Maze, The Manor of the

Above: Map of the land around Tooley Street, showing the approximate boundaries of the manors related to the Manor of the Maze (1280×800).

‘The Manor of the Maze’ is really quite an intriguing name. It was situated at the northern end of what is now the London Borough of Southwark and its site today is covered by part of London Bridge Station and also part of Guy’s Hospital. You could be forgiven for not having heard about it because the Manor has not been in existence since at least the 1700s and all remaining traces of it gradually vanished in the years following the opening of Guy’s Hospital in 1725.

John Aubrey, in his ‘Anecdotes and Traditions’, says, ‘At Southwark was a maze, which is now converted into buildings bearing that name;’ while Peter Cunningham in his ‘Handbook of London’, published in 1849, says that ‘Maze Pond is so called from the ‘Manor of Maze’ which formerly existed here’.

In terms of size, this piece of land was relatively small. Its northern boundary was Tooley Street and it may have extended south to the street called Snowsfields. Its exact east-west boundaries are not clear. Its western boundary was some distance from the numerous inns lining the east side of Borough High Street. It may have extended east nearly as far as Bermondsey Street. The Maze was never a true manor but just a large landholding. The map at the top shows a very approximate boundary for the Maze. It would be more accurate to say that the dotted line shows land that was definitely part of the Maze but that the boundary line is only approximate.

It was mentioned by John Stow in his ‘Survay of London’ as being opposite ‘the walks and gardens appertaining to the inn of the Abbot of Battle’ – meaning that Battle Inn was land on the north side of Tooley Street with the entrance to the ‘The Maze’ being on the south side of Tooley Street. In fact, Battle Inn – the London house of the Abbot of Battle Abbey, in Sussex – stood on land now covered by Hay’s Galleria. Purely by chance the pedestrian entrance to London Bridge Station, from Tooley Street beside the Shipwright’s Arms pub, is almost on the exact spot.

Further details of the Maze are also known – listed in ‘A History of the County of Surrey: Volume 4’ published by the Victoria County History, London, in 1912. The Manor of the Maze was in 1386 in the tenure of Sir William Burcestre, knight. It was held in dower in 1423 by Margaret, widow of Sir William, and was settled after her death on his son John. The latter is stated, in a survey made in 1429–30, to have held a water mill in Southwark of the Abbot of Battle for a yearly rent of £3 6s. 8d (meaning £3, six shillings and eight old pence). Probably not only a mill but the whole property of William and John Burcestre was held of the abbot. By 1472 the manor had been ‘alienated’, being granted by Robert Lemyng, brother and heir of William Lemyng, lately citizen and grocer of London, to Roger Copley and others. The land followed the descent of the manor of Gatton until after the sale of Gatton in 1654 by John Weston of Sutton and Mary his wife, daughter and co-heir of William Copley, after which it descended with the Sutton Place estate until as late as 1814, when it was held by John Webbe Weston of Sutton Place. This, of course, explains why Weston Street was so-named. The street used to run south from Tooley Street, under London Bridge Station until the whole station was rebuilt. The southern continuation of the street remains – extending south as far as Long Lane.

The later years of the manor are also described in the Victoria County History. From 1550 it was acquired by the City and provided it with an annual rent of 3s. 2 1⁄2d (three shillings and two and a half old pence). The Manor was probably conveyed to the land of Battle Abbey which leads to the conclusion that both properties were within the Great Liberty Manor. Stow describes the Maze as ‘Much other buildings of small tenements are thereon builded, replenished with strangers and other, for the most part poor people.’ In 1650 the manor was worth £480 a year, but two-thirds of it had been let to George Weston at an annual rent of £220, because all the houses were out of repair, two of them had lately been burnt, an expenditure of £60 on the amendment of a wharf would shortly be necessary, and some tenants were too poor to pay arrears of rent.

Filling a few scant details of the Manor of the Maze, there was an entrance gate on the south side of Tooley Street on a site almost opposite today’s main entrance to Hay’s Galleria (the site of the gate is shown on the map). As has already been mentioned, Weston Street was so-named after owners of the land. There was no manor house on the land. As already mentioned, most of the land was fields, pasture and many small houses. One other street whose name is related to the ancient manor is Great Maze Pond, which is the subject of a separate blog.


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City Views from Greenwich Pier

Above: View of the City on 9 June 2019 from near Greenwich Pier (1024×768).

Some of us, with longer memories than others, can remember walking along the riverfront at Greenwich and looking towards the City of London when the only buildings that were tall enough to be seen were the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral and Tower 42 (completed in 1977 when it was then called the Nat West Tower).

That all seems a very long time ago. Today, you really cannot fail to notice the City of London – even from as far away as Greenwich – because its buildings are so tall that they stand out on the skyline like a line of tall slim giants. From some viewpoints in London, the enormous tower blocks appear to be bunched together in some undignified ‘huddle of glass and steel’. The view of the City from near Greenwich Pier does have some buildings ‘bunched’ together but – purely by chance – others are ‘separated’ by the sky as you look at them. That last sentence probably should read ‘separated by sky NOW’ because who knows what will happen in the coming years.

For several decades, the tall office blocks rose no higher than Tower 42, which held the title of ‘Tallest building the City’ for a considerable time. It is at the time of writing the fifth tallest building in the City. Over the last few years – probably since about 2015 – there has been a noticeable ‘step change’ in the height of offices in the City. The increase in the height seems to have been led by the Shard of Glass (completed in 2012). The Shard stands beside London Bridge Station which is in Southwark, just south of London Bridge and not in the City of London at all. Since that time, ‘giants’ rising well above the height of Tower 42 are starting to emerge, with others in the pipeline.

It is causing unease among many commentators on London, including eminent writers and even some architects. For those who believe that such large buildings could be stopped in their tracks if only the City planning committee would say ‘No’, it is not as easy as that. Members of that committee have been interviewed on television about the decisions and here are a few observations. When a new building goes for approval, it has to conform with many regulations – like the correct number of fire escape stairs, the number of toilets and all the other petty regulations. By the time the plans are submitted, the architects have sorted all that out. Then the committee may talk about sight-lines and whether the building conforms to those regulations. That, too, will also have been sorted out by the developers.

In the end, the committee will rule on whether the height is appropriate for the location and whether the new building overshadows a historic site. The developers may be asked to reduce the height and resubmit the plans. At the next committee meeting, those sitting around the table have little to complain about. They cannot reject the building just because they think it is ‘ugly’ or because ‘they just don’t like it’. So, in the end, the building is passed because the committee has run out of things to which to object. That is how we find the City looking like it does today. Many people find it a very sad situation.

Returning to the view at the top, some of the buildings will be described – working from left to right. On the extreme left (in pale green) is a 22-storey block of flats which were sold to a developer shortly after the year 2000. A few more stories were added on top and the building was refurbished as luxury accommodation. It was originally one of three such towers on the Pepys Estate, in Deptford.

Further left is a cluster of buildings. (1) 22 Bishopsgate, the tallest of them all and under construction when the picture was taken in June 2019. (2) ‘The Cheesegrater’, actually called Leadenhall Building, 122 Leadenhall Street, with the diagonal struts on its side. (3) ‘The Scalpel’, actually called 52-54 Lime Street, which is to the left of the cluster. (4) Tower 42, with an irregular-height top, is only partly seen as a dark shape on the right of 22 Bishopsgate. (5) Aviva Building, an insurance company whose 118 m ‘chunky’ tower appears quite low in comparison to the newer buildings. It is to the right of the cluster.

Further left, standing alone, is the unmistakable shape of the Gherkin, whose actual name is 30 St Mary Axe.

Further left, also standing alone is the rectangular building called 100 Bishopsgate. It was completed in 2019.

Further left, the Heron Tower, a tall slim office block with an irregular-shaped top. Most people still call it the ‘Heron Tower’ but, due to naming dispute in 2014, it is now called ‘Salesforce Tower’. The City of London has made it clear that their preference would be for it to adopt the name of its actual address of 110 Bishopsgate. Much lower and to its left is the ‘Can of Ham’ which stands out clearly from this viewpoint. It actually has the boring name of 60 St Mary Axe.

Finally, the furthest to the right is a new office block under construction. It is not yet known what that one is called.

On the Thames, in the foreground is Masthouse Pier, which is near Masthouse Terrace and Burrell’s Wharf – on the SW of the Isle of Dogs.


Comment – A Christmas Break

We have spent much of the autumn term studying part of the City of London – this year around Bishopsgate and Cornhill. If you would like a complete list to date of titles around Bishopsgate, then make sure you are on the Website.  To do that just click on the BLUE heading in any email. Once on the Website, click on the Category called ‘/City-Bishopsgate’ (listed on the right-hand side of the Webpage) and the list will appear – from where you can browse any of the articles. Similarly for titles around Cornhill, just click on ‘/City-Cornhill’ and the current list for that area of study will appear.

We shall be taking a break during December and January. As usual, a ‘mixed bag’ of blogs is planned, including a few seasonal blogs in the week leading up to Christmas. There is always plenty going on in London and there is never any shortage of topics related to other places in Inner London.


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Garraway’s Coffee House, Change Alley

Above: Ornate stone sign on a wall in Change Alley, recording the site of Garraway’s Coffee House.

From the historical perspective, it is sad to consider that if you asked someone walking past you in the street to name a coffee shop (any coffee shop), the answer would almost certainly be either ‘Starbucks’ or ‘Costa’. The first coffee shop – or ‘coffee house’ as they called them back then – opened in London in 1652. It was in St Michael’s Alley which runs south off the street called Cornhill. There is a City Plaque on the wall stating that the coffee house opened at the sign of ‘the Pasqua Rosee’s Head’. There is still a coffee shop and wine bar on the site today – but not the same one!

Suddenly, during the 17th century, coffee houses became ‘the thing’. Whereas people had met in ale-houses, taverns or public houses for centuries, they were being seen as rather rowdy and unseemly. The newer coffee houses became trendy and were definitely the place in which to be seen. Whereas taverns were where people had a drink – with or without the company of friends – coffee houses became places to meet for hours and socialise with your friends. This applied, of course, to those who did not have a workplace to attend! Chocolate houses also started to emerge but they seem to have been taken less seriously than the coffee house. If you think there is an ‘epidemic’ of coffee shops today then it might be worth pointing out that in 1676 coffee houses had become so numerous in London that Charles II tried in vain to suppress them. A few decades later, in 1702, when Anne became queen, there were said to be 500 coffee houses in London. They would have been mainly the City of London and Westminster. By 1800 the number was estimated to have risen to 8,000 across the same area. That is a staggering increase that Costa could only dream of today.

Above: One of the very few prints that exist of Garraway’s.

For anyone who knew the City in the 17th century, if you asked them to name a coffee house, the answer would almost certainly have been ‘Garraway’s’. It was not that it was larger than other coffee houses but its fame spread far and wide. Sadly the premises no longer exist but there is an ornate sign on the wall marking its exact site in Change Alley.

The story of Garraway’s Coffee House started in 1656 when Thomas Garraway became the first man to sell tea in the City [Lillywhite; n433 p202]. Tea in those days cost between £0.80 and £2.50 (Pounds Sterling) per pound in weight which was an enormous price. According to the Bank of England inflation calculator, the figure of £2.50 in 1656 would be equivalent to about £550.00 in today’s values. That is an unbelievably vast sum for one pound of tea (by weight)

Garraway’s Coffee House and the equally well-known Jonothan’s Coffee House nearby both stood in Change Alley. This alley was at the hub of the financial world in the City of London. It still exists, lying between Cornhill and Lombard Street. It is not a single alleyway. It actually has no less than five entrances – two from Cornhill, two from Lombard Street and one from Birchin Lane.

Unlike taverns, coffee houses tended to be frequented by men of a particular profession. In this case, Garraway’s was primarily the haunt of merchants and medical men. Eminent doctors were to be found in the establishment, each one sitting at a particular table, surrounded by patients, surgeons, and apothecaries. In addition, fashionable physicians had their special seats in the coffee room where their patients met and consulted them.

As for the merchants, many of them met there to discuss business. In particular, it was a place of great resort in the time of the South Sea Bubble when hundreds, if not thousands, of investors, went bankrupt as shares reached unsustainable levels and the inevitable consequences were that people lost the entire value of their shares.

It will be noted that Garraway’s Coffee House was founded 10 years before the Great Fire of London destroyed much of the City in 1666. After the Great Fire, the coffee house was rebuilt. About 80 years later, in 1748, the building burnt down once again – this time due to a disastrous fire in the area of Cornhill. Many of the buildings in the vicinity had to be rebuilt once more, including Garraway’s. The establishment finally closed on 11 August 1866 and became the site of a bank. An ornamental stone plaque marking the site of the famous coffee house can be seen on the wall in Change Alley. Sadly, the walls of the alley are mainly tiled and hardly present the visitor with a historic setting.

As well as being a place of drinking and socialising, Garraway’s was also well-known for selling wines and spirits by the bottle or by the crate of bottles. Wines were sold at Garraway’s in 1673 ‘by the candle’ – meaning that the boxes of wines were sold by auction for a limited time, determined by the time it took for an inch of the candle to burn. At the commencement of the sale, the auctioneer would read a description of the goods and the conditions on which they were to be disposed of. A piece of candle, usually an inch long, was lighted and bidding would commence. The last bidder at the time the light went out was then declared the purchaser. During the 18th century, Garraway’s became well-known for the sale of bottles of fine wines. In later times it was also famous for selling bottles of expensive brandy.


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Boar’s Head Tavern, Eastcheap

Above: Stone sign of the Boar’s Head Tavern that used to be mounted on the wall of the tavern before it was demolished.

This article describes a tavern that was once one of the most well-known in the City from medieval times, through Tudor times and right up to the early 19th century. Sadly, although it was well-known to anyone who knew the City, there are no prints of the hostelry. It was taken down before the days of photography and the only relic we have today is a stone sign of a Boar’s Head that used to be set into the front wall of the tavern.

The tavern’s first recorded mention was in 1349 [Lillywhite; n3781 p67, n3772 p66]. It is mentioned in a will of 1380 as ‘Boreshedde in Eastchepe’. It was also described as the ‘Bores head near London Stone’.

In the late 16th century, the tavern was well known to William Shakespeare, Ben
Jonson and Richard Burbage. The Boar’s Head Tavern is featured in historical plays by Shakespeare – particularly Henry IV, Part 1 – as a favourite resort of the fictional character Falstaff and his friends in the early 15th century. The landlady is called Mistress Quickly.

The premises were totally destroyed in the Great Fire of London, on Monday 3 September 1666. It was rebuilt shortly afterwards and became one of the chief taverns in the City. During the 18th century, an annual Shakespeare banquet was held in the tavern – the last one being held in 1784. The tavern, which stood on the south side of Eastcheap, was demolished about 1830 to make way for King William Street to be laid out as the new approach road for the new London Bridge.

Above: The modern Eastcheap and Cannon Street overlaid approximately with the medieval street plan from about 1550. Churches that still remain in existence have been added, along with the site of The Monument to the Great Fire of London. (1280×800) CLICK ON MAP TO ENLARGE.

The Position of the Boar’s Head Tavern

We now come to the ‘tricky bit’. The obvious question is ‘Before it was demolished, where did the tavern stand?’ It might be thought that, at the very least, there would be a City Plaque marking the site but, unfortunately, that is not really possible. When the tavern was built, it stood on the south side of a long uninterrupted thoroughfare that was made up of three streets running east from the junction with the street called Walbrook. Between Walbrook and the original junction with Clement’s Lane was Candlewick Street – now known as Cannon Street. Continuing east was Great Eastcheap, most of which lies under the complex junction with the diverted Gracechurch Street and King William Street. The latter feeds traffic onto the present London Bridge. Further east again was Little Eastcheap which, in the main, is now known simply as Eastcheap. The map of modern-day streets has the original medieval street plan superimposed onto it showing the approximate layout known to exist in the 1550s.

A look at the map will show why there is no City Plaque. Such a plaque would make little sense because the site is part of the complex street junction and the site of the tavern lies buried under the large expanse of tarmac. The only remnant of the tavern is a large stone sign in the form of a boar’s head. It was carefully removed from the building and during the 1960s it was on show in what was then called Guildhall Museum. It is believed that it was on show when the Museum of London opened in December 1976. At a later date, the sign was acquired by the Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre where it is on show in one of the buildings.

Medieval Eastcheap

To help explain the way in which the street plan has changed since the 16th century, an approximate medieval street plan is shown above, superimposed on a section of the Google street map. The map explains which part of the street was then called Candlewick Street (now Cannon Street). It also shows how today’s Eastcheap was then divided into Great Eastcheap and Little Eastcheap. A large part of Great Eastcheap has been lost to the busy street intersection where King William Street connects with the partly realigned Gracechurch Street.


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All Hallows, Lombard Street

Above: Print showing the church standing
in its churchyard, surrounded by offices.

Looking at some of the splendid maps of Central London – like those by Rocque, Horwood, Greenwood or Stanford – you cannot help but lament the fact that not all the magnificent churches designed by Christopher Wren after the Great Fire of London are with us today. If you don’t know London well, you might expect that the reason is because of the bombing, especially during the Second World War. Your guess would be wrong. Although many of Wren’s churches were badly damaged during the bombing, only four of them were not rebuilt later. During the three centuries since they were designed by Wren, no less than 17 churches were taken down shortly before the Second World War. In general, those 17 churches were demolished either because the congregation had dwindled or because they were in the way of Victorian modernisation schemes.

The church under consideration here was demolished in 1937 because the structure was found to be unsafe. Its tower was reconstructed at Twickenham and incorporated into the new church of All Hallows, which also received its bells and complete interior fittings. While some of its remains have benefitted another parish outside the City of London, the loss of a Wren church is still rather sad.

Churches by the name of ‘All Hallows’ are so-called because they were dedicated to ‘all the hallowed saints’. The name is very similar in meaning to churches today called ‘All Saints’. The original church was a very early foundation – believed to have been in existence by AD 1000. The first documented mention was in 1053 when Brihtmaer gave the rectory to the church at Canterbury.

The church was rebuilt 1494-1516, the tower not being completed until 1544. The church was damaged during the Great Fire of London (1666) – but not badly. The bells were re-hung in the steeple in 1679 and the walls coped with straw to arrest further decay. These repairs proved to be unsatisfactory and Christopher Wren was asked to rebuild the church in 1694. The church was ‘tucked away’ behind other buildings that lined the corner of Lombard Street and Gracechurch Street which means that the churchyard was a ‘little oasis’ of calm, away from the bustle of the City traffic.

The church was known to John Wesley who, in 1735, preached his first sermon without notes in the church. He had arrived at the church to find that his manuscript was missing. After mentioning it to the caretaker, he received the advice ‘What, can’t you trust God for a sermon?’. He never again took notes into the pulpit for his sermons.

Above: Parish marker for All Hallows, Lombard Street (right), accompanied by on for the adjacent parish of St Benet, Gracechurch Street. These markers are on the side of a modern office block on the west side of Gracechurch Street.

The church was ‘repaired and beautified’ in 1847, once again in 1870 and also in 1880. In 1937-38 the church was demolished by the Ecclesiastical Commissioners and the parish was united with the nearby parish of St Edmund the King. All Hallows had been a ‘peculiar parish’, not under the jurisdiction of the Bishop of London, but directly under the Archbishop of Canterbury. The site of the church was in Langbourne Ward, on the north side of Lombard Street, at No 48, on the corner of Lombard Street at the junction with Gracechurch Street. The only remaining tangible evidence for the City church is in the form of several parish markers which are still to be seen on modern buildings in and around Gracechurch Street.

The stone tower was carefully taken down and re-erected as part of the modern church of All Hallows on the Great Chertsey Road, Twickenham. The tower is linked to the modern church by a cloister in which are a number of memorials from the old City church. In the tower is an ancient gateway, erected in Lombard Street at the entrance to All Hallows soon after the Great Fire. The modern church also has the original pulpit, the reredos, the pews, two sword rests, an ancient bread cupboard, the organ, a chandelier, the choir stalls and the churchwarden’s pews. The Twickenham church was consecrated in 1940 and remained safe from the bombing.


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St Nicholas Acon

Above: Remaining metalwork from a 19th-century water-pump in Nicholas Lane, showing the initials of the parish. The water spout was where the round plate is to be seen (near the top of the metalwork).

When the medieval street plan was in its original state – long before King William Street was cut through in the 1820s – the three lanes that it cut across each had a church. They are (from west to east) Abchurch Lane, Nicholas Lane and Clement’s Lane. Abchurch Lane still has its post-1666 church (St Mary Abchurch) as does Clements Lane (St Clement, Eastcheap). The church that used to stand in Nicholas Lane was called St Nicholas Acon.

The church of St Nicholas Acon was first mentioned in 1084 when Godwynus and his wife Turnud gave it to St Mary and St Aldhelm in the church of St Nicholas at Malmesbury – a market town in Wiltshire. The name Acon may be a corruption of ‘Hacun’, a benefactor of the church. Nicholas Lane was first mentioned in 1258. The church stood on the west side of the lane. Although some sources spell the name as ‘St Nicholas Acons’, Harben’s ‘Dictionary of London’ has the spelling as ‘St Nicholas Acon’. That spelling is followed in this article.

Above: Part of Ogilby and Morgan’s map (1676) showing the ground plan of St Nicholas Acon and the churches in the two adjacent lanes.

The Great Fire of London (1666) swept across this part of London and destroyed the church. It was among many that were not rebuilt and its parish was united with St Edmund the King. If you are thinking that it would be informative to see an early print of the pre-Fire church, then you are out of luck. While prints exist for many of the medieval churches in the City, sadly there is no known print of this church – even on a pictorial early map. For that reason, part of the large scale map by Obilby and Morgan in 1667 – showing what the City street plan looked like before the Great Fire of London has been reproduced. It is possibly the only reliable map to show the plan of this elusive church.

Although the church no longer exists, that does not mean that there are no clues for the observant visitor to find. To start with, there is a City Plaque on the west side of Nicholas Lane, marking the original site of the church. A second, more unusual piece of evidence is part of the front plate of a metal water-boss (or water-pump) in Nicholas Lane, on the east side, almost opposite the site of the church. The metalwork on the parish pump remains from the 19th century and still bears the initials of the original parish. This is surprising because by the 19th century the church had ceased to exist for almost 200 years.


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St Mary Abchurch

Above: Looking north in Abchurch Lane, at the church standing beside the paved area that was once the churchyard.

This beautiful and unusual church with a strange name stands tucked away and almost out of sight of the pedestrians in Cannon Street, even though its site is only a matter of yards from the north side of the thoroughfare. Walking west along Cannon Street, the second turning on the north side is quite narrow and goes by the name of Abchurch Lane. Walking into the lane you will first notice a small churchyard which is now paved in an ornamental fashion. Standing on its north side is the small rectangular church.

Harben, in his ‘Dictionary of London’ explains that the church was first mentioned in 1198. It is believed that ‘Ab’ is short for ‘Aba’, ‘Abba’ or ‘Abbo’ which are believed to be personal names from early times and probably refers to the founder or rebuilder of the church. Abchurch Lane, which takes its name from the church, was first mentioned in the 20th year Edward I (1291). Churches came ‘thick and fast’ in medieval times with almost one standing in every street or lane in the City. In a world which suffered sickness and knew that the almost certain outcome would be death, there were no real hospitals as we know them today. Wealthy people, therefore, did not think of leaving their money building of a new hospital but they often left funds to provide for the founding of a new church or the rebuilding of one that was already in existence.

The medieval church stood until the time of the Great Fire of London (1666). On Monday 3 September the flames engulfed this part of the City with the result that the little church was completely destroyed. The City authorities had the church rebuilt 1681-86 by Christopher Wren. He was under considerable pressure to save money wherever possible and so, in this case, he used the foundations of the old church on which to erect the walls of the new one. The church also contains a particularly fine reredos by Grinling Gibbons.

Many of Wren’s churches were built of stone. St Mary Abchurch was built of brick with stone quoins (or large rectangular stone blocks) supporting its corners – a feature that was typical of Wren’s design for many of his buildings.

During the London Blitz, a bomb hit the church in September 1940. The greatest damage done was to the dome. The church was repaired by W Godfrey between 1948 and 1953. The dome was restored by E W Tristan and work on it was completed after his death in 1952 by the artist Walter Hoyle. The dome is one of the finest features of the interior. It had been removed from the church by order of the churchwardens and kept in a place of safety for the duration of the war.

The church contains a large number of box-pews, dating from the time of rebuilding by Wren. It is one of the last churches in the City to retain its box pews which gives it a unique feel as you walk around. The church was designated a Grade I listed building on 4 January 1950.

At the time of writing, the church is easier to see from Cannon Street than it has been since the Second World War. This is due to a neighbouring site being cleared in preparation for a new southerly entrance to the busy Bank underground station – on the east side of Abchurch Lane. The extensive tunnelling so close to the church has caused some structural problems for the church with cracks appearing in the north wall and one of the interior doors not being able to be closed properly due to structural movement. It is expected that, once the construction work for the new station entrance is complete, the structural problems in the church will be addressed.


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