London’s green cabmen’s shelters are filled with history. What does their future hold?

It was a cold, foggy morning in Victorian London when the city’s first-ever cabmen’s shelter was unveiled. Funded by the philanthropist and newspaper editor George Armstrong, these poky green huts – still standing today in the boroughs of Westminster, Camden, and Kensington and Chelsea – were initially designed to provide shelter for on-shift horse-and-carriage drivers.

Demanding upper-class folk like Armstrong had decided it would be a good idea to funnel the city’s cabbies into designated buildings, so they could track them down easily when they needed a ride, and architect Maximillian Clarke was tasked with developing an intricate, ornamental, but consistent design. Over the years, the slanted roofs and dark shade of green (Dulux Buckingham Paradise 1, to be precise) he opted for have become a familiar sight in the squares of central London. 

There are 13 cabins remaining today, each containing a small kitchen and an interior seating area reserved for licensed taxi drivers. Meanwhile, hatches are used to serve the general public, with a typical offering including tea, coffee, breakfast baps, and spicy wraps (usually at very competitive prices).

• Read next: The abandoned church at the heart of London’s ​’80s nightlife

Following the opening of the first shelter on Acacia Road in St John’s Wood in February 1875, a further 60 sprang up before the start of the First World War. Even in this period, London travel trends changed significantly with the invention of the motor car and the gradual decline of the horse-drawn cart. But 150 years since the cabmen’s shelters were first established, the city’s transport network is drastically different.

“Everything to do with the cab trade is basically on a downward spiral,” says Jimmy Jenkins, chairman of the Cabmen’s Shelter Fund, a registered charity designed to maintain the Grade-listed shelters. ​“And it’s because of three people: Boris Johnson, David Cameron, and George Osborne. When Uber first came to London, Osborne and Cameron told [then mayor] Boris Johnson he had to license them. Osborne then got a directorship with Blackrock, the largest investor in Uber, for £650,000 a year, [while Cameron has also allegedly lobbied for Uber].”

The shady decision-making of these hugely influential UK politicians has helped create a pretty bleak picture for London’s cabbies; thanks largely to the rise of Uber and other ride-hailing apps, the number of black cabs fell by over 7,000 between 2013 and 2023.

• Read next: Boris Johnson leaves behind him a terrifying legacy

Meanwhile, the prioritisation of public transport infrastructure in an economy that’s gradually decarbonising (showcased by the launch of the Elizabeth Line and Sadiq Khan’s bus Superloop) has also impacted trade. Despite the hard work of the people running them and the continued efforts of the charity to maintain these historic buildings, fewer cabbies are using the shelters than ever.

You’d think, then, that the Cabmen’s Shelter Fund would happily seize any opportunity to promote its businesses. The opposite, however, seems to be the case. In what he describes as an effort to protect the cabmen’s shelters’ interests, Jenkins imposes a blanket ban on shelter keepers speaking to the press. ​“Journalists, film crews and other media types took the piss out of the shelter fund, filming without permission and doing reports, and the fund never used to get anything,” Jenkins tells me. ​“I put a stop to that.”

Initially, a lengthy email exchange and a productive phone call helped persuade Jenkins to allow reporting; then, after a trustees meeting, I was informed that ​“no journalists or film crews can use the shelters without making a reasonable donation” to the fund. Speaking off the record to several shelter keepers, the nature of Jenkins’ iron grip becomes clearer.

“I don’t want to get into trouble,” one shelter keeper tells me. ​“He’s not an easy person to approach… it takes time. He needs to understand that [appearing in the media] is positive for the shelters.” In this climate, the work being done by these hospitality spaces – striking up relationships with hard-working cabbies, creating pockets of community in the hustle and bustle of central London, and cooking up hearty, affordable meals for the wider population – is even more impressive.

• Read next: Photos documenting the UK’s avid trainspotting community

“For us, it’s about how you run the hut,” a chef at one hut explains. ​“When you encourage the drivers to come, they will come. They’re loyal, and it’s a proper community. If you make it a safe, comfortable environment for them, you give them a nice welcome and serve good food at a slight discount, they want to come back. We’ve got regulars that come two or three times a week.”

However, when it comes to engaging the wider public, the shelters could do more. At popular spots like Russell Square, the friendly service and light banter with customers help keep local office workers or tradespeople visiting daily, but there’s no denying the fact that a huge proportion of the capital’s broader population is unaware of the historic role the cabmen’s shelters have played (and continue to play) in feeding the city. Londoners walk past the shacks at Embankment, Temple, or Kensington Park Road without giving them a second glance; why don’t they have a similar status to London’s iconic red buses or phone boxes?

“We really want the green huts to be on the map, because there’s so much amazing history, and there’s a real sense of community,” says one shelter keeper. ​“As the trade’s gone down, they haven’t always been taken care of… and it’s a big job. We clean the outside as much as we can, which is hard in London because it’s so grubby and dusty.”

• Read next: The UK’s oldest weightlifting gym is under threat. Can it weather gentrification?

Contending with local councils is also a huge challenge. According to Jenkins: ​“We’re treading on broken glass, constantly. The Kensington Park shelter is in the middle of the road, and it needs painting badly. To paint that shelter is £6,000, but to do it, we have to suspend the cycle bays and the residents’ parking bays, and that costs £22,000. So a £6,000 paint job is now £28,000 – that’s what I have to contend with.”

Ensuring the shelters remain a part of London’s transport landscape is clearly a tough job. But by showing hostility to outsiders and refusing to accept the potential of digital or social media promotion for the shelters, the fund is making things harder for itself. ​“Americans know they exist, Europeans know they exist, and I believe no media things would bring any new customers to the shelter,” Jenkins tells me, bafflingly.

Crucially, that threatens the livelihoods of workers who are giving everything to their businesses. Even in the context of falling cab numbers, heightened public transport initiatives, and Sadiq Khan’s ULEZ expansion, London’s black cabs are still an important part of the city’s transport landscape and its rich heritage. The cabmen’s shelters have been a pivotal part of working-class culture in the capital for 150 years; it’s about time they got the respect, admiration and exposure they deserve.

Fred Garratt-Stanley is a freelance writer. Follow him on Instagram.

Buy your copy of Huck 82 here.

Enjoyed this article? Follow Huck on Instagram and sign up to our newsletter for more from the cutting edge of sport, music and counterculture.

Support stories like this by becoming a member of Club Huck.