London Calling.
London Walks connecting.
This is London. This is London Walks. Streets Ahead. Story time.
History time.
Yesterday was foreplay.
Today, courtship.
Though I have to say, trying to court one of Burlington Arcade’s Beadles would be an uphill struggle.
They’re not, as a rule, given to romantic flights of fancy.
They’re much too busy being Beadles.
Yesterday we met Burlington Arcade.
Today we meet its soul.
Because Burlington Arcade isn’t merely a beautiful place.
It’s a beautifully behaved place.
And that’s down to the Beadles.
You can’t miss them.
Tall silk hats.
Dark blue frock coats lavishly braided with gold frogging.
Immaculately polished shoes.
Military bearing.
They don’t so much walk as patrol.
Quietly.
Unhurriedly.
Entirely confident.
Call them security guards and I rather think they’d arch an eyebrow.
They’re Beadles.
Now there’s a lovely old word.
It’s much older than Burlington Arcade.
Originally, a Beadle was a herald. A messenger. Someone whose job was to make people aware.
And here’s the delicious part.
Linguists think “Beadle” and “Buddha” are very distant cousins. Both seem to descend from the same ancient Indo-European root, a root meaning “to be aware.”
I rather like that.
Because if you’ve ever watched a Burlington Arcade Beadle on patrol, you’ll know they possess a distinctly Buddhist calm.
A title with a history far older than Burlington Arcade itself.
Parish churches had Beadles.
Universities still have Beadles.
Ceremonial officers.
Guardians of good order.
Burlington Arcade simply gave the ancient office a particularly elegant home.
Here’s another remarkable thing.
The Arcade opened in 1819.
The Metropolitan Police wouldn’t come into existence until 1829.
For ten years Burlington Arcade had its own uniformed guardians before London itself had a police force.
Originally they were retired soldiers.
Their instructions were straightforward.
Keep the peace.
Protect ladies who came here to promenade.
Discourage pickpockets.
Discourage loafers.
Discourage anybody who forgot they were in one of the most refined places in London.
The rules became famous.
No running.
No shouting.
No whistling.
No hawking.
No opening umbrellas.
Even today the atmosphere is strikingly civilised.
The Beadles don’t merely protect the shops.
They protect the mood.
Which brings me to my favourite Burlington Arcade story.
The raid certainly happened.
On 27th June 1964 a dark blue Jaguar Mark X mounted the pavement, roared up Burlington Arcade and screeched to a halt outside a jeweller’s shop.
Masked men leapt out.
Sledgehammers swung.
Jewellery cases exploded into glittering fragments.
The thieves scooped up fortunes in gems, piled back into the Jaguar and tore out through the far end of the Arcade.
The raid stunned London.
The stout bollards at either end of Burlington Arcade date from that outrage.
They’re there to make sure no getaway car can ever repeat the trick.
Now for the story.
It may be true.
It may be one of those splendid legends that attach themselves to places like Burlington Arcade.
An excited American tourist is said to have watched the whole thing unfold.
Quick as a flash she pulled out a notebook, jotted down the Jaguar’s registration number and ran towards a Beadle shouting, “I’ve got his licence plate number! I’ve got his licence plate number!”
Without, apparently, the slightest trace of excitement, the Beadle replied, “That’s all very well, Madam. Now stop running. And stop shouting.”
Whether it happened or not, I dearly hope it did.
Because it captures the spirit of Burlington Arcade perfectly.
Calm.
Courteous.
Unflappable.
Think what those Beadles have witnessed.
The reigns of six monarchs.
Horse-drawn carriages giving way to motor cars.
Gaslight yielding to electricity.
The Blitz.
The Beatles.
Punk.
Mobile phones.
Selfie sticks.
And through it all they’ve quietly preserved something that’s becoming rather rare.
Civility.
Good manners, somebody once observed, cost nothing.
Burlington Arcade has spent more than two centuries proving the point.
Tomorrow we’ll look in the windows.
We’ll meet some of the extraordinary businesses that have flourished here for generations.
We’ll discover who owns Burlington Arcade today.
And why every yard you stroll is worth about one and a half million pounds.
Until tomorrow.