Judy – Cocker Spaniel
The King’s Arms,
Shepherd Market, W. 1
STROLLING down Piccadilly towards Hyde Park Corner, one
sometimes wonders during the homeward-bound rush of Londoners
why some of them don’t spend a little time in rediscovering their
own city. So many Londoners seem to know less about the historic
points than Provincials.
Take, for example, the fascinating square known as Shepherd Market. True, it is not a square at all, within the meaning of theAct; but let us not be academic while Clio beckons.
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The King’s Arms
Steeped in history, it derives its name from a Mr. Shepherd,
who once traded there. It is recorded that Emma, Lady Hamilton,
was the ﬁrst customer in Mr. Shepherd’s shop. One wonders when
all that was left of that full-blown beauty was sinking in squalor
into the limbo of the lost whether Mr. Shepherd came to her
rescue. . . .
Shepherd Market is a busy little centre, with its shops (especially
antique shops), its pubs and its clubs. ‘
Among the pubs is Shepherds. The expression “meet me at
Shepherd’s so often heard in war-time”meant, when translated,
exactly what it said. It still is the battle cry for the cognoscenti;
and sometimes as you approach the crowded bar, battle cry is
the word to use; such is the price of age and popularity the world
And as you think of Emma and her almost unbelievable career,
you may come to earth and decide to phone a friend. While you
await your number, you might well take a look round. This is no
ordinary telephone booth: you are sitting in a 300-year-old sedan
chair. This is, I am informed, one of but two of its kind in existence.
It makes one think of cobbled streets and of great lumbering
coaches that plodded painfully before Macadam and Telfer had
made the roads of England a pleasure instead of an adventure.
And while we have another half for old times’ sake, we savour
the “agreeable sight of the beer being pulled up by Wedgwood-
handled pumps. Assuredly, Shepherds’s is a gem in the corpus of
London pubdom. ‘
The Old Chesterﬁeld.
Further down the square is another pub of great interest, The
Old Chesterﬁeld. While the bombs dropped Mr. Wendell Willkie
was seen to throw a pretty dart and sink a pint as though to the
manner bom. Of all Mr. R00sevelt’s presidential opponents, he
is believed to have liked Mr. Willkie most. That this is true can
be gauged from the fact that F. D. R. sent Mr. Willkie over as his
After a quick appreciative glance at The Grapes and Dirty Dick’s,
we come to The King’s Arms. In this delightful, old world atmosphere
Judy has her being. She is a saucy little blue roan cocker spaniel,
with a pedigree about which she can very properly bark.
I came across Judy waiting (let us all call it waiting) outside
an exclusive oyster bar in Curzon Street. Before she could indulge
in any extravagant “shopping” adventure Judy was “arrested” by
a policeman on a charge of wandering without visible means of
support. This legal jargon was-“and remains”an affront to Judy’s
She had, though, to spend that night in
Battersea Dogs’ Home, an experience she does not appear to have
appreciated. She was allowed out the following day on canine
bail since when she has never, so far as is known, suffered any
relapse of shopping orgies.
Since that dreadful time Judy has never left The Kings Arms
or indeed those of her mistress or master. Grime, it seems, does
not pay even in Judy’s little world.