Ruskin Walks His Dog

‘A magical combination: art and beer’

John Ruskin self portrait 1866

By Bruce Gregory
Part One

‘Here’s to John Ruskin, the greatest art critic who ever lived,’ said the old man, raising his glass. I raised mine too:

‘Here’s to the great man,’ I said

Last year on Boxing Day, while sipping a solitary pint in the Dog in Dulwich Village, I had noticed a thin, balding, elderly gentleman alone in the corner. He must have been about ninety. On an impulse, I had walked over.

He nodded at me, sipped at his glass and continued:

‘Ruskin used to sit right here,’ he said, with a kind of pride in his voice, ‘Right here with his dog and sometimes one of his young girls.’

‘I thought the original pub was the other side of the road,’ I said.

He ignored me.

28 Herne Hill

‘Soft drinks only for the girls, mind you. People might disapprove. He walked down most days from Herne Hill. Lived for years at number 28. Came down Ruskin Lane.’

‘The name’s a clue,’ I said.

‘It was called Simpson’s Alley then. Pretty. Surrounded by fields. Of course the Half Moon was closer but they were a rough crowd. He preferred it here. Used to shout out: ‘Mum I’m just taking the dog for a walk’. But she knew what he meant.’

‘Took the dog to the Dog then?’

‘He would usually go to the Picture Gallery, then the Greyhound. Or sometimes the other way round. A magical combination: art and beer. It gave him some of his best ideas. He would sit right here, in this corner, a pint in his hand, scribbling in his notebook. That whole thing about the true nature of beauty, the ideas that made him famous: they were dreamed up right here over a third or fourth or fifth pint.’

‘Did they allow his dog in the Gallery?’

163 Denmark Hill

‘No, he tied it up outside. He moved, you know, in 1847, but not far: to a bigger house on Denmark Hill. Number 163. Gone now. ‘

‘After he had untied the dog, I hope’ I said.

‘Now it’s a big block of flats and Ruskin Park.’

‘The name fits,’ I said.

‘But he still came here. Even though the Fox was much closer. It was the Gallery you see. It gave him all his ideas. And to be honest, it was easier to say to one of those young girls: let’s go and see a Rubens than to say let’s go for a pint.’

I wanted to ask about the girls but I settled for the dog:

‘What kind of dog did he have?’ I asked.

‘Dog? Oh he was a Labrador sort of man. Always had Labradors. He wrote an essay about the aesthetics of the canine form. Large, friendly, big eyes, short hair are all good. Small, yappy are bad. Hated yappy. Terriers were out. He had no time for poodles either. But it was never published.’

I couldn’t help myself:

‘And the girls?’

‘They were young. That’s what he liked. He wrote an essay about the aesthetics of the female form. He liked them small, slender, firm and not too much body hair, if you know what I mean. What he really hated was saggy upper arms.’

‘Bat-wings?’

‘Not sure what you mean, young man, but it was something that young girls never have. That wasn’t published either’

He had drained his pint and was looking at me meaningfully.

‘Would you like me to get you another?’ I said.

‘I don’t mind if you do,’ he said, ‘You know, he started those essays right here. Right here where we are sitting. It ought to be called the Ruskin Arms.’

‘That’s a good name.’ I said.

I was intrigued by the old man’s revelations. And, as I fetched two more pints of best, I was unaware that he was about to tell me the secret of a great local mystery…….

*****

To be continued: Ruskin Walks His Dog – Part 2
Ruskin Quiz