West Smithfield, EC1A

This toilet was constructed to cater for patrons of the Bartholomew Fair, which despite being a cloth fair was arguably better known for hosting freak shows, so when the toilets were built they included a range of unique features including urinals set at five different heights, to cater for dwarves and giants, and a cubicle containing two adjacent toilets, which could be used by any siamese twins who were appearing.

When the fair ceased to be held, plans were made to alter the toilet’s opening hours to benefit workers at the nearby meat market, in the same way that several pubs in the area had unconventional licensing hours to cater for employees who worked through the night and finished early in the morning, but after beginning the project the City of London Corporation came up against some unexpected opposition. It turned out that public conveniences were subject to complex and labyrinthine laws laid down in the sixteenth century by the Worshipful Company of Toilet Attendants, and it was actually far more complicated to arrange late opening for public toilets than for pubs, so after several decades of legal wrangling the idea was abandoned, and the toilets have lain unused ever since.

Westminster, SW1P

The public toilets in Westminster were the cause of endless concern to Prime Minister Herbert Asquith as his premiership coincided with a rise in suffragette activity, and having thrown a brick through a window or hurled an egg at a policeman the protestors would seek sanctuary in the lavatories, knowing that as the male police force would not want to break protocol by entering a ladies’ toilet they were virtually immune from arrest. At the outbreak of the First World War Asquith successfully petitioned Parliament to temporarily close the toilets for this reason.

In the 1970s, however, it was decided that a statue of Asquith should be erected to commemorate him but after it had been up for several weeks a passer by enquired as to why the former Prime Minister had a shaggy haircut and appeared to have his pants around his ankles; closer inspection revealed that rather than depicting Herbert Asquith it was actually a statue of soft-porn star Robin Askwith, and that the sculptor commissioned to create the piece had got confused and mistakenly commemorated the actor who was at the time starring in the latest instalment of his popular film series, Confessions of a Toilet Attendant.

Camden Town, NW1

These toilets owe their existence to no less a figure than George Bernard Shaw, who served on the local council during a time of mass expansion in public toilet provision, and who stood up against the apparently philanthropic scheme’s greatest drawback: Queen Victoria, having refused to sign legislation making lesbianism illegal (on the grounds that she refused to accept such immoral behaviour could possibly exist), also refused to believe that women went to the lavatory, as her priveleged lifestyle meant she had a servant who went to the toilet for her so, assuming that the same was true of all women, only passed into law the statutes providing public toilets for men.

    Shaw, a committed socialist, was appalled that the Queen was so out of touch with her subjects so set about campaigning for women’s toilets; along with arranging petitions he wrote Mrs Warren’s Profession, a play that is today famous for dealing with the subject of prostitution but in its original production was about the social stigma that came with being a toilet cleaner and, as a result of the campaign, Queen Victoria reluctantly passed the relevant laws and this toilet was opened by Shaw in 1898 amidst much fanfare.

Kensington Gardens, W8

Originally Published in Time Out London, Aug 27-Sep 2, 2009

Of all the buildings in the Kensington area the Royal Albert Hall and Albert Memorial are arguably more architecturally significant than the nearby public conveniences but few people today realise that the toilets were originally intended by Queen Victoria to be the sole memorial to her late husband, as the result of a misfortune that befell him back in 1841.

     Prince Albert was riding through Hyde Park one evening when he was struck by the overwhelming urge to use the lavatory so, holding it in as best he could, he swiftly rode to the nearest royal palace but failed to make it and subsequently soiled his favourite breeches. Recalling the event after his death, Victoria decided the most appropriate way to commemorate Albert was to build a toilet but the Prime Minister, William Gladstone, argued that this was hardly befitting his royal status so Victoria reluctantly assented to the construction of the concert hall and memorial. However, to this day some people say that if you are in South Kensington on a dark autumn evening you can hear the haunting intestinal gurgling of Albert's ghost, searching in vain for a toilet, but unable to rest until it has found one.

RIP The Big Smoke

It was a few weeks back that a heavy-hearted e-mail came thudding into my inbox from Peter Watts, the visionary editor of Time Out's Big Smoke, harbingering the news that the section was to be axed from the magazine. And this week it has finally come to pass: the Big Smoke has dissipated into the early autumn air and will now exist only in our hearts and memories (and on the internet), which also sadly means that Stall Stories shall no longer exist in printed form. In a strange piece of reverse symmetry, the final column to appear (recalling the legend of how the toilets in Kensington Gardens were built as a memorial to Prince Albert) was, I believe, the first one I ever wrote.

But the adventure is far from over. As with the Big Smoke, I intend to keep Stall Stories alive here on the internet, and to continue uncovering the hidden histories of London's public conveniences. As long as the capital's toilets have stories to tell, I shall keep on telling them...

Baker Street, W1

Originally Published in Time Out London, Aug 20-26 2009

On a road made famous by Sherlock Holmes it is fitting that even the public toilets on Baker Street have links with the great detective, as recently discovered papers reveal that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle originally planned to have Holmes pondering complicated cases whilst sitting on the lavatory rather than smoking the pipe that would become his trademark. It was not until friends suggested the public would not take to a detective who spent his time grunting and straining on the toilet that Conan Doyle reluctantly rewrote the story.

     The nearby public toilets did, however, appear in two Holmes tales: in the first, Holmes is pursuing Professor Moriarty only for him to vanish into thin air. Puzzled, Holmes returns to his flat, unaware that his nemesis is hiding in the toilets directly underneath him, crouched between the hand dryer and the condom machine. In the second, Dr Watson is caught short as he and Holmes are on their way to Scotland Yard and uses the toilet whilst Holmes waits impatiently outside, spending the rest of their journey complaining that he should have gone before they left the flat. The toilets' appearance in these stories has made them a favourite of Holmes enthusiasts ever since.

Bishop's Park, SW6

Originally Published in Time Out London, August 13-19 2009

This toilet earned its place in cinema history when it was used during the filming of the 1976 horror classic The Omen; the scene in question featured a priest running through the park as he is pursued by Satan but after several takes the director became concerned that the actor playing the priest was failing to convey the level of fear expected of someone being hounded by Beelzebub. One of the crew members, however, noticed the nearby toilet and had an idea: he told the actor to have a rest before the next take, gave him a large pot of coffee and led him to a trailer, telling him he would be called for in half an hour, then locked him inside.

     Four hours later the cameras were set up and the trailer (which had no toilet) was unlocked; moments later the unfortunate actor burst out of the door and raced to the toilet in a blind panic, all of which was captured on film, and to this day film fans are largely unaware that the priest’s terrified expression, apparently one of someone in mortal fear of the Dark Lord, is in fact that of a man with a almost uncontrollable need to relieve himself.

Leicester Square, WC2H

Despite its location opposite a cinema famous for film premieres, this toilet is perhaps best known for its connections to the theatrical world as the result of an incident that took place in 1955 during the first English production of Samuel Becket’s Waiting for Godot at the nearby Arts Theatre. Two days before it was due to open, a major problem became apparent: the set designer had mistakenly been given a copy of the play in its original French and, not understanding it, assumed from the title, Un Attendant Godot, that it was about two toilet attendants so constructed on stage an elaborate copy of the nearest public lavatories.

When the mistake came to light an emergency meeting was held, during which Becket offered to write several new, toilet-specific scenes, but it was decided that it was too late to make any major changes so the stage was stripped almost bare and the production went ahead with hardly any props or scenery. The audience and critics, however, were deeply impressed with the way the minimalist set reflected the play’s lyrical spareness and themes of emptiness; the production was hailed as one of the best of its time, and the play’s status as a 20th century classic was assured.

London Bridge, SE1

Originally Published in Time Out London, August 6-12, 2009

In recent years an argument has raged between historians regarding who invented the flushing toilet, with some attributing it to Thomas Crapper and some arguing that it was actually invented by his great rival, Sir Henry Shitter. Others, however, say the credit should in fact go to Dick Whittington, the four-time Lord Mayor of London, who had the capital's first ever public toilet built on London Bridge in 1421 and which was said to have employed a primitive mechanism that used the Thames to flush away waste.

     The Whittington Longhouse, as it became known, was a 128-seat facility but, like so much of what we known about Whittington, the exact truth has long since been obscured by centuries of pantomime-related myth. For example, in the mid 1950s some academics claimed that not only was the flushing toilet invented by Whittington but that the litter tray was invented by his famous talking cat, although others argued that the litter tray was a much later invention, and also that the cat's linguistic abilities had been greatly exaggerated over the years. Nonetheless, whilst London's first public toilet is no longer there, its creation stands in testimony to the vital role that Whittington played in the history of London's public conveniences.

Canary Wharf, E14

The towering, pyramid-topped monolith that dominates the skyline of Canary Wharf was the centrepiece of the development when it opened but shortly afterwards it became apparent that there was a minor flaw in the design as, in the rush to create a futuristic business capital for Europe the architects had forgotten to include any toilets in the entire building. Subsequently, anyone wishing to use the lavatory was obliged to make their way outside to the nearby public conveniences, but these facilities were far too small to cope with thousands of desperate office workers and before long huge queues had formed. The workers spent an enormous amount of time away from their desks as a result, which had a devastating effect on the British economy that has been cited by some City historians as one of the major factors in causing the Black Wednesday crash of 1992. An emergency cabinet meeting was called, during which John Major approved emergency funds to build toilets in the office building and they were completed the following month, but a statue was also erected outside the public lavatories depicting two figures sitting forlornly as they wait to use the toilets, as a permanent reminder of human folly.

Piccadilly Circus, W1

Originally Published in Time Out London, July 23-29, 2009

The original toilets in Piccadilly Circus station, though now closed and replaced by some impressively clean and modern facilities, were to many people the archetypal London public toilets due to their combination of appalling sanitary conditions, used heroin needles and peculiar grunting noises coming from the cubicles, and tourists from all over the world visited them to see a slice of authentic London life. For many years, school trips would include a visit to them in their itineraries and children used to enjoy collecting the used needles they found on the floor until health and safety-obsessed killjoys put a stop to the practice in the mid 1990s.

  On a state visit to the toilets in 1998 Prince Charles praised their 'wonderfully quaint and authentic charms' and when their closure was announced in 2001 he led a campaign to keep them open by attempting to have them declared a World Heritage Site; the closure went ahead, but many people felt that a part of London's history had been lost forever. However, Prince Charles, always keen to preserve Britain's heritage, bought the original fixtures and fittings in 2002 and had a life-size replica of the toilets made, which can now be enjoyed as part of the Buckingham Palace tour.

Trafalgar Square, WC2

The public toilet located in Trafalgar Square was actually built as the result of a mix up, as when the two men commissioned to design the monument in the square, E H Baily and William Railton, began work they remembered the British propaganda campaign that claimed Napoleon had extremely small genitals and assumed that the reason the statue was to be named 'Nelson's Column' was that it would celebrate the famous military leader's manhood and virility; subsequently they set about designing a 170 foot representation of Admiral Nelson's phallus. Concerned that such a monument would remind visitors of their need to urinate they included some public toilets in their plans, but the officials to whom they submitted their design were aghast upon seeing the proposal, insisting that the statue should depict all of Lord Nelson and (despite Baily’s protests) that it be fully clothed.

     Baily and Railton had spent a lot of time on their plans, so after lengthy discussions a compromise was reached: the statue would depict Nelson in his entirety but to compensate them for the time they had already spent, the design for the toilet would be retained. This was built according to their plans and has been enjoyed by visitors ever since.

Shepherd's Bush, W12

Although this lavatory is no longer in use it gained notoriety in the 1960s as the place where Wilfred Brambell, star of the sitcom Steptoe and Son, was arrested for soliciting gay sex; having recognized Brambell the undercover officer read him his rights then concluded the arrest with the programme’s most famous catchphrase, which was, fittingly, ‘You dirty old man!’

Whilst Brambell was used to having the phrase shouted at him by the public he felt that its use in this context (this being several years before homosexuality was decriminalized) was somewhat inappropriate, but did not say anything in the hope that it would be a one off occurrence. Much to Brambell’s chagrin, however, the phrase went on to be repeated by almost everyone he encountered during the judicial process and his resentment of the programme from which it came became intense. When the judge summed up by saying, ‘I sentence you to be fined twenty pounds… You dirty old man!’ it was the last straw for Brambell; although he continued to work on the programme for several years his bitterness was irreversible and TV historians have cited Brambell's experience as the event that began the decline of one of Britain's most popular sitcoms.

Primrose Hill, NW1

Originally Published in Time Out London June 18-24 2009

Primrose Hill earned its place in literary history when HG Wells used it as the location of the Martians' headquarters in his novel the War of the Worlds, which he was inspired to write after seeing a series of images taken using primitive telescopes in the late 19th century that seemed to show canals running across the surface of Mars.

     Wells set about writing a novel in which Martians travel to earth having rendered their own planet uninhabitable due to an ill-conceived system of open-air sewers but his publishers argued that this was a less than gripping subject for a novel and urged him to rewrite it so that the Martians' motivation was evil galactic domination rather than to get sanitation tips and advice on how to build toilets. Wells reluctantly agreed but retained two things from his original draft. He kept the ending, in which the aliens are on the verge of world domination only to be killed off by a mysterious disease, as a chilling warning of the dangers of poor hygiene, and he kept the setting of Primrose Hill as he reasoned that aliens escaping poor sewerage would want to base themselves near to some excellent public toilets. 

Crystal Palace, SE19

The Crystal Palace was originally constructed in Hyde Park for the Great Exhibition of 1851 and afterwards was disassembled and rebuilt in South East London but during this process the architect, Sir Joseph Paxton, realised that he had neglected to include adequate toilet facilities in the original design so set about rectifying this. However, when the building reopened in 1854, in a ceremony attended by Queen Victoria, the flaw in the new design became apparent: like the rest of the building, the public lavatory was made out of glass and as such offered its users very little by way of privacy. The problems this presented were immediately demonstrated when the local mayor was caught short during the opening and had to use the toilet, meaning his attempts to pass a stool were watched by a crowd of several hundred including the Queen, who was not amused.

When the Crystal Palace burnt down in 1936 there was a persistent rumour that it was an act of arson committed by someone tired of the appallingly designed toilets; if that is true then their actions were rewarded, as this facility, significantly more private than the original, was subsequently built and has been enjoyed by visitors ever since.

Putney Embankment, SW15

Originally Published in Time Out London, June 4-10 2009

Now sadly closed and falling into disrepair, the public convenience in Putney gained its place in infamy when the murderer John Christie (of 10 Rillington Place) was apprehended there in 1953 whilst on the run from the police. It was a week since the warrant for Christie’s arrest had been issued and whilst crime historians disagree over why he went to Putney the commonly accepted explanation is that he was caught short whilst on the tube so alighted there to look for a toilet. However, being the subject of a police manhunt had made Christie nervous and agitated, and in his confusion he followed the signs to the ladies’ toilet, a mistake that was to cost him dearly. Realising that the gents’ was ten minutes in the other direction, Christie broke into a run, which aroused suspicion amongst passers by on the high street, one of whom recognised him and called the police.

     Christie did find the toilet but it cost him vital minutes: as he left the cubicle he was arrested before he could even wash his hands and although he was allowed to wash them once he got to the police station it was only a minor consolation as he was tried, found guilty and hanged at Pentonville later that year.  

Coram's Fields, WC1N

It is testament to the versatility of the public toilet that something originally intended simply as a place for members of the public to relieve themselves has long since outgrown its original purpose and can be used today by anyone from a junkie wanting to shoot up his latest fix to somebody just looking for a convenient place to dispose of an unwanted baby, but the way that public toilets have been adapted to multiple uses is something that has often been attributed to Thomas Coram, who established a Foundling Hospital on what is now Coram’s Fields.

  Realizing that many mothers were understandably reluctant to deposit their unwanted children in the hospital itself, Coram had some public conveniences built in nearby Guilford Place, knowing that its location was sufficiently far away from the hospital that mothers could abandon their children without being noticed but close enough that the infants could be collected before any harm could come to them, and the original design of the toilet included a hatch and chute into which the newborns could be safely deposited. The hospital left its original site in 1926 but the toilets were kept open for several more decades as a memorial to their visionary founder.

Marble Arch, W1

Originally featured in Time Out London, 14-20 May 2009

Many tourists get hopelessly lost trying to find the toilets at Marble Arch due to the labyrinth of underpasses that surrounds the station, but few know of the reason for this apparently illogical design. For when Speakers’ Corner was created in 1872 some MPs were concerned about the effect free speech would have on a volatile public so agreed to it as long as they were allowed to design the nearby conveniences, for reasons that became apparent shortly after they opened, during a speech by Karl Marx.

    Midway through his oratory, Marx went off to use the lavatory but struggled to find it and after walking around for a while soon became horribly lost and disorientated, at one point entering the ladies’ toilet by mistake and being chased out by an irate old woman who took him to be a pervert. By the time he had found the gents’ and returned to his podium, almost half an hour had passed and his audience had grown bored and wandered off, which was exactly what the MPs had intended when they designed the facility. Historians have subsequently cited this as one of the major examples of political ideologies failing to take off as a result of cunning toilet design.

Leyden Street, E1

No Jack the Ripper walk is complete without a visit to this toilet, which is forever linked to the legend of London’s best loved serial killer due to an incident that took place in 1888 when Annie Chapman, a keen amateur prostitute, was approached by a mysterious stranger who then pulled out a knife and attempted to stab her. Chapman managed to get away, and ran into the conveniences in the hope of hiding, only to make a fatal mistake: crouching in one of the cubicles she noticed that the toilet had not been flushed so pulled the chain out of habit. The silence of the East London night was immediately broken and the Ripper, alerted to her whereabouts, ran down into the facility in hot pursuit; whilst Chapman evaded him once more he eventually caught and brutally murdered her on nearby Hanbury Street.

     Decades later, however, Ripperologists used the incident in an attempt to prove the briefly fashionable theory that the Ripper was in fact Queen Victoria, arguing that she had taken to prowling the streets and committing murders in an attempt to rid London of undesirables. Their ‘proof’ was that Victorian morality would have prevented a man from entering a ladies’ toilet, so the killer must have been female, but critics pointed out that a deranged and maniacal murderer would have paid scant attention to such a piece of social etiquette, and the theory was swiftly discredited.