I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as free as air — or as free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will permit a man to be. Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1859-1930), A Study in Scarlet
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Ahhhh, I’ve been listening to the audiobooks, as read by the wonderful Mr Stephen Fry Esq., whilst in lockdown. Heard this very one last Thursday – cracking tale!
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In 1951 Abbey National hosted a Sherlock Holmes exhibition for the Festival of Britain. It featured much Holmes’ ephemera including crumpets supplied each day by a local baker and left on a plate with two different sets of bite marks.
When the exhibition was over, it went on a world tour before returning to London. A publican of a Charing Cross pub, the Northumberland Arms (the re-named The Sherlock Holmes), bought it exhibits and put them on display in an upstairs room where it remains to this day. It features what Holmes’ study would have looked in Victorian London and naturally, the walls are scarlet – yes a Study in Scarlet.
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