The plaques that remember a day when nothing happened may also have the wrong date for a day that never was

Did nothing of note happen on Dam Street in Lichfield on 5 September 1782? (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

Plaques have been popping up all over the country with the words: ‘On this site, Sept. 5, 1782, nothing happened.’ I have seen them in Lichfield, in Stony Stratford, in Walsingham, and in countless other places the length and breadth of England, and I believe they can be seen in many other countries too.

There used to be one on Dam Street in Lichfield and another on Market Square in Stony Stratford, and I spotted one on Church Street in Walsingham about six months ago.

So, did nothing really happen in any of these places 244 years ago – or, for that matter, anywhere else either?

Did nobody famous die?
Was no-one born that day who went on to become famous later in life?

Did no-one die in battle or in bed, fall off a horse, win a school prize, get married, do something tragic, disastrous, profane or of subsequent consequence – anything at all on 5 September 1782?

These plaques look a little like the ones so often seen commemorating famous births, battles or royal visits, record-breaking achievements discoveries or ventures, misadventures, mishaps, misfortunes or even first-time firsts.

Real commemorative plaques are usually blue with white lettering, with some variations in colours, generally circular in shape, and usually erected by English Heritage or Historic England, sometimes approved by a local council, or put in place by an enthusiastic local history society.

The original blue plaque scheme was the idea of politician William Ewart (1798-1869) in 1863 and the ball was set rolling by the Society of Arts in 1867, when the first plaque was unveiled in 1867 to commemorate Lord Byron at his birthplace, 24 Holles Street, Cavendish Square, London.

The scheme has been run since 1986 by English Heritage and is now the oldest of its kind in the world.

But the plaques celebrating 5 September 1782 seem have started as a humorous prank, a good-natured gag to place what have s become popular novelties on buildings and bridges, houses and hotels, streets and shops around the world, satirising an old and much-loved tradition by memorialising the mundane and the ordinary

Tourists spotting them and stopping awhile may well ask their origins. The answer is found online and in gift shops, and the price is anywhere from £20 to £30. If you buy one for more you probably deserve your own commemorative plaque.

Did nothing of note happen in Walsingham on 5 September 1782? (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2026)

The date 5 September 1782 seems to have been chosen arbitrarily as a tongue-in-cheek specific date for a completely unremarkable day.

One suggestion is that the year 1782 is a design error, and that it should read 1752. Britain and Ireland, and everywhere else in the British Empire at the time for that matter, changed from the Julian calendar to the Gregorian calendar in 1752. The Gregorian calendar calculated leap years differently, and by 1752 the Julian calendar was out of synch with the Gregorian calendar by 13 days. The only way to fix this anomaly was to just change the date.

When the change was introduced, the calendar simply changed in September 1752 and moved from 2 September to 14 September. The dates in between never happened, and 11 days were lost from the calendar and lost to history as a result. The date 5 September 1752 is one of those, lost, forgotten missing days that no-one ever woke up to and nothing happened, a day when nothing could have happened.

As for William Ewart, he died in 1869, two years after his ‘Blue Plaque’ scheme was first introduced. And he has earned his own blue plaque in Hampton: he successfully introduced legislation to abolish hanging in chains, an act to abolish capital punishment for cattle-stealing, a bill establishing free libraries supported out of public rates, and a law to legalise using the metric system in weights and measures, and he was a strong advocate of the abolition of capital punishment.

True blue plaques and similar memorials, seen throughout England, including Lichfield, London, Berkhamsted, Norwich, St Albans and York (Photographs: Patrick Comerford)

Rutland’s struggles to survive as England’s smallest county, but it has its rivals, including London, Bristol … and Lichfield

Rutland’s name and fame have spread far beyond its small size … the Rutland Fountain in Merrion Square, Dublin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

I was musing earlier this week (31 August 2026) on which is the smallest state in Europe, recalling my visits to the Vatican City, San Marino, Malta, Cyprus and the tiny territory of the Sovereign Military Order of Malta,and even stepping on the steps of the former supreme court of Andorra, albeit in French sovereign territory.

In a similar vein, I have sometimes wondered what is the smallest county in England. I have some of the places that make that claim, and as I was researching Monday’s posting on Europe’s micronation, I came across a feature in The Guardian last week (26 August 2026) on how Rutland’s council is due to merge with Leicestershire in 2028 and how some local people are incensed. Lucy Knight asked whether the county can hold on to its ceremonial status.

But is Rutland still the smallest county? Well, that all depends on which list of counties you work from and how you define a county.

The Historic Counties Trust lists 39 English counties, there are 48 ceremonial counties, 84 metropolitan (6) and non-metropolitan (78) counties, and the 48 former postal counties from 1974 to 1996, making England a confusing patchwork of administrative counties, ceremonial counties, postal counties and unitary authority areas.

England’s counties are the source of much regional pride, not least when it comes to cricket. To identify with Yorkshire, Devon or Northumbria is to invite certain expectations about your forthright views or your fondness for cider and clog-dancing. The historic counties continue to be the basis for county cricket teams. Sussex and Yorkshire, for example, continue to be widely recognised as cultural regions, significant in sport and used by many organisations as regional units.

Although Middlesex dates back to the eighth century, Middlesex County Council was abolished in 1965. Yet Middlesex County Cricket Club, and Middlesex University live on, and so too does the historic county of Middlesex, even though most of its inhabitants now live in the ceremonial county of Greater London.

Middlesex has disappeared as a county, but the Fitzrovia Chapel survives as the former chapel of the Middlesex Hospital (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

A major reform and reorganisation of local government in 1974 redrew the map of England and introduced metropolitan counties such as Greater Manchester, South Yorkshire and the West Midlands. Administrative counties and county boroughs were abolished, England, with the exception of Greater London and the Isles of Scilly, was divided into two types of counties: metropolitan and non-metropolitan counties.

Several counties, such as Cumberland, Herefordshire, Rutland, Westmorland and Worcestershire, vanished from the administrative map, while new entities such as Avon, Cleveland, Cumbria and Humberside appeared, in addition to the six new metropolitan counties.

A review of local government structures led to the Rutland, East Riding of Yorkshire, Herefordshire and Worcestershire being restored as administrative areas in the 1990s, while Avon, Cleveland and Humberside were abolished less than 25 years after their creation. Traditional borders were restored between Somerset and Gloucestershire (except at Bristol), County Durham and Yorkshire (towards the mouth of the River Tees, but not in Teesdale), and Yorkshire and Lincolnshire.

The case of Huntingdonshire was considered twice, but the commission found that ‘there was no exceptional county allegiance to Huntingdonshire, as had been perceived in Rutland and Herefordshire’.

The Duke of Rutland depicted on the Rutland Fountain in Merrion Square, Dublin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Rutland is a ceremonial county in the East Midlands, described by Lucy Knight in The Guardian as a pocket between Leicestershire, Lincolnshire and Northamptonshire, and she repeats the claim it ‘is often considered to be England’s smallest county’.

If we go by the list of historic counties, Rutland is the smallest with a total area of 382 sq km (147 sq miles), and an estimated population of just over 41,000. It has the second-smallest population for a ceremonial county after the City of London.

Rutland is a rural county, and the only towns are Oakham in the west and Uppingham in the south. Rutland is so small that I only remember passing through it on a train between Cambridge and Birmingham that stopped at Oakham.

But despite its size, the name of Rutland has spread far and wide: Parnell Square, one of the oldest Georgian square in Dublin, was laid out in 1753-1785 as Rutland Square, and kept that name until 1933. Charles Manners, Duke of Rutland, was a popular Viceroy of Ireland until he died on 24 October 1787 at the Vice-Regal Lodge in the Phoenix Park, Dublin, now Áras an Uachtaráin, the official residence of the President of Ireland. His memory lives on in the names of Rutland Street, Rutland Place and Granby Row, Dublin, Rutland House and Rutland Street in Limerick, and the Rutland Fountain, an imposing monument in Merrion Square, Dublin, and a second Rutland Fountain in James’s Street, Dublin.

Rutland became a non-metropolitan district of Leicestershire in legislation that took effect in 1974. Under plans for local government reorganisation announced in July 2026, Rutland is about to become part of a new unitary authority area, Leicestershire and Rutland.

The City of London measures just 2.9 sq km, making it the smallest ceremonial county in England (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

But if we rely on the list of ceremonial counties, then the smallest county in England is the City of London, which includes Saint Paul’s Cathedral, Fleet Street, the Bank of England and the Stock Exchange. It is often known as ‘the Square Mile’, measures just 2.9 sq km (1.12 sq miles) and is the smallest ceremonial county in England and the smallest city in the UK by area.

Although more than half a million people work in the City of London, it has a population of only 8,583 people.

Surrounded by the modern ceremonial county of Greater London, the City is a unique local authority area governed by the City of London Corporation, which is led by the Lord Mayor of London, not to be confused with the elected Mayor of London. It is also part of the Greater London Authority, which shares local government powers in the region with the councils of 32 London boroughs and the City of London Corporation. However, it does not include two historic liberties, the Inner Temple and the Middle Temple, enclaves within the City of London.

Tyne and Wear, including Newcastle, Gateshead and Sunderland, is 540 sq km (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

If the City of London is removed from the debate, the ceremonial county of Bristol must be taken into account. It measures 110 sq km (42 sq miles) and was part of the county of Avon from 1974 to 1996, but then returned to being an independent county.

The Isle of Wight is usually regarded as part of Hampshire, but is also a ceremonial county and a unitary authority. It has a land area of 380 sq km (146.7 sq miles), so it is marginally smaller than Rutland, but larger than Bristol and much larger than the ceremonial county of the City of London.

Tyne and Wear, including Newcastle, Gateshead and Sunderland, is 540 sq km (210 sq miles); Merseyside, including Liverpool and the Wirrall, is 652 sq km (252 sq miles); and the West Midlands, including Birmingham, Coventry, Dudley, Sandwell, Solihull, Walsall and Wolverhampton, is 902 sq km (348 sq miles).

St Neots is the largest town in Huntingdonshire, now a local government district in Cambridgeshire (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

All are smaller in area than Huntingdonshire, historically a county in its own right and also, at times, claimed as the smallest county in England. Huntingdonshire has an area of 918 sq km (354.3 sq miles) and boundaries dating from Anglo-Saxon times. It became an administrative county in 1889. It was merged in 1965, with the Soke of Peterborough to form Huntingdon and Peterborough, which in turn was merged with Cambridgeshire and Isle of Ely in 1974 to form Cambridgeshire. Huntingdonshire is now a local government district in Cambridgeshire, and St Neots (33,410) is the largest town.

Cambridgeshire also incorporates the Isle of Ely and the Liberty of Peterborough, each of which was treated as a separate county in legislation in the 19th century.

The Isle of Ely in Cambridgeshire was under the jurisdiction of the Bishop of Ely from 1109 to 1837. From 1889 to 1965, it was an administrative county of about 970 sq km (374.5 sq miles). The Soke of Peterborough, associated with the City and Diocese of Peterborough, was part of Northamptonshire but was had its own county council. The Soke, also known as the Liberty of Peterborough, was abolished in 1965.

We might also consider the shires that were never counties. Large exclaves affected by legislation in 1844 included the County Durham exclaves of Islandshire, Bedlingtonshire and Norhamshire, later treated as hundreds of Northumberland.

Lichfield became a city and county, separate from Staffordshire, in a charter from Queen Mary I in 1553 and remained so until 1888 (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

But, of course, one of the smallest counties that ever existed, at least in name and with its own sheriff, from the mid-16th century and that will always be my favourite is Lichfield, one of only 18 towns and cities in England to have held county corporate status in the past. A charter from Queen Mary I in 1553 made Lichfield a ‘City and a County’, separate from the rest of Staffordshire, and it remained so for 335 years until 1888.

Richard II gave a charter in 1387 for the foundation of the Guild of Saint Mary and Saint John the Baptist, which effectively exercised the function of local government in Lichfield until it was dissolved by Edward VI, who incorporated the town in 1548, vesting its government in two bailiffs and 24 burgesses.

The corporation established in 1548 probably acquired legal rights to the surrounding land, but the line of the boundary at that date is uncertain. The charter states merely that the limits of the city and its suburbs ‘should extend as far as in times past they have been reputed and considered to extend’.

Queen Mary I’s charter in 1553 repeated this formula. She granted the charter in 1553, the first year of her reign, as a reward thanking the citizens and bailiffs of Lichfield for their loyalty and support during the Duke of Northumberland’s attempt to block her accession to the throne.

The charter separated Lichfield administratively from Staffordshire, making it a county of itself until it was reincorporated into Staffordshire in 1888. The charter also created the ancient office of the Sheriff of Lichfield, and the city remains one of the few towns in England that still appoints to this ancient office.

Queen Mary I’s charter to Lichfield in 1553 … it remained a city and county until 1888

The City and County of Lichfield extended to an area of about 14 sq km (5.4 sq miles), which is larger than the City of London, but smaller than, say, Bristol, the Isle of Wight or Rutland. The area of the Lichfield City remained so until 1934, when it was enlarged to 14.56 sq km with the addition of part of Streethay on the east, and there have been further adjustments to the boundaries since then.

The charter stated that Lichfield ‘should be a city and county of itself, for ever, and not parcel of Staffordshire. That there should be one sheriff of the city and county of Lichfield, to be chosen on the feast of St Thomas’.

The charter required the newly appointed sheriff to ride the boundaries of the city and county, a distance of 16 to 20 miles, every year on the Saturday nearest 8 September, the Feast of the Birth of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and to inspect and enforce the borders. This tradition continues today through the Lichfield City Council events, and the Sheriff’s Ride this year takes place next Saturday, 5 September 2026.

Peering through the keyhole, but is the Order of Malta Europe’s smallest microstate or an anomalous leftover?

The Aventine Keyhole is said to allow the curious to peer through three sovereign territories at once: the Order of Malta’s property, Italy, and Vatican City (Photograph: Order of Malta)

Patrick Comerford

I have been to some of the smallest states in Europe over the years. Both the Vatican and San Marino are completely landlocked within Italian territory, yet are sovereign entities themselves, with all the international rights and obligations that entails.

Malta is off the coast of Italy, but it too is a sovereign, independent, internationally recognised state and, unlike San Marino and the Vatican, it is a full member of the European Union.

I have missed out on visiting Monaco, Lichtenstein and Andorra, which are also counted as European microstates, although on one occasion I came close to standing on former Andorran sovereign territory when I stood on the steps of the court building in Perpignan, once the supreme court of Andorra although it is in French territory.

Cyprus, where I have worked and been on holiday, and Luxembourg, are too large, both in land territory and population numbers, to be bring the six European microstates up to eight in number. The Isle of Man, which I visited in my teens, and the many Channel Islands, such as Guernsey, Jersey, Alderney and Sark, are not fully sovereign as they are crown dependencies of the United Kingdom and they do not represent themselves in international bodies such as the UN.

The former Supreme Court of Andorra was once in the French city of Perpignan (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

While the microstates have sovereignty over their own territory, there are small autonomous territories in Europe that, despite having more or less own independent government, executive branch, legislature, judiciary, police, and other trappings of independence, are nonetheless under the sovereignty of another state. Some of those anomalous places I have visited include Gibraltar, which is a British overseas territory surrounded by Spain, but not a separate independent state.

And I have been to places that are unusual, such as Mount Athos, the autonomous monastic community in Greece, often described as a monastic state and under the direct jurisdiction of the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople.

In Cyprus, I have passed though Akrotiri and Dhekelia, which is a British overseas territory, and I have crossed the ‘Green Line’ in Nicosia into the so-called ‘Turkish Republic of Norther Cyprus’, hardly a microstate as it remains essentially the Turkish-occupied part of the divided island and its statehood is not recognised by the UN, the EU, any EU member state or in international law.

The border crossing between San Marino and Italy … the mountain republic is totally surrounded by Italian territory (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

At times, counting these places is like counting sheep in restless or sleepless moments in the night, and reminiscent of the 99 Ealing comedy Passport to Pimlico, which I was writing about the week before last (7 August 2026). But over the weekend, I found myself asking whether I had missed out on listing one European microstate that I may also have visited in the past.

The Sovereign Military Hospitaller Order of Saint John of Jerusalem, of Rhodes and of Malta, to give the order its formal and legal name, is a sovereign entity in its title and in international law and it has diplomatic relations with many sovereign states and nations. It no longer has territory, and certainly not in Jerusalem, Rhodes, or Malta, all of which I have visited in the past. On the other hand, some of the order’s buildings in Rome, including its headquarters at the Magistral Palace, have special autonomous privileges in Italian law.

Although not a state, the Order of Malta or the Knights of Malta is a sovereign entity under international law. It has permanent non-state observer status at the UN, it has full diplomatic relations, including embassies, with 115 states, it issues its own stamps, coins, passports and license plates, and it has its own army medical corps.

The Grand Master, who is elected for ten years, is known as the Prince and Grand Master, and is both the religious superior and the Sovereign of the Order of Malta, and also holds the title of Most Eminent Highness.

The biometric passports issued by the Order of Malta are diplomatic and service passports and are said to be among the rarest in the world, with only about 500 in total. They are reserved strictly for members of the government (Sovereign Council), diplomatic corps, and select humanitarian officials, and they are recognised in over 100 countries.

The Battle of Lepanto (1571) by Karel Škréta above the altar in the Church of Our Lady Beneath the Chain, a church linked to the Knights of Malta in Prague (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Two friends on Facebook were having a discussion the weekend before last about the international status of the Order of Malta. One suggested that the Order of Malta, rather than the Vatican, is technically the pedantic correct answer to the question, ‘What is the world’s smallest state?’

Unlike the Holy See, which is sovereign over the Vatican City, the Order of Malta has no territory. However, its headquarters in the Palazzo Malta on Via dei Condotti and the Villa Malta on the Aventine Hill are granted extraterritoriality by Italy, and Malta extends the same status to the order’s historical headquarters in Fort St Angelo.

The Aventine Keyhole is a famous peephole in the green door of the Villa del Priorato di Malta in Rome. Looking through the keyhole gives sight of a perfectly manicured garden hedge framing the dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica. This unique spot is said to allow the curious to peer through three sovereign territories at once: the order’s property, Italy, and Vatican City.

The Aventine Hill is one of the Seven Hills on which ancient Rome was built. I stayed once in Sant’Anselmo, the Benedictine Abbey on the Aventine Hill, as a guest during a conference on the Church in China. The campus includes Sant’Anselmo Abbey, the offices of the Benedictine Confederation, the residence of the Abbot Primate, the College of Sant’Anselmo, as well as the Church of Sant’Anselmo.

The campus faces onto the Piazza dei Cavalieri di Malta, the square on the Aventine Hill created in 1764 by the architect Giovanni Battista Piranesi. Outside, on the square, tourists queue up in long lines to peer through the keyhole of the ‘Buco della Serratura’ as they are told that are standing in one state (Italy), looking through another one (Order of Malta), and seeing a third (Vatican).

The former Palace of the Grand Masters in Valletta is now the office of the President of Malta (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

I have visited the former Palace of the Grand Masters in Rhodes. The Knights of Rhodes were expelled from the island by the Ottoman Turks in 1522, and the surviving knights sailed first to Crete, then under Venetian rule, as a staging and regrouping point before moving on to Sicily and eventually Malta, becoming the Knights of Malta. They lost their last footholds in Crete in 1669. The knights were expelled from Malta by Napoleon in 1798, and the former Palace of the Grand Masters in Valletta is now the office of the President of Malta.

Ever since, the Magistral Villa has been at the heart of the Order of Malta’s institutional life, welcoming heads of state, ambassadors and visitors from around the world. It is home to Piranesi’s Church of Santa Maria in Aventino and to the keyhole framing the dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica.

No passport checks are needed for this experience – but then I’ve never been asked for a passport going in or out of the Vatican or San Marino either. Unlike Monaco, San Marino or Andorra, neither the Vatican nor the Order of Malta has an international football team or football league. Monaco has own international team, but AS Monaco plays in Ligue 1, the top tier of French football, and very successfully too. San Marino is currently the lowest-ranked FIFA-affiliated national football team, having won only three matches since their inception. Its chances might improve dramatically if either the Vatican or San Marino decided to sign up, and perhaps signing up the Order of Malta might even increase the moral tone of the pressure on Gianno Infantino to stand down.

As for the knights’ former territories, Rhodes is a part of Greece and Malta is a sovereign, independent EU-member state. And Air Malta is not the air force of the Knights of Malta – its a wholly-owned subsidiary of Ryanair, and it operates scheduled flights on behalf of Ryanair. It’s more like the ‘Nights of Malta’ and the nearest you get to an order, I suppose, is the orderly queueing for ‘Priority’ and ‘Non-Priority’ boarding.

Malta Air … more like the ‘Nights of Malta’ than the ‘Knights of Malta’, flies the flag for Ryanair (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2026)

Ludwig returns to Cambridge with his identical twin brother, but can I solve the mystery of Darwin and the missing link?

The Backs and King’s College are among many of the familiar locations that appear as scenes in the BBC crime drama series ‘Ludwig’ (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2026)

Patrick Comerford

I am delighted that the detective drama Ludwig has returned to the BBC with a second series that began last week (20 August 2026), having enthusiastically watched the first series in 2024.

In both series of Ludwig, David Mitchell stars as John Taylor, a reclusive crossword setter and puzzle maker who publishes his books under the pen name ‘Ludwig’, and his missing identical twin brother, James Taylor, a successful detective chief inspector in the Cambridge police force.

As an enthusiastic fan of the Guardian crossword each day, I was interested to see that the Guardian’s crossword editor Alan Connor was involved in designing the crosswords used in the opening titles of the series; indeed, he also created a series of Ludwig-themed puzzles in the Guardian.

Throughout each episode, I am watching for familiar locations in Cambridge, where much of the plots and storylines are set, including the Backs and the River Cam, King’s College, Queens’ College, Queens’ Lane, Saint John’s College, the Bridge of Sighs, the Old Schools and All Saints’ Passage.

Almost three million viewers watched Episode 1 in Series 2 on BBC 1 last Thursday night (20 August 2026), with Episode 2 going out at 9 pm tonight (27 August 2026). The first three episodes in Series 2 are now available on BBC iPlayer and the remaining three episodes are due to be released on BBC iPlayer on 10 September.

‘Stands the Church clock at ten to three?’ (Rupert Brooke) … the clock at Grantchester Church, which features in the crime series ‘Grantchester’ (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

In Series 1, John Taylor works his way into the Cambridgeshire Police posing as his missing identical twin brother James. As a fake cop, he uses his pedantic puzzle-solving skills to solve some complex murders in and around Cambridge that make normally sedate Cambridge look like a more dangerous place to live in than Albert Square in EastEnders.

Oxford has Inspector Morse, but Cambridge has had its share of television sleuths too, including the vicars in the ITV detective drama Grantchester (2014-2026), filmed mainly in the village of Grantchester and in central Cambridge, with locations that include King’s Parade, Saint John’s College and the River Cam.

In addition, the four episodes of Porterhouse Blue (1987), a Channel 4 comedy series adapted from Tom Sharpe’s 1974 novel, were filmed mainly in Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge, where I was a student over the years on a number of courses in association with the Institute of Orthodox Christian Studies (IOCS).

Sidney Sussex College provided the location for the Channel 4 comedy series ‘Porterhouse Blue’ (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2026)

BBC’s Ludwig is primarily set in and filmed in Cambridge. The actor David Mitchell went to Peterhouse in Cambridge in 1993 to study history, and as an undergraduate he joined the Cambridge Footlights dramatic club.

Ludwig inevitably includes numerous positioning shots – usually aerial – of Cambridge. The locations, backdrops and shots include King’s College, the River Cam, Saint John’s College and the Bridge of Sighs, Queens’ College, Queens’ Lane and the Mathematical Bridge, Silver Street, Silver StreetBridge and the Anchor, and the Millpond.

Episode 3 next week in the new series has many street scenes in central Cambridge, including Portugal Place, Market Hill, Trinity Lane and Garrett Hostel Bridge. But there are many fictional locations too, including the ‘Scholar's Fountain’ and Turing Lane. The theatre where last week’s murder scene is located is certainly not in Cambridge … it is, in fact, the Theatre Royal in Windsor.

The fictional Cambridge Police Authority station was filmed at Stockley Park Business Centre, a glass-fronted modern business park building in outer London. The grim offices of the fictional East Anglia Advertiser have been filmed at Pentland site off Squires Lane in Finchley. Its sad decline as a newspaper reminds me of the decline of the Lichfield Mercury a few years ago.

Locations beyond Cambridge include Moor Park Golf Club in Rickmansworth, Hertfordshire, North Mymms Park near Hatfield in Hertfordshire and locations in and around London including Ham Yard Hotel.

Doppelganger or ‘missing link’? … Charles Darwin’s plaque in the Great Gate at Christ’s College(Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2026)

Back in Cambridge last month, introducing a friend from Ireland to the Cambridge I have known for 20 years, the question of a doppelganger or curious lookalike surfaced in a humorous moment at the Great Gate or porters’ lodge at Christ’s College.

This gate and tower, which have been restored and regilded in recent years, date back to the 16th century when Christ’s College was founded by Lady Margaret Beaufort. As we stood there looking into First Court and the chapel, an American couple commented, half joking and wholly in earnest, on the likeness of the plaque behind me of Charles Darwin.

I have been a guest in Christ’s College many times, and I have preached in the chapel and was a visiting lecturer back in 2009. So I have always been aware of Darwin’s place in the history of the college. But there have also been rumours in family lore and legend that Charles Darwin was related to the Comberford family of Comberford Hall.

The nearest thing I can find to an actual link, though. is through a web of marriages rather than any direct genealogical connection. Charles Darwin’s father, Robert Waring Darwin, grew up as the step-brother of Sacheverell Chandos-Pole. Sacheverell’s son, the Revd William Chandos-Pole, held a kinship equivalent to a first cousin of Charles Darwin through marriage, and his son later had family ties that had a brief connection with Comberford Hall.

First Court and the Chapel in Christ’s College, Cambridge (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2026)

I have described this tenuous relationship as a true ‘missing link’, but any direct connection between Charles Darwin and Comberford Hall is extremely remote, and indirect, and I have only traced these through collateral marital relations in Staffordshire. Perhaps I need Ludwig’s puzzle-solving skills if I am ever going to find this ‘missing link’.

But there is another puzzle in Ludwig: is the plot about a missing identical twin brother, about a doppelganger, or about a personality disorder?

The BBC confirmed last month that it has commissioned a third series of Ludwig. We may have to wait until then to put other pieces in the puzzle back into place.

All Saints’ Passage … one of the familiar scenes in Cambridge that provide locations for ‘Ludwig’ (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

The Greeks have a word for it: 67, Εἰρήνη (Eirene), Peace

A statue of Eirene, the Greek goddess of Peace, with a laurel wreath and a cornucopia, at Vergina restaurant in Platanias, near Rethymnon in Crete (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

The Stony Stratford Playreaders this week have been reading Peace (Εἰρήνη), the anti-war play with timeless value by Aristophanes. He is one of the greatest comedians in classical literature, with a special sense of humour, and he wrote many comedies and satires.

In Greek mythology, Eirene (Εἰρήνη) was the goddess of peace, and she was a symbol of spring, wealth and order. She is depicted in art her statues and in art as a beautiful young woman carrying a cornucopia, sceptre and a torch or rhyton. She is usually said to be the daughter of Zeus and Themis and the sister of Dike and Eunomia.

The Greek word εἰρήνη (eirēnē) means peace, quiet and rest. In ancient Greek, it meant a time without war but it also speaks of more than just a lack of war: it describes wholeness, harmony, quietness, and a state of general well-being or flourishing.

It comes from a word that means to join together. Peace brings things back into a whole. It comes from verb εἴρω (eiro), to join or bind together that which has been separated, binding or joining together again what had been separated or divided and thus setting at one again.

Older theories also link the word εἴρω (eírō), ‘to speak, say’. We might compare it with the word ῥήτρα (rhḗtra), a verbal agreement or treaty.

A poster for a Shadow Puppet Theatre production of ‘Eirene’ by Aristophenes in Thessaloniki

The idea of the Common Peace (Κοινὴ Εἰρήνη, Koinē Eirēnē) was one of the most influential concepts of 4th century BCE Greek political thought, along with the idea of Panhellenism. The term described both the concept of a desirable, permanent peace between the Greek city-states (πόλεις, poleis) and a sort of peace treaty that fulfilled the three fundamental criteria of this concept: it had to include all the Greek city-states, it had to recognise the autonomy and equality of all city states without regard for their military power, and it had to be intended to remain in force permanently.

The advocates of the Common Peace saw it as a way to end the endemic warfare which engulfed the Greek poleis after the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War in 431 BCE. From the King’s Peace of 387-386 BCE down to the foundation of the League of Corinth in 338 BCE, the idea of the Common Peace influenced all peace treaties between Greek poleis. In the end, however, it turned out that only a strong hegemonic power could maintain a comprehensive peace for long.

The concept has been revived in modern times, and in the 20th century it was a foundation stone of international organisations such as the League of Nations and the United Nations.

‘Eirene’ by Aristophenes continues to appeal to adults and children alike in Greece

The Septuagint or Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible regularly uses εἰρήνη to translate the Hebrew shalom (שלום), a word that embraces completeness, prosperity, and relational harmony with God, neighbour, and creation. Priestly benedictions, such as Numbers 6: 26, anticipated a day when the Lord would ‘give you peace’. First-century Jews greeted one another with ‘peace’, and Jesus’ disciples continued the practice (see Luke 10: 5-6).

In the Greek New Testament, the word εἰρήνη (eirēnē) or peace is much like the Hebrew word shalom (שלום). It occurs over 90 times, and means inner calm, well-being, and right relationships with others. Well-known and well-loved examples include:

• πορεύου εἰς εἰρήνην, Go in Peace (Luke 7: 50; 8: 48);
• ἰρήνη τῷ οἴκῳ τούτῳ, Peace to this house (Luke 10: 5);
• Εἰρήνη ἀφίημι ὑμῖν, εἰρήνην τὴν ἐμὴν δίδωμι ὑμῖν, My peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you (John 14: 27);
• Εἰρήνη ὑμῖν, Peace be with you (Luke 24: 36; John 20: 19, 20-21, 26).

Every Pauline letter opens with the twin blessing ‘grace and peace’ (for example, see Romans 1: 7; Ephesians 1: 2) and most conclude with a similar wish (see Romans 15: 33). Peter, John and Jude follow the same pattern (see I Peter 1: 2; II John 1: 3; Jude 1: 2). These formulas are more than courteous salutations – they declare and confer the benefits of God’s favour and covenant well-being on those who receive the greeting.

Saint Irene (left), Saint Catherine and Saint Barbara … three women saints in a fresco in the Church of Panagia Dexia in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

In the Greek Orthodox tradition and in popular Greek piety today, there are three popular saints with the name Irene.

Saint Irene, Saint Catherine and Saint Barbara are three saints who are often found together in icons and frescoes in Greek churches. They form a traditional grouping, such as the Apostles Peter and Paul, as an icon of Church Unity, Saint Paul and Sant Barnabas or Saint Paul and Saint Titus as missionary companions, the three Cappadocian Fathers (Basil the Great, Gregory of Nyssa and Gregory of Nazianzus), and the Three Holy Hierarchs (Basil the Great, Gregory the Theologian and John Chrysostom).

Saint Irene is one of three saints and sisters – Irene, Agape and Chioni – who were born in Thessaloniki and who were martyred there for their faith in the year 304 CE. Their names mean Peace, Love and Purity, and their feast day is on 3 April.

The story of their martyrdom is the subject of Dulcitius, a 10th-century Latin drama by Hrotsvitha of Gandersheim, the first-known female playwright.

Irene, Agape and Chione were brought before Dulcitius, governor of Macedonia, on the charge of refusing to eat food that had been offered in sacrifice to the gods. When Agape and Chionia again refused to eat this food, they were burned alive.

Dulcitius found that Irene was keeping prohibited Christian books that she had taken with her when she fled to the mountains. Dulcitius ordered Irene to be stripped and exposed in a brothel. When no one mistreated her in the brothel, the governor gave Irene a second chance. When she refused this, Dulcitius sentenced her to death and her books found were burned with her.

Saint Irene (752-803), a Byzantine empress who was instrumental in restoring the use of icons in the Orthodox Church … a fresco in a church in Rethymnon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

A second significant Saint Irene in the Orthodox Calendar is Saint Irene (752-803), a Byzantine empress who was instrumental in restoring the use of icons in the Orthodox Church. She was the wife of the Byzantine emperor Leo IV, and when her husband died in 780, she became guardian of their 10-year-old son, Constantine VI, and co-emperor with him. Later that year she crushed a plot by the iconoclasts or opponents of the use of icons to put Leo’s half-brother, Nicephorus, on the throne.

The use of icons had been prohibited since 730. When one of the Empress Irene’s supporters, Tarasius, was elected patriarch of Constantinople, he summoned the Council of Constantinople in 786 and then the Seventh Ecumenical Council in Nicaea in 787 and restored the reverence of images.

Constantine VI banished his mother from court, but she later had her son arrested and blinded. From 797, she reigned alone as emperor for five years until she was deposed in 802 and exiled to the island of Lesbos. She is remembered for her zeal in restoring icons and her feast day is celebrated on 9 August.

Saint Irene of Lesbos with Saint Raphael and Saint Nicholas … an icon in the Church of the Transfiguration in Piskopiano in Crete (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

There is a third Saint Irene in the Greek Orthodox tradition and popular piety: Saints Raphael, Nicholas, and Irene of Lesbos (Ραφαήλ, Νικόλαος και Ειρήνη) are venerated as saints and martyrs.

According to legend, they lived on the island of Lesbos in the 15th century and were killed by Turkish raiders on 9 April 1463. Raphael was the abbot of the monastery of Karyes, near the village of Thermi, Nicholas was a deacon in the monastery, and Irene was the 12-year-old daughter of the village mayor: she was brutally executed and burned inside a clay cask in front of her parents.

The site of their martyrdom was excavated in 1959 and the relics of the saints are kept in a monastery that was rebuilt on Karyes, about 12 km from Mytilene, the island capital. The three saints were canonised in 1970. The monastery has become a prominent centre of pilgrimage.

A quiet corner in the monastery of Agia Irini, near Rethymnon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

One of my favourite places in Rethymnon for peace and quiet, with time to be calm and to pray is the Monastery of Aghia Irini, about 5 km south of Rethymnon in the mountains above the town, and one of the oldest monasteries in Crete. Various accounts say it was founded sometime between 961 and 1204, and it was certainly built before 1362, when it is escribed in a Venetian document.

The monastery was destroyed several times during the many revolutions in Crete against Ottoman rule. During the last Cretan revolution of 1897-1898, the Turks burnt the monastery, the ruined monastery was formally closed in 1900, and the ruins remained deserted throughout most of the 20th century.

Sister Akaterina, who once brought me on a tour of the monastery some years ago, told of how the Metropolitan of Rethymnon, the late Bishop Theodoros Tzedakis, had a vision in 1989 for its restoration and invited a group of nuns to form a new community at Aghia Irini.

The nuns moved into the buildings and restoration work began in 1990. At the time, Aghia Irini was a jumble of dilapidated buildings. Today, it must be one of the most beautiful monasteries in Crete, and the restoration work has received architectural and cultural awards. The church was officially opened in 2003, and was consecrated in 2011 by Patriarch Theodoros of Alexandria. The buildings include an older three-aisled church of Saint Irene, Saint Catherine and Saint Euphemia.

An icon of Aghia Irini (Αγία Ειρήνη) or Saint Irene by Alexandra Kaouki … a present from Rethymnon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

When I was in Rethymnon last year for a five-day ‘mini-retreat’ in Crete during Holy Week and Easter, my friend Alexandra Kaouki (Αλεξανδρα Καουκι), one of the foremost icon writers in Rethymnon today, gave me a gift of one of her early icons, depicting Aghia Irini (Αγία Ειρήνη) or Saint Irene, completed in 2012.

Saint Irene seemed such a special choice for me that weekend. Alexandra explained how she thought it was appropriate for me because of my campaigning past, as the saint’s name means ‘Peace’, and because I had written appreciatively in the past about Aghia Irini convent in the hills above Rethymnon.

A fresco depicting Saint Irene or Aghia Irini by Alexandra Kaouki in a church in Rethymnon

Previous words in this series:

1, Neologism, Νεολογισμός.

2, Welcoming the stranger, Φιλοξενία.

3, Bread, Ψωμί.

4, Wine, Οίνος and Κρασί.

5, Yogurt, Γιαούρτι.

6, Orthodoxy, Ορθοδοξία.

7, Sea, Θᾰ́λᾰσσᾰ.

8,Theology, Θεολογία.

9, Icon, Εἰκών.

10, Philosophy, Φιλοσοφία.

11, Chaos, Χάος.

12, Liturgy, Λειτουργία.

13, Greeks, Ἕλληνες or Ρωμαίοι.

14, Mañana, Αύριο.

15, Europe, Εὐρώπη.

16, Architecture, Αρχιτεκτονική.

17, The missing words.

18, Theatre, θέατρον, and Drama, Δρᾶμα.

19, Pharmacy, Φᾰρμᾰκείᾱ.

20, Rhapsody, Ραψῳδός.

21, Holocaust, Ολοκαύτωμα.

22, Hygiene, Υγιεινή.

23, Laconic, Λακωνικός.

24, Telephone, Τηλέφωνο.

25, Asthma, Ασθμα.

26, Synagogue, Συναγωγή.

27, Diaspora, Διασπορά.

28, School, Σχολείο.

29, Muse, Μούσα.

30, Monastery, Μοναστήρι.

31, Olympian, Ολύμπιος.

32, Hypocrite, Υποκριτής.

33, Genocide, Γενοκτονία.

34, Cinema, Κινημα.

35, autopsy and biopsy

36, Exodus, ἔξοδος

37, Bishop, ἐπίσκοπος

38, Socratic, Σωκρατικὸς

39, Odyssey, Ὀδύσσεια

40, Practice, πρᾶξις

41, Idiotic, Ιδιωτικός

42, Pentecost, Πεντηκοστή

43, Apostrophe, ἀποστροφή

44, catastrophe, καταστροφή

45, democracy, δημοκρατία

46, ‘Αρχή, beginning, Τέλος, end

47, ‘Αποκάλυψις, Apocalypse

48, ‘Απόκρυφα, Apocrypha

49, Ἠλεκτρον (Elektron), electric

50, Metamorphosis, Μεταμόρφωσις

51, Bimah, βῆμα

52, ἰχθύς (ichthýs) and ψάρι (psari), fish.

53, Τὰ Βιβλία (Ta Biblia), The Bible

54, Φῐλοξενῐ́ᾱ (Philoxenia), true hospitality

55, εκκλησία (ekklesia), the Church

56, ναός (naos) and ἱερός (ieros), a church

57, Χριστούγεννα (Christougenna), Christmas

58, ἐπιφάνεια (epipháneia), θεοφάνεια, (theopháneia), Epiphany and Theophany

59, Ζέφυρος (Zéphuros), the West Wind

60, Αύριο (Avrio), Tomorrow

61, καλημέρα (κaliméra), ‘Good Morning’, and καλαμάρι, κalamári, ‘squid’

62, Ελευθερία ή θάνατος, ‘Freedom or Death’

63, Ποδόσφαιρο, ‘Football’

64, καφές (coffee), Φραπές (frappé)

65, Odyssey (η Οδύσσεια) and Odysseus (Ὀδυσσεύς)

66, Cosmopolitan, Κοσμοπολίτης

67, Εἰρήνη (Eirene), Peace

Series to be continued

‘Eirene’ by Aristophenes continues to appeal to adults and children alike in Greece

A reminder in Bloomsbury of the ‘Russell Paradox’ and a reminder to visit the barber for a haircut

Russell Chambers on Bury Street in Bloomsbury … Bertrand Russell lived in flat No 34 from 1911 to 1916 (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2026)

Patrick Comerford

I think I need a haircut, and there is no shortage of barbers in Stony Stratford to pick and choose from. But when I was thinking about the Hotel Russell and Russell Square in a blog posting yesterday (18 August 2026), I was reminded of the ‘Barber’s Paradox’.

I ask you to imagine a village that has only one barber who shaves all men, and only those men, who do not shave themselves.

At first glance, this seems like a perfectly reasonable way to run a business in a small town. The men who want to save money shave themselves at home, and the rest go to the barber. But the scenario begins to fall apart when you ask: ‘Who shaves the barber?’

If the barber shaves himself, he violates the communal understanding that he only shaves people who do not shave themselves. Therefore, he cannot shave himself. But if he does not shave himself, he falls into the category of the men in the village who do not shave themselves.

According to the principle, the barber must shave everyone in this category. Therefore, he must shave himself. He needs to shave himself if – and only if – he does not shave himself. This creates a conundrum and an infinite, unbreakable loop of contradiction.

The reason a village with these rules cannot exist in real life has nothing to do with physics, geography, or human behaviour. It cannot exist because the rule itself is a logical contradiction.

Asking me to find such a village is like asking me to draw a four-sided triangle, to square the circle, to find a married bachelor, or to calculate the square root of -1. The words in the definition cancel each other out. The barber who is defined by such an exact, unbending parameter is a mathematical impossibility masquerading as a physical person. As soon as I define the parameters of the village, I have defined a place that cannot logically exist in the universe.

Epimenidou Street in Rethymnon … a reminder of the ‘Epimenides Paradox’ and a philosopher from Crete (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

The ‘barber’s paradox’ reminds me of Epimenides (Ἐπιμενίδης) of Knossos, the semi-mythical philosopher and poet from Crete who is said to have lived in the 7th or 6th century BCE, who gives his name to the ‘Epimenides Paradox’, a variation of the ‘Liar Paradox’.

It is said that while Epimenides was tending his father’s sheep, he fell asleep for 57 years in a cave in Crete that was sacred to Zeus. When he awoke after 57 years, Epimenides is said to have found he was endowed the gift of prophecy.

Epimenides is quoted twice in the New Testament. While speaking to a group of Epicurean and Stoic philosophers in front of the Areopagus in Athens (see Acts 17: 22-34), Saint Paul quotes from Epimenides’ Cretica: ‘In him we live and move and have our being’ (verse 28). Saint Paul is citing the fourth line in the Hymn to Zeus of Callimachus, with its reference to one of ‘your own poets’ (Acts 17: 28). In the same address, Saint Paul also quotes from Aratus’ Phaenomena: ‘For we too are his offspring’ (verse 28).

When Saint Paul spoke to Saint Titus about his mission in Crete, he committed a logical fallacy by quoting Epimenides: ‘It was one of them, their very own prophet, who said, ‘Cretans are always liars, vicious brutes, lazy gluttons.’ That testimony is true’ (Titus 1: 12-13a).

The ‘lie’ of the Cretans is that Zeus was mortal, for Epimenides believed that Zeus is dead. The logical inconsistency of a Cretan asserting all Cretans are always liars may not have occurred to Epimenides, nor to Callimachus, who both used the phrase to emphasise their point, without irony.

However, Saint Paul must have thought long about the idea of a dead god and whether the god’s tomb was dead as he sought to preach the Resurrection in Crete.

Epimenides is first identified as the ‘prophet’ in Titus 1: 12 by Clement of Alexandria (Stromata 1, 14). Clement mentions that ‘some say’ Epimenides should be counted among the seven wisest philosophers.

However, it is not clear when Epimenides became associated with the Epimenides paradox, a variation of the liar paradox. Saint Augustine restates the closely related liar paradox in Against the Academicians (III.13.29), but he does so without mentioning Epimenides. In the Middle Ages, many forms of the liar paradox were studied under the heading of insolubilia, but they were not associated with Epimenides.

Epimenides Street is a street I know well in the old town of Rethymnon in Crete. Is it paradoxical that I I have found the restaurateurs and tavern owners of Epimenidou Street, like all their fellow Cretans, to be truthful and honest? Many years ago, back in the 1980s, as I entrusted someone in Rethymnon with my wallet and valuables as I went for a swim, I was advised that it was tourists and foreigners I needed to watch out for.

The British Museum on Great Russell Street (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

The ‘barber’s paradox’, which retells the ‘liar’s paradox’ or the Epimenides paradox, is also a retelling of ‘Russell’s Paradox’, which was formulated by the philosopher Bertrand Russell (1872-1970) in 1901. Russell articulated a massive flaw he had just discovered in logic, now known as ‘Russell’s Paradox’ and, at the time, it must have seemed to many that he had broken the foundations of mathematics.

Mathematicians in those days believed that a ‘set’ could be defined by any condition you could describe. Russell used the paradox to prove that naive set theory was fundamentally broken. If you can define a set as ‘the set of all sets that do not contain themselves’, you create the exact same mathematical paradox as the barber.

Russell’s thought experiment forced the entire field of mathematics to rewrite its foundational axioms to prevent self-contradicting sets from being formed.

At times I am reminded of ‘Russell’s Paradox’ when I walk along Bury Place, close to the British Museum on Great Russell Street, and see a Blue Plaque that reads: ‘Bertrand Russell 1872-1970 Philosopher and Campaigner for Peace lived here in flat No 34 1911-1916’. The building was originally ‘No 3 Russell Chambers’ and is now labelled ‘Russell Chambers, Flats 25-36’.

Russell moved into an unfurnished flat No 34 at Russell Chambers in November 1911 to be close to Lady Ottoline Morrell (1873-1938), the literary society hostess who lived nearby at 44 Bedford Square in Bloomsbury. Ottoline met Russell for the first time since childhood at his home in Bagley Wood in September 1908, but their affair did not begin until 1911.

Much of the Bloomsbury area of London has been owned by Russell’s cousins, the Dukes of Bedford, for centuries. Russell’s grandfather, Lord John Russell, was a younger son of the sixth duke. The Bedford Estates still own large sections of Bloomsbury, and many of the names of the streets, squares, hotels, apartment buildings and a tube station reflect the family’s names and titles, including Russell, Bedford, Tavistock and Woburn.

Bertrand Russell had lived mainly at Trinity College Cambridge, where he was a fellow. But he took lodgings in Ipsden to be near Ottoline in the Chilterns in July 1911. She helped him to furnish the flat he rented in Bury Street, near the British Museum.

Russell chose the flat himself after looking at flats on Wells Street, off Oxford Street. The fourth floor flat in the red brick building measured 754 sq feet, and had a reception room, a main bedroom, a bathroom, kitchen, and a small room off the kitchen that was used as a study, a sitting room and a bedroom.

Among the guests there was the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein who stayed there on 3 October 1913. Russell wrote to Ottoline: ‘Wittgenstein stayed last night and read me bits of work he has done.’

Russell let TS Eliot and his wife Vivien use the room off the kitchen in 1915 because they were ‘desperately poor’. Vivien’s brother Maurice Haigh-Wood (1896-1980) described it as ‘a tiny cupboard room behind the kitchen’ and since Vivien had brought ‘a single cot-bed’ to furnish it, Eliot ‘slept in the hallway in a deck-chair’.

Russell was dismissed from Trinity College Cambridge in 1916 because of his opposition to World War I and so he lost his main source of income. His affair with Ottoline was also ending, and his affair with Constance (Colette) Malleson was beginning. He moved from Russell Chambers in April to rooms in 46 Gordon Square and then in August to 57 Gordon Square. He sub-let his Russell Chambers flat, and eventually went to prison that year as a pacifist.

After World War I, Russell considered keeping on the flat for his own use but concluded he could not afford it. Frank Swinnerton, an author and editor at Chatto and Windus, was a tenant at Russell Chambers until 1923, paying Russell 3 guineas a week for the furnished flat until Russell’s involvement with the first and the last home that was his alone formally came to an end.

Meanwhile, Russell was reinstated by Trinity College Cambridge in 1919, resigned in 1920, was Tarner Lecturer in 1926 and became a Fellow again in 1944-1949. He had succeeded as 3rd Earl Russell in 1931 and many of my age and generation rememember him not only as a philosopher but as active pacifist and a leading figure in CND, the Committee of 100 and the Aldermaston marches. He died on 2 February 1970.

Russell Chambers was selected by English Heritage for a blue plaque commemorating Bertrand Russell. The plaque was unveiled by his son Conrad Russell (1937-2004), 5th Earl Russell, on 6 June 2002.

As for the Barber’s Paradox, the popular retelling of Russell’s Paradox, it collapses with all its presupposition if the only barber in the village is a woman. She can shave as many men – and women – she wants to without any concerns about philosophical parameters.

I never had that haircut today. I must choose one of the barber shops in Stony Stratford to visit tomorrow.

Bertrand Russell (1872-1970), 3rd Earl Russell, philosopher, mathematician and peace campaigner, remembered in the chapel in Trinity College, Cambridge (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

No passport to Pimlico is needed for an afternoon visit to the streets and squares of Thomas Cubitt

‘Passport to Pimlico’ … a scene in the Ealing comedy includes stopping an Underground train and demanding passports (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2026)

Patrick Comerford

The Ealing comedies, produced between 1947 and 1957, were known for their gentle irony, eccentric characters, and sharp social satire, often pitting the ordinary, well-meaning underdog against pompous authority or rigid social systems.

Three of those classics from Ealing Studios were produced in 1949 alone: Kind Hearts and Coronets, a dark comedy in which a disinherited man tries to murder eight relatives to claim a title, with Alec Guinness playing all the family victims; Passport to Pimlico, where a London neighbourhood discovers it is legally a part of Burgundy in France, leading to absurd stand-offs with bureaucracy and officialdom; and Whisky Galore!, when remote Scottish islanders scramble to salvage 50,000 cases of whisky from a shipwreck during a wartime drought.

Other well-remembered films in the series include The Lavender Hill Mob (1951); The Man in the White Suit (1951) and The Ladykillers (1955).

Present-day Pimlico was first laid out over 200 years ago in 1825 (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2026)

The story of Passport to Pimlico involves the discovery of lost treasure and legal documents that lead to a small part of Pimlico being declared a legal part of the Duchy of Burgundy, exempting the area from the post-war rationing and other bureaucratic restrictions. The film evokes nostalgia for the spirit and unity in London during the Blitz after the war and looks at what is regarded as English resilience, and celebrates working class heroes in a quintessentially middle class area.

When an unexploded bomb detonates in Miramont Gardens in Pimlico, the explosion reveals a long-buried cellar filled with artwork, coins, jewellery and an ancient charter from Edward IV that cedes a house and its estates to the last Duke of Burgundy after the Battle of Nancy in 1477 As the charter had never been revoked, an area of Pimlico is declared a left-over legal part of Burgundy.

When rationing and other post-war restrictions is abolished in Pimlico, the enclave is flooded with black marketeers and shoppers. In responses and recriminations, area is surrounded with barbed wire, the residents stop an Underground train as it passes through Burgundy demanding to see passports, and all water and food are cut off at the new border. After tense diplomatic negotiations, Burgundy is reunited with Britain – and ration books return, along with British weather as a summer heatwave turns to a torrential downpour.

‘Rus in Urbe’ … the squares of Pimlico still have private gardens for the sole use of residents (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2026)

I spent the afternoon in Pimlico yesterday, wandering around its elegant Georgian terraces and squares, enjoying its architectural legacy and visiting is churches. To my disappointment, but not to my surprise, there is no Miramont Gardens in Pimlico. But no one asked to see my passport, and in the street cafés and the spillover onto the streets from the bars and restaurant it can be seen there is not even a hint of the memory of post-war rations and restrictions.

Pimlico in central London is part of the City of Westminster, between Victoria Station and the River Thames. It was built as a southern extension to neighbouring Belgravia, and has more than 350 Grade II–listed buildings and many Grade II* listed churches.

The grid of residential streets at the heart of Pimlico was laid out by the planner Thomas Cubitt, beginning over 200 years ago in 1825. It includes three garden squares, Saint George’s Square, Warwick Square and Eccleston Square, and the wider avenues of Belgrave Road and Saint George’s Drive.

Pimlico also includes Dolphin Square, built in 1935-1937, and Churchill Gardens and Lillington and Longmoore Gardens, built after the war. Churchill Gardens, developed in 1946-1962, replaced several terraces designed by Cubitt terraces and damaged in the Blitz.

The name Pimlico may sound Spanish or Italian, but the originsof the name remain shrouded in legend and local lore (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2026)

The name Pimlico sounds Spanish or Italian, but various legends ascribe it to either Ben Pimlico, a publican in Hoxton, or from trade on the river with American Indians.

Pimlico dates back to the royal Manor of Ebury, which was sold off by James I In 1623. It was inherited by Mary Davies, a young heiress in 1666, whose dowry included what are present-day Pimlico and Belgravia, and much of Mayfair and Knightsbridge. At the age of 12, she married Sir Thomas Grosvenor of Eaton Hall, Cheshire, in 1677. Their descendants in the Grosvenor family became Marquesses and later Dukes of Westminster.

Thomas Cubitt was contracted by Lord Grosvenor to develop the once marshy lands of Pimlico in 1825. Cubitt developed Pimlico as a grid of attractive white stucco terraces along Saint George’s Drive, Belgrave Road and Lupus Street, and on Eccleston Square, Warwick Square and Saint George’s Square. Smaller, three-storey houses were built on the side streets.

Several Peabody estates were designed to provide affordable, quality working class housing in the late 19th century, and when the Revd Gerald Olivier, father of Laurence Olivier, moved from Notting Hill to Pimlico as the curate of Saint Saviour’s in 1912, he came as a ‘slum priest’ for west London.

Pimlico is close to the Houses of Parliament and so it became a lively area for political life in the early 20th century. The Labour Party and the Trades Union Congress once shared offices at 33 Eccleston Square. Sir Winston Churchill lived at 33 Eccleston Square and Morpeth Terrace for a time. The fascist leader Oswald Mosley lived at Dolphin Square, until his arrest in 1940, and it was the headquarters of Charles De Gaulle and the Free French for much of World War II.

The statue of Thomas Cubitt by William Fawke (1948-2018) at the corner of Denbigh Street and Saint George’s Drive (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2026)

After World War II, many of the larger Victorian houses were converted into small hotels. The Duke of Westminster sold off much of the Grosvenor estate, including Pimlico, in 1953. Pimlico was designated a conservation area in 1968 and successive waves of development since then have given Pimlico an interesting social mix.

The Anglican churches in Pimlico included Saint Gabriel’s, Saint Saviour’s and Saint James the Less, and Saint Peter’s, Eaton Square, Belgravia, was known as Saint Peter’s, Pimlico, until the 1870s. I visited Saint Gabriel’s, Saint Saviour’s and Saint Peter’s during my stroll around Pimlico yesterday, but more about them in the days to come, hopefully.

Artistic, literary and other notable figures who have lived in Pimlico include the illustrator Aubrey Beardsley, the writers Joseph Conrad, Bram Stoker and Barbara Pym, Jomo Kenyatta, first president of Kenya, the Hindu philosopher Swami Vivekananda, Walter Clopton Wingfield, the father figure in lawn tennis, the designer Laura Ashley, and the dancer Isadora Duncan.

‘Passport to Pimlico’ celebrates working class heroes and resilience in a quintessentially middle class area (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2026)

Surprisingly, the outdoor scenes in the Ealing comedy Passport To Pimlico were shot not in Pimlico but about a mile away in Lambeth. The scene of food airlifts into the enclave of Burgundy may have been inspired by the flights during the Berlin Blockade in 1948-1949.

For many, the film continues to celebrate English values of individualism, tolerance and compromise. But even today it points to the absurdity of passport border checks between Britain and France.

It is a reminder that England has always shared a common cultural legacy and identity with the rest of Europe, and a reminder too of the absurdity of trying to live in insular isolation in a post-war Europe that sought to bring us closer to one another as a way of countering war and the potential rise again of authoritarianism.

Past residents of Pimlico have included Sir Winston Churchill (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2026)