London · Soho
The Pump, the Stink, and the Corpse Railway
A pump that killed hundreds. A stink that shut Parliament. A train for the dead.

“Stand still on this pavement for a minute, and take away the offices. Take away the coffee. Eighteen fifty-four. You are in Soho, and Soho is not yet a byword for nightlife. It is cheap, crowded, working London. Families three and four to a room. One privy and one well for a whole court of houses. And at the end of that August, something arrives in these few blocks that has no mercy and no pattern anybody can read. Cholera.”















