has a near nautical shape; it is also very ship-
shape, as you might expect since the landlord had the honour
and privilege to serve in the Royal Navy. The decorations tell as
much. You will find here “port” and “starboard” lights together
with a clock put together in the form of a lighthouse. Nor must we
forget the many seafaring relics he has so lovingly assembled and
utilized to decorate the oak-panelled walls.

We linger therefore over the thought that the Danes are a
great seafaring nation who once had the misfortune to meet Nelson’s
Band of Brothers in their most aggressive mood. So the name of
Denmark is not altogether unfitting.

We have already seen some of the historical background of the
district in which The Denmark is situated. So we can but copy Mine
Host, and say “time”. ‘

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