Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese

Rebuilt in 1667 shortly after the Great Fire of London, Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese on Fleet Street has been the haunt of writers, journalists, and literary giants for over three centuries. The most famous ghost is that of Dr. Samuel Johnson, the renowned lexicographer who was a regular patron and supposedly had his favorite seat in the pub. Witnesses have reported seeing an elderly gentleman in 18th-century attire sitting in what tradition identifies as Johnson’s chair, appearing deep in thought or scribbling invisible notes, before looking up at observers and vanishing. Staff have reported that this particular chair sometimes becomes ice cold to the touch despite the warmth of the room, and several patrons have refused to sit in it after experiencing an overwhelming sense of being watched or judged while occupying the historic seat.

The pub’s labyrinthine layout, with multiple small rooms connected by narrow passages and steep staircases across several floors, creates an atmosphere ripe for paranormal activity. Each room seems to have its own ghostly inhabitant, with reports varying from floor to floor. The ghost of a man in Victorian dress has been seen in the ground floor rooms, while the upper levels are haunted by the apparition of a woman who appears to be searching for someone, calling out a name that witnesses cannot quite understand before she disappears. The building’s association with the newspaper industry, having served countless journalists from the nearby Fleet Street offices over the centuries, has led to reports of the sound of old printing presses and the frantic tapping of typewriters coming from empty rooms.

The sawdust-covered floors, dark wood paneling, and ancient fireplaces contribute to an atmosphere where the past feels immediately present. Staff working alone in the building have reported hearing conversations and laughter from empty rooms, the sound of footsteps on the creaking floorboards when no one is there, and doors opening and closing throughout the building as if invisible patrons are moving between the various drinking rooms. The cellars, like those of many ancient London pubs, are particularly active with reports of shadow figures, sudden cold spots, and the sensation of being touched by unseen hands. Objects move on their own, glasses have been witnessed sliding across tables, and there are persistent reports of the ghost of a large grey cat that pads silently through the rooms before vanishing, possibly the spirit of the pub’s famous 18th-century resident parrot named Polly, though the form is inexplicably feline. The Cheshire Cheese stands as a haunted portal to literary London’s past, where the spirits of writers and drinkers from centuries gone by continue their eternal conversations.