Winter 1946. Bombs have laid waste to huge swaths of north London. The rebuild has yet to begin in earnest. Many residential properties are still in a state of shock, fractured windowpanes patched up with cardboard to stop the icy wind of a particularly harsh winter whistling in. Canonbury Square resident, former BBC reporter and writer George Orwell sits down in a freezing flat to type a column for the London Evening Standard. Although keen to return to the isolation of Jura to properly commit to his follow-up to the recently published Animal Farm, Orwell decides to compose a paean to a subject close to his heart: the British pub.
Published as the Saturday Essay on the 9 February edition of the paper, Orwell's piece – The Moon Under Water – promised "the secrets of his favourite public house". Although the Moon is a work of fiction, it stands as the blueprint to pub perfection. It is two minutes from the nearest bus stop but the drunks and rowdies never seemed to find it. It is home only to regulars and locals and the barmaid calls you "dear" irrespective of sex or age. It serves solid, reliable food and the beer always arrives in the right kind of vessel. It is salvation – refuge from the rubble and the rationing. Read Full
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