The viaduct that made the street
Every train that leaves London Bridge for Greenwich, Lewisham and the Kent suburbs runs out along a brick viaduct older than almost anything else on the line. The London and Greenwich Railway opened it in 1836, the first railway in the capital, and carried it on close to nine hundred arches so that its trains could cross the market gardens, tanneries and ditches of Bermondsey without meeting a single road. Its promoters imagined people renting the arches as homes. Hardly anyone did.
Work moved in instead: stables and stores, then garages and workshops, and eventually the bakers, cheesemakers, brewers and distillers who made these arches worth visiting again. By day most of them are loading bays with the shutters up. After dark nearly every shutter comes down, and the few that stay open glow against the black brick like lanterns hung along a wall. Those few are the reason for this walk.
Reading an arch from the pavement
The arches look identical from the street and are nothing alike inside. A taproom is usually one long vault with steel tanks behind a rail, benches down the middle and a chalk list of whatever was brewed that month. A wine counter is smaller and warmer, bottles racked along the curve of the wall and a few stools at a plank bar. A distillery bar keeps its copper still in sight and pours its own spirit into short, careful drinks. Some arches are simply loud, a crowd spilling onto the cobbles with a whole afternoon's momentum behind it.
For two people who want to talk, the useful rule is to choose the arch with a door that closes. Brick vaults carry sound strangely: a pair at the back of a quiet one can speak almost in whispers, while a busy one turns every sentence into a shout. Look in before committing. Nobody minds a face at the door.
The route, west to east
Begin on the south side of London Bridge station, where Crucifix Lane and then Druid Street run east beside the viaduct. The arches along Druid Street open the stretch Londoners call the Bermondsey Beer Mile, which in truth wanders for rather more than a mile, past Maltby Street and Ropewalk, along Enid Street and on towards Spa Terminus and South Bermondsey. The market lane at Ropewalk has its own Saturday entry; at night it is mostly shuttered, with the odd wine counter still pouring.
One detour belongs on the route even though it is not an arch. On Tower Bridge Road, a Victorian public lavatory beneath the pavement has become the Bermondsey Arts Club, a small cocktail bar down a flight of steps, which sounds unpromising and turns out to be one of the most atmospheric rooms south of the river.
You do not need to finish the route. Two or three stops make a full evening, and the whole length on foot, without pausing, takes around half an hour. Hours vary from arch to arch and season to season, and a number of taprooms open mainly towards the weekend, so check each one on the day rather than trusting any list, this one included.
Pace it gently. One drink per arch, a glass of water in between, and something to eat at the second stop, because some vaults host a food stall and others serve nothing at all. The best nights under the viaduct feel like a slow walk with pauses in it, never a race from tap to tap.
Cold brick, cobbles and the trains overhead
Brick holds the chill. Even in June an arch can feel several degrees cooler than the street, and in winter the benches nearest the door shorten any evening. Bring a layer, and mention the plan to the desk so that she brings one too. The lanes are cobbled or broken in places, puddles collect under the viaduct after rain, and the light between arches is patchy. Block heels rather than stilettos, and nobody should walk the dark stretches of Druid Street reading a phone.
Above you the trains keep running into the late evening, and every few minutes the rumble comes down through the vault and into the glasses. Newcomers notice it. By the second drink it has become part of the room, a reminder that the whole evening is taking place inside a working railway, which is precisely its charm.
Where the night ends
Arches empty quickly once the taps are off, so settle the last hour before you need it. From the eastern end, Bermondsey Street is a few minutes' walk west, and its wine bars and restaurants carry on after the vaults have closed. At the far, southern end of the street is the hotel on Bermondsey Square; SE1 2BY, on More London, is about fifteen minutes north on foot; SE1 9SG faces the station. Black cabs are scarce on the back streets and plentiful on Tooley Street and Tower Bridge Road. The Bermondsey page lists each hotel with its nearest station.
Two hours at £500 covers a pair of arches and the walk between them. Three hours, £700, allows a supper on Bermondsey Street afterwards. If the night wants to carry on across the river towards Shoreditch, the night out arrangement is the better frame, and the rates page gives the figure for every length.
Who likes a vault after dark
Jasmin starts late, from nine, and judges a bar by its back shelf; in a distillery arch she will ask how the spirit was made and remember every step of the answer. Tina welcomes same-night requests and chooses her rooms by what is on the stereo, soul and funk for preference. Molly begins at ten and belongs to the second half of a night like this, when the arches thin out and a basement bar with a serious record collection becomes the next idea. Rosa, who knows the Ropewalk end by daylight, prefers to start in the late afternoon and to finish with bread from an arch bakery in a paper bag.
All four are on the brunettes page, and Jasmin, Tina and Rosa are listed with the petite companions as well. Send the desk the first arch and the time, and she meets you at its door.