The Dog and Duck was in existence as a small inn as early as 1642.[302] In its vicinity were three or four ponds in which, no doubt, the brutal sport of hunting ducks with spaniels was at one time practised,[303] and near the place were mineral springs whose properties were known as early as 1695, though the water does not appear to have been advertised for sale till about 1731,[304] when the Dog and Duck had taken to itself the imposing sub-title of St. George’s Spaw. At this time the water was sold at the pump for fourpence a gallon, and was stated to be recommended by eminent physicians for gout, stone, king’s evil, sore eyes, and inveterate cancers. A dozen bottles could be had at the Spa (circ. 1733–1736) for a shilling.

From about 1754 till 1770 the water was in considerable repute, and new buildings appear to have been erected for the accommodation of visitors. There was a long room for breakfasting (1754), a bowling-green, and a swimming-bath (1769) two hundred feet long and nearly one hundred feet broad. Tea and coffee were to be had in the afternoon. At this period people of good position seem to have frequented the Spa or to have sent for the water. We find Miss Talbot writing about the place to Mrs. Carter, and Dr. Johnson suggested the use of the water to Mrs. Thrale.[305]

The proprietors issued (1760) to subscribers an admission ticket handsomely struck in silver with a portrait of Lazare Rivière, the famous Professor of Medicine, on its obverse.[306]

The St. James’s Chronicle ranked the water with that of Tunbridge, Cheltenham, and Buxton.

Physicians of repute described its curative properties, and affirmed it to be excellent for cutaneous afflictions and for cancer which it would certainly arrest, even if it did not cure. This water, which was advertised as an aperient (Epsom Salts being also kept on the premises), came at a much later date—1856—under the observation of Dr. Rendle, the historian, and, as it happened, the Officer of Health in that year for the Parish of St. George’s, Southwark. Rendle procured an analysis of water from the superficial well, formerly the spring, on the site of the old Dog and Duck and was forced to describe it as “a decidedly unsafe water” containing impurities, eighty grains per gallon, chiefly alkaline chlorides, sulphates and nitrates, gypsum and carbonate of lime, with a little phosphoric acid.

But we return to the year 1770, about which time the Dog and Duck took a new lease of life. A temporary circus established in St. George’s Fields by Sampson, of The Three Hats, Islington, was the cause of much additional custom being brought to the tavern, and Mrs. Hedger who kept the house was obliged to send for her son who was then a youth in a stable-yard at Epsom. Young Hedger soon saw the possibilities of the place. He gradually improved the premises and in a few years was making a large income from the tavern and its tea-garden, which was much frequented, especially on Sundays.[307] The garden was well laid out and contained “a pretty piece of water” doubtless one of the old ducking ponds, and at one time a band played in the garden for the delectation of the week-day visitors. At night, the long room was brilliantly lighted for the company who assembled to dance, drink, and listen to the strains of the organ. Under Hedger, however, the character of the company went from bad to worse. The “rowdy” delights of the Dog and Duck are indicated, though probably with an exaggerated coarseness, in Garrick’s Prologue to “The Maid of the Oaks” acted at Drury Lane in 1775:—

In about ten years the Dog and Duck had become a place of assignation and the haunt of “the riff-raff and scum of the town.” One of its frequenters, Charlotte Shaftoe, is said to have betrayed seven of her intimates to the gallows. At last, on September 11, 1787, the Surrey magistrates refused to renew the license. Hedger, like the Music Hall managers of our own time, was not easily beaten. He appealed to the City of London, and two City justices claiming to act as justices in Southwark, renewed the license seven days after its refusal by the County magistrates. The legality of the civic jurisdiction in Surrey was tried in 1792 before Lord Kenyon and other judges, who decided against it. The license of the Dog and Duck was then made conditional on its being entirely closed on Sundays.[309]

In 1795 the bath and the bowling-green were advertised as attractions and the water might be drunk on the usual terms of threepence each person. About 1796 the place was again open on Sundays, but the license was lost. This difficulty the proprietor surmounted by engaging a Freeman of the Vintners Company, who required no license, to draw the wine that was sold on the premises. The “Sunday Rambler” who visited the place (circ. 1796) one evening about ten o’clock found a dubious company assembled. He recognised a bankrupt banker and his mistress; a notorious lady named Nan Sheldon; and another lady attired in extreme fashion and known as “Tippy Molly,” though once she had been a modest Mary Johnson. De Castro (Memoirs), with a certain touch of pathos, describes the votaries of the Dog and Duck in its later days as “the children of poverty, irregularity and distress.”[310] It would, indeed, be easy to moralise on the circumstance that the place was soon to become the inheritance of the blind and the lunatic. In or before 1799 the Dog and Duck was suppressed, and the premises, after having been used as a public soup-kitchen, became in that year the establishment of the School for the Indigent Blind, an institution which remained there till 1811.

Meanwhile, the enterprising Hedger, had made a good use of his profits by renting (from about the year 1789) a large tract of land in St. George’s Fields at low rates from the managers of the Bridge House Estate. The fine for building was £500, but Hedger immediately paid this penalty, and while sub-letting a portion of the ground, ran up on the rest a number of wretched houses which hardly stood the term of his twenty-one years’ lease. From this source he is said to have derived £7,000 a year. He died in the early part of the present century,[311] having obtained the title of The King of the Fields, and the reputation of a “worthy private character.” He left his riches to his eldest son, whom the people called the Squire.

The Dog and Duck was pulled down in 1811 for the building of the present Bethlehem Hospital, the first stone of which was laid on 18 April, 1812. The old stone sign of the tavern, dated 1716, and representing a spaniel holding a duck in its mouth, and the Arms of the Bridge House Estate, was built into the brick garden-wall of the Hospital where it may still be seen close to the actual site of the once notorious Dog and Duck.

VIEWS.