In the West End of London there is an alley which insinuates its way between the Charing Cross Road and St Martin’s Lane. It is called Cecil Court, and the Salisbury pub is close at hand. Those are clues. The area around Cecil Court has been owned by the Salisbury branch of the Cecil family since the 17th century.
For a long period, it was not a salubrious area. At least one local was hanged. Others were transported. There may have been a whorehouse or two. The ambience resembled a cross between Fagin’s kitchen and Mistress Quickly’s Boar’s Head, with Doll tearing the sheets.

Then everything changed, thanks to Victorian morality and political pressure. The Third Marquess of Salisbury was a devout churchman as well as a prime minister. His opponents delighted in teasing him about slum-landlordism in Cecil Court. So it was redeveloped, becoming a mixture of mansion flats and small shops, mainly dealing in books and antiquities. Some resemble the Old Curiosity Shop. (Did Wilde go too far when he said that you would need a heart of stone not to laugh at the death of Little Nell?) There are places to fossick – a good Scots word surely self-explanatory in context – in search of original or unusual presents. There are also shops which attract learned men: scholarly fossickers.
One such is Bryars & Bryars, run by Tim Bryars and his wife Pinda. From boyhood, Tim knew his life would be bound up with books. He takes a sensual pleasure from the volumes on his shelves. His great specialism is maps and there are those, competent to judge, who claim that he is one of the leading experts in Europe. Tim has co-authored a book on modern maps in the British Library and regularly contributes to learned journals, as well as running the London Map Fair.

Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in