Comments on: Lesley Lewis, The French House

By: Richard Hannam

Richard Hannam — Sun, 01 Sep 2024 20:28:07 +0000

I know it very well. Gaston was my uncle! Bastille Day at The French House was always a blast.

By: Mary

Mary — Sun, 21 Jun 2020 19:01:43 +0000

I was googling Roxy Beaujolais, who used to be on the door at Ronnie Scott’s, and this popped up. My late husband asked me to marry him walking along Old Compton Street. I said Yes, and we went to tell Gaston in the French. He produced a bottle of champagne and refused payment. Happy times…..

Roxy and I had a plan to kidnap Kiki, Elena Salvoni’s cat when she was at Bianchi’s – I can’t remember how or why, but he somehow got left behind. I have a picture of him and Elena on my wall as I write this. I’m coming over very nostalgic! Next time I am n the UK I will look up Roxy if she is still at the Seven Stars.

By: Mikey

Mikey — Fri, 26 Jul 2019 08:53:47 +0000

Lovely piece.
Thank you.
Please interview Sandra, landlady of The Golden Heart in Spitalfields.

By: Rick Armiger

Rick Armiger — Thu, 04 Jul 2019 14:06:34 +0000

I’m grateful for this latest little gem from the Gentle Author. Thanks.

I first discovered The French House back when apprenticed in Warren Street. Back when mentored by elder statesman master craftsman woodworkers, and Tina Morris, with tremendous skills gained before WW2.

Coming from North America, pubs and I were never an ideal fit, esp when early on I was glassed by one of camden’s working class zeroes (the court let him off, he’d been a volunteer fireman – akin to how the Rillington Place murderer walked away quite a few times before…). But I digress.

For all kinds of reasons, I found the French House a safe, safer, place; full of the right crowd without the crowding, on par with a good European Grand Cafe. I was made very welcome there and in turn I introduced closest pals.

One of these had what y’all call a posh accent, tho I was new to all that.

Today I still wonder if it played a role on one special day. Gaston, whilst cleaning glasses, was repeatedly wiping the same grey towel on his nose, and staring down my pal. My chum said, perhaps too loudly, ‘It’s appalling!’ in that way only y’all brits can do.

On that one occasion, it didn’t go well, but takes nought away from that fine establishment and never put me off. I’d bonded with too many regulars to jump ship now.

Indebted to Lesley though.

Rick Armiger

By: Steve Hanscomb

Steve Hanscomb — Thu, 04 Jul 2019 10:37:12 +0000

Great read, I’m so glad some of the ‘old’ Soho still exists. My friends and I spent so many weekend evenings hanging around various coffee shops and restaurants in Soho back in the 80’s and 90’s that are all gone – and shouldn’t have. Pollo, Presto, the New Piccadilly… Long may the French House and Lesley reign! I think I’ll pop in tomorrow!

By: Jonathan

Jonathan — Tue, 02 Jul 2019 13:49:40 +0000

One of the best and long may it continue. It’s criminal what has happened to other similar institutions such as the Windsor Castle and Duke of Wellington in Crawford Street/Place. They should be listed buildings.

By: Helen Breen

Helen Breen — Tue, 02 Jul 2019 13:31:23 +0000

Greetings from Boston,

GA, what a great idea to feature the landladies of London pubs, starting with Lesley Lewis. She has a fascinating history and really seems to enjoy her calling. I checked out the French House website below. The slide show features an eclectic mix of “mature” merrymaker patrons. Looks like fun!

http://www.frenchhousesoho.com/

By: Paul Loften

Paul Loften — Tue, 02 Jul 2019 10:50:59 +0000

Thank you for this wonderful portrait of a great lady and a special place. I have been to pubs with some really eccentric characters that you could have the time of your life with ! and by that I mean you would never forget your time there . I wish I could recommend you a few but they have now all long gone and been turned into coffee houses or blocks of flats.

By: Milo Bell

Milo Bell — Tue, 02 Jul 2019 10:12:25 +0000

Great article. I started going in there in 1979 when i had just moved to London as an aspiring actor. Now living in Australia i make the French house one of my first ports of call as soon as i get back and it always feels like ‘home.’

By: Libby Hall

Libby Hall — Tue, 02 Jul 2019 10:06:52 +0000

Oh my how old I am! I remember ‘The French’ so very well from the 60s. We seemed to call it only just that – never adding on ‘House’. I think we were only vaguely aware it was actually called The York Minster.

Ah… such memories! How incredibly crowded it often was, Gaston’s famous moustache, the cosy scruffiness of everything– and I do actually remember that bench with the heater underneath that burned your ankles! But it usually felt so lucky to be able to sit down that I would wriggle my legs around before they got too scorched.

It’s lovely to read about it now, and the continuity of its atmosphere. And to see Sarah’s fine portraits of the landlady I’ve never met – because my Soho days had ended by the early 70s.