You can’t beat the view from a London double-decker bus, says Martin Collins

LONDON’S ancient streets and buildings are covered in layers of stories that tell us about those who have made the capital home.

And to really get a feeling of the memories held within the fabric of our city, says historian Martin Collins, you have to cast your eyes upwards.

In a new book, London From the Top of a Bus, by the Kentish Town-based academic and part-time tour guide, he invites the reader to hop on a double-decker bus, take a seat upstairs and join him on routes that tell the stories from upper storeys.

He was inspired by a tome penned just after the end of the Second World War, written by London historian Lucy Masterman: she drew on Victorian prime minister William Gladstone’s advice to a tourist, stating if they really wanted to see London, they should hop on a double-decker.

With the city constantly evolving to create a wider sense of churn and change, it was time to update her work, he writes. And as well as the architectural landscape changing all the time, so have the bus routes.

Martin includes the 88 and the 19, which snake through Camden, Islington and into Westminster, and describes in delightful detail what you can see.

He begins with some easy tips: “The best view from the bus is without doubt from the front seat on the left,” he writes.

“Generally, when travelling by bus, the best time to use it is out of busy hours at the weekends for the City and the weekdays for the shopping areas.”

But this only makes sense for the traveller concerned with going from A to B.

“When roads are clear, buses travel fast, but then the only opportunity to see interesting buildings is when the bus halts at bus stops and traffic lights,” he adds, noting that the scourge of city journeys are to your advantage when you’re gazing out of a window. “Heavy traffic slowing the bus can for these trips actually be an advantage.”

On board an 88 southwards from Regent Street, he describes the architecture and reveals the people and trades behind the facades.

Martin Collins

By Glasshouse Street, he tells of the glass factories found there in the 17th century – and how they used what was euphemistically called “night soil”. It was human excrement, which provided saltpetre.

He points out such landmarks like the Hotel Café Royal, where, in 1895, Oscar Wilde was advised to drop his allegation of libel against the Marquis of Queensbury (he famously didn’t). The Marquis had also used the Royal to draw up his boxing code.

In the 50s, it hosted numerous bouts, and Martin recalls the following tale: “A customer for nearly 40 years was a small, shabby man who drank soda water,” he states.

“When a gang fight started, he walked over to the ring leader and whispered something in his ear – the whole gang left.”

The little chap was Jim Carey, the last ever bare-fist middle-weight boxing champion, and he had informed the trouble-makers that if they did not desist disturbing his contemplative drink, he’d have every boxer in London there in 10 minutes.

Liberty’s Regent Street facade, less known compared to their timber-framed entrance in Great Marlborough Street, is described: “High up on the roof, three carved figures look down from the parapet upon [an] enormous 35 metre frieze, claimed to be the longest sculpture in London.

“It depicts ‘Britannia with the Wealth of the East and West’ showing the wealth of distant countries being brought to London by camels, elephants and ships,” writes Marton.

After catching the No 19 from The Angel to Hyde Park corner, Martin notes how part of the journey follows that of many a condemned criminal on their way to meet a grisly fate at the Tyburn gallows.

And en route, the bus chugs past the Angel Inn, near St Giles. This hostelry always offered a drink to the convict to help instil courage for what was about to happen.

As Martin reveals, the common phrase of being “on the wagon” is said to come from here – as the person driving the horses could not leave their post to cadge a beverage.

“The phrase ‘one for the road’ and ‘gone west’ may also be associated with this one-way journey to the gallows,” adds Martin.

Refusing a last drink did not work out too well for a prisoner called Bawtry, says Martin.

He declined the offer and was taken on his journey to the gallows.

“He received a pardon, but it arrived after he was dead,” writes Martin. “If he had delayed to have the drink, it might have arrived before it was too late.”

Martin’s book is packed with such fascinating asides. It is page-turning guide to a city that, due to our current troubles, is greatly missed. It makes this book all the more welcome.

• London From the Top of a Bus. By Martin Collins, Clink Street, £12.99.