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Of poor Lady Hatton, it’s needless to say,
No traces have ever been found to this day,
Or the terrible dancer who whisk’d her away;
But out in the court-yard — and just in that part
Where the pump stands — lay bleeding a LARGE HUMAN HEART!
And sundry large stains
Of blood and of brains,
Which had not been wash’d off notwithstanding the rains,
Appear’d on the wood, and the handle, and chains,
As if somebody’s head with a very hard thump,
Had been recently knock’d on the top of the pump.
Bleeding Heart Yard was to be found; a place much changed in feature and in fortune, yet with some relish of ancient greatness about it. Two or three mighty stacks of chimneys, and a few large dark rooms which had escaped being walled and subdivided out of the recognition of their old proportions, gave the Yard a character. It was inhabited by poor people, who set up their rest among its faded glories, as Arabs of the desert pitch their tents among the fallen stones of the Pyramids; but there was a family sentimental feeling prevalent in the Yard, that it had a character.As if the aspiring city had become puffed up in the very ground on which it stood, the ground had so risen about Bleeding Heart Yard that you got into it down a flight of steps which formed no part of the original approach, and got out of it by a low gateway into a maze of shabby streets, which went about and about, tortuously ascending to the level again. At this end of the Yard and over the gateway, was the factory of Daniel Doyce, often heavily beating like a bleeding heart of iron, with the clink of metal upon metal.The opinion of the Yard was divided respecting the derivation of its name. The more practical of its inmates abided by the tradition of a murder; the gentler and more imaginative inhabitants, including the whole of the tender sex, were loyal to the legend of a young lady of former times closely imprisoned in her chamber by a cruel father for remaining true to her own true love, and refusing to marry the suitor he chose for her. The legend related how that the young lady used to be seen up at her window behind the bars, murmuring a love-lorn song of which the burden was, ‘Bleeding Heart, Bleeding Heart, bleeding away,’ until she died.
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The George Inn
Location – The George Inn Yard, 77 Borough High Street, Southwark, London, SE1 1NH
The George Inn is one of the most famous pubs on the South side of the River Thames, it is the last surviving galleried London coaching Inn and is currently owned by the National trust.
There has been an Inn on this site from at least 1543, and there are records that show the George was rebuilt in 1677 after the fire that destroyed much of medieval Southwark. At this time there were a large number Inns in the area due to its proximity to London Bridge. One of the most famous the Tabard where Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales pilgrims departed from was also rebuilt at this time but was eventually demolished in the 19th century.
The pub has other literary connections being mentioned in Dicken’s Little Dorrit, this was an area Dickens was very familiar with because his father had been imprisoned in the nearby Marshalsea prison and there is evidence that he frequented the George on his travels through the neighbourhood.
The building is Grade I listed, and has a host of small rooms and wonderful outside drinking area.
Even if you do not go for a drink, it is well worth visiting and admire the galleries which once would have been vantage points for watching plays and events in the courtyard.
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