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Burlington Arcade

Burlington still has its own set of rules and regulations, enforced by its own private police force, the smallest in the world. The Burlington beadles were originally recruited, when the arcade opened in 1819, from Cavendish’s family regiment, the Tenth Hussars, and sat recumbent and resplendent in their top hats and tails on special armchairs placed at each end of the arcade. Nowadays, just as smartly attired, they are more likely to be giving tourists directions or – as when I visited – mending small boys’ scooters. They still make sure the old rules are adhered to, in the politest and most diplomatic terms, of course. You’re still not allowed to run in the arcade – as head beadle Mark Lord puts it, ‘a gentlemen never hurries’. Singing, humming and playing an instrument are also banned, along with riding or even pushing a bicycle. An ‘unfurled’ umbrella is also outlawed. The more eccentric and anachronistic regulations still exist but the beadles let them go: it wouldn’t be good for business to exclude unaccompanied women, those with pushchairs or people carrying large parcels. Feature continues

London’s other main arcades also cluster around Piccadilly, and are in varying states of care. Opposite Burlington is the opulent Piccadilly Arcade (built 1909-1910 by G Thrale Jell, whose name can still be seen above the entrance) and its younger, plainer sister, the Princes Arcade (1929-1933). Princes Arcade boasts the wonderful chocolatier Prestat, while the Piccadilly Arcade’s Iconastas must be the only shop in London where you can buy a verdigrised fifth-century Byzantine bronze cross (£90).

These two arcades thread back away from Piccadilly to emerge on Jermyn Street, which explains their proliferation of tailors and gentlemen’s outfitters such as Hilditch & Key, Conway Shirtmakers and celebrity suiters, the quintessentially English Favourbrook. In honour of its sartorial heritage, there is a statue at the Jermyn Street end of the Piccadilly Arcade featuring Beau Brummell, Regency London’s unofficial arbiter of style, a great pal of the Prince Regent and the man credited with bringing us the modern suit.

To the north is Bond Street’s neo-gothic Royal Arcade (1879), with its distinctive peach-coloured mouldings. Inside you’ll find the fabulous, sparkling costume jewellery of Angela Hale; the best hot chocolate powder courtesy of Charbonnel et Walker; and Ormonde Jayne, a tiny gem of a perfumery.

The last of the district’s great arcades is hidden away next to Her Majesty’s Theatre on Haymarket. The oldest – and sadly most dilapidated – of all, the Royal Opera Arcade (1816-18), was built by the great Regency landscape architect John Nash, who also found time to put up Regent Street and Trafalgar Square. Originally, the shops went down one side only, with access to the Opera on the other. Now, there’s not much left besides a sandwich bar, a florist and the large Kiwifruits shop selling goods to homesick New Zealanders (the arcade is now owned by the adjacent New Zealand House). A number of the shops here stand empty; perhaps the optimism of Burlington will spread so that these emblems of London’s commercial history will thrive as they once did.