You’re walking through Mayfair, down that posh stretch of Charles Street, and you see a sign that looks like it belongs in a period drama. It’s a man in a wig, sprinting. This is the only running footman London—or at least, the last monument to a job that sounds like a total nightmare. Honestly, if you think your commute is bad, imagine having to outrun a carriage for twenty miles just to make sure your boss doesn't hit a pothole.
Basically, the "Running Footman" isn't just a quirky pub name; it’s a survivor. Back in the 1700s, London’s elite didn't just want a driver. They wanted a human hood ornament. These guys were selected for two things: being tall and being fast. If you were a short runner, you were out of luck.
The Brutal Reality of Being the Only Running Footman London
Let's get one thing straight. This wasn't a jog. Running footmen were expected to maintain a pace of about seven or eight miles per hour. Sometimes they did sixty miles in a single day. Think about that next time you’re checking your step count.
Why did they even exist? Well, the roads in the 18th century were garbage. They were rutted, muddy, and full of literal pits. The footman ran ahead to:
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- Pave the way (physically moving obstacles).
- Pay the tolls at gates so the carriage didn't have to stop.
- Warn innkeepers that a "very important person" was about to arrive and they better have the wine ready.
- Carry a six-foot pole with a hollow ball on top that contained—I kid you not—a hard-boiled egg and some wine for sustenance.
It was an elite, sweaty, and often short-lived career. Most of these men burned out by their 30s. Their knees were shot, their lungs were taxed, and the sheer exhaustion was enough to kill a man. But the pay was good for the time, and the "livery" (the uniform) was flashy.
How a Retired Runner Bought a Legacy
The pub at 5 Charles Street was originally called the "Running Horse." That makes sense, right? Mayfair was full of stables. But around 1749, a real-life running footman decided he’d had enough of the road. He’d saved up his tips and wages—probably from some Duke who felt guilty about making him run to Windsor and back—and he bought the place.
He changed the name to "I Am the Only Running Footman."
It was a flex. By the mid-1700s, roads were getting better. Macadamized surfaces meant carriages could actually go fast. A human being can’t outrun a team of horses on a smooth road for very long. The profession was dying. By calling his pub that, he was basically saying, "I'm the last of a breed."
You've probably noticed the sign has changed over the years. These days, it usually just says "The Footman." It’s still one of the oldest pubs in the area, but the full 24-character name—the longest in London for a long time—is what people remember.
The Duke of Queensberry and the Great Tryouts
If you want to know why these guys were so famous, look at William Douglas, the 4th Duke of Queensberry. People called him "Old Q." He was a bit of a degenerate gambler who loved betting on his servants.
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One story—which is likely true because the Duke was notoriously eccentric—claims he used to hold "tryouts" for his footmen on Piccadilly. He’d make them put on the heavy livery and sprint. He’d watch from his balcony. Once, a candidate ran so fast that the Duke yelled down, "You will do very well for me!"
The runner yelled back, "And your livery will do very well for me!" and then just kept running. He stole the clothes and was never seen again. Honestly? Legend.
Why This Corner of Mayfair Still Matters
In 2026, Mayfair feels like a bubble of wealth, but the the only running footman London reminds us of the literal sweat that built the place. It’s not just a gastro-pub with a decent Sunday roast. It’s a literal link to a time when status was measured by how many people you could afford to have running in front of your car.
The building itself was rebuilt in the 1930s, so you aren't standing on 1749 floorboards, but the spirit is there. It’s also famous for its literary connections. P.G. Wodehouse supposedly used it as the inspiration for the Junior Ganymede Club—the place where Jeeves and other valets would hang out and swap secrets about their "employers."
If those walls could talk, they wouldn't just be talking about the weather. They’d be spilling the tea on every aristocratic scandal from the last three centuries. Footmen were the ultimate flies on the wall. They heard everything because, in the eyes of the elite, they were basically furniture.
Practical Insights for Visiting
If you’re planning to visit the site today, there are a few things you should know.
- The Name Game: Don't look for a massive sign that says "I Am the Only Running Footman." Most of the current branding just says "The Footman." Look for the corner of Charles Street and Hays Mews.
- The Vibe: It’s multi-storied. The ground floor is your classic high-end London pub vibe—great for a pint of Ale. The upper floors are more refined dining.
- The History Hunt: Check out the Georgian bow window. It’s one of the few features that really evokes the era when footmen would have been congregating outside, waiting for their masters to finish their business at nearby Berkeley Square.
- Literary Buffs: If you’re a fan of Martha Grimes, you’ll recognize the name from her 1986 mystery novel. It’s a pilgrimage site for fans of her Richard Jury series.
There is a weird sense of irony in the fact that a job defined by extreme physical exertion ended up becoming a place where people sit for hours eating gourmet burgers. But that's London. Everything gets recycled.
To really appreciate the history, take a walk from Berkeley Square down toward the pub. Don't run. Just walk. Notice how narrow some of the mews are. Imagine a massive wooden carriage, four horses, and a guy in a velvet suit sprinting through the mud right where you’re standing.
The next step is simple: next time you're in the West End, skip the tourist traps of Leicester Square. Head to Charles Street. Order a drink, look at that sign of the running man, and be glad you don't have to carry a six-foot pole and an egg for a living.