Fast forward to the 1970s. The pub rebranded itself. They literally changed the name to "The Jack the Ripper." Tacky? A little. Brilliant marketing? Absolutely.
They leaned hard into the gore. They put up newspaper clippings from 1888. The walls were covered in crime scene sketches. Tourists lapped it up like cats at a creamery. You could get a "Ripper Ale" and a plate of bangers and mash while sitting where a murderer might have planned his next move.
London Pub History: 13 Most Beautiful Pubs Where The Ugliest Things
But then, in the 2000s, the locals got tired of the blood-spattered theme. The pub changed its name back to The Ten Bells. They scrubbed the Ripper decor. Now it’s a gastropub. Fancy, huh?
What’s it Like Now?
Today, it’s all exposed brick, wood floors, and proper craft beer. It’s actually nice. You can get a Sunday roast that would make a Victorian ghost weep with envy. But the vibe? It’s still there.
You sit in the back corner, and you know something terrible happened nearby. It’s not scary. It’s… heavy. Like the room is holding its breath.
The staff are used to the questions. "Where did she sit?" "Is it haunted?" They’ll roll their eyes and point you to a menu. But if you tip well, they might whisper about the shadowy figure seen near the ladies' loo. Spooky.
