The story
As you stand here on the corner of Commercial Street and Fournier Street, take a moment to look up. To one side, you see the towering, pale stone of Christ Church Spitalfields, a masterpiece by Nicholas Hawksmoor. Directly opposite sits the Ten Bells, a pub that has occupied this spot in various forms since the mid-18th century.
Its name is a tribute to the carillon of bells housed in the church tower across the road. But while the church speaks of the divine, the Ten Bells has long been a sanctuary for the earthly, the weary, and the lost. Step closer to the windows.
If you were to walk inside today, you’d see a beautiful, bustling interior decorated with ornate Victorian tiling. Look for the large mural titled "Visiting the Sick," a relic from 1904. But the history that draws people here is far darker than the artwork suggests.
This pub is forever tethered to the Autumn of Terror in 1888. Imagine the street as it was then—smog-choked, crowded, and desperate. On the morning of September 8, 1888, Annie Chapman, the second victim of Jack the Ripper, was seen sitting in this very pub, nursing a drink just hours before her body was found in the backyard of a nearby house on Hanbury Street.
It is also widely believed that Mary Jane Kelly, the Ripper’s final and most brutally murdered victim, used the pavement right outside these doors to find her clients among the market porters and late-night revelers. For decades, the pub wore this macabre association with a quiet, heavy shrug. However, in 1976, the owners decided to lean into the notoriety.
They officially renamed the establishment "The Jack the Ripper," complete with a neon sign and themed memorabilia. For twelve years, it served as a controversial landmark, drawing tourists while drawing the ire of local residents and feminist groups. The "Reclaim the Night" movement famously picketed the pub, arguing that it was grotesque to celebrate a man who had dehumanized and slaughtered women.
The pressure eventually mounted, and in 1988—the centenary of the murders—the pub reverted to its original name, The Ten Bells. Today, the pub serves as a bridge between Spitalfields’ gritty past and its vibrant, gentrified present. It remains a place where history feels thin, as if the voices of Annie and Mary might still be heard over the clink of glasses.
As you continue your walk down Commercial Street, remember that these stones have seen the best and worst of London’s spirit. The Ten Bells isn't just a pub; it's a witness.