The Rose and Crown, Park Lane, W.1
THERE must be many a London taxi driver, sitting for his Metro-
politan Police certiﬁcate, who has been nearly ,floored by this
“Where is the only public house in Park Lane?”
There is, of course, a catch in that one, and nine out of ten
people would be wrong in their answer. They make the usual
mistake of thinking that the main thoroughfare approaching Hyde
Park Corner is Park Lane. It is, in fact, Hamilton Place; and the
continuation of Park Lane to Piccadilly is narrow and insigniﬁcant
by comparison. No matter”for it is certainly always thought of
$ Park Lane, and it is in this neighbourhood that you will ﬁnd
The Rose and Crown; and there it has been for ninety years.
Considered purely as a building, it has an interesting past.
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The Rose and Crown
It once used to house the victims who were destined to hang from
the Tyburn Tree on the top of a hill, which we now know as
Today one can descend to the cellars of The Rose and Crown to
view the original cells and doors. The cells are now used for the
much more civilized purpose not of ending life but of preserving
it-“the life of the excellent wines and beers.
Still another agreeable feature of this pleasant house is Timmy,
familiarly known to the regulars as “Timmy, the banger King”.
It will assuredly not be for Timmy’s looks that this highly
individual dog will be long remembered, for he would be one
of the ﬁrst to bark that he is far from handsome; neither will it
be for his breeding over which we will cast a tactful curtain. No,
a passion for sausages is Timmy’s chief title to fame. One has to
admit that it is a yearning which is widely understood and
Timmy the Resident
Timmy will do anything caninely possible to achieve the rich,
succulent reward of the humble sausage. I have seen him beg on
his hind legs in The Rose and Crown, then lie down and “die” for
his country, shake hands with either paw according to order,
and then sit pleading for an indeﬁnite time”always provided the prize is kept in sight.
Timmy, like everyone else, occasionally has a lean time of it
in this respect; shortage of supplies is a cruel blow to the inner
dog. There are those who sometimes look at Timmy seated on his
own reserved stall behind the bar who swear that when he closes
his eyes he is dreaming, and they are quite certain they know what
he is dreaming.
But don’t get the impression that Timmy is merely decorative.
He has a keen sense of time, and at the cry of “Time, Gentlemen,
please” he makes his presence felt in support of his master. In
default of sausages, he is reported to have a fondness for seizing
trouser turn-ups, and a playful pull will indicate that it’s time you
got a taxi or a bus.
As you‘ leave The Rose and Crown the chances are that you will
hail a taxi. But I like to think that when this pleasant house was
ﬁrst opened to the public nearly a century ago, the departing patron
would call for the link-man to guide his footsteps in a homeward
direction. For then it was the early days of London by gaslight.