On the Scene: A Hemp Museum

THE streets of London, they used to say, were paved with gold. Maybe that is true of the City, the British capital’s financial district, but take a walk five minutes to the east, to Shoreditch, and the surroundings are more mundane. Here you will find a theme park of pre-Thatcher Britain. The pub at the end of Redchurch Street is no exception. A drab spot despite its exotic dancer, the White Horse sports a cautious sign noting that Shakespeare is reputed to have drunk there. But if the White Horse is timelessly East End, the East End is itself changing. Not so long ago Redchurch Street was part of that old stereotypical London of the Ealing comedies and the kindly bobby. Now it is also home to a mosque, a Bengali grocery store, and, most recently, a cannabis museum.

Located in a nondescript office building, the museum was opened amid some fanfare in April. Howard Marks—a graduate of both Balliol College, Oxford (politics, philosophy, and economics), and the American prison system (cannabis smuggling)—was the guest of honor. The press came, and so did the police. There are, of course, drug laws in Britain, and a wide range of “hemp” products was on display. Hemp? The police were wise to that alias. Hemp is also known as Cannabis sativa, a name it received, somewhat alarmingly, from the Emperor Nero’s surgeon. No contraband was found, however. The hemp jeans passed muster. Even the revolting “Hemp 9,” a “high energy protein mixed seed bar,” was allowed. British law, that is, permits the manufacture of hemp products so long as they contain no more than 0.3 per cent tetrahydrocannabinol, hemp’s narcotic element. Smoking a hemp T-shirt would be a waste of time; even Bill Clinton could inhale.

About the Author

Andrew Stuttaford

Andrew Stuttaford is the editor of National Review's Capital Matters.

Featured Tags

THE streets of London, they used to say, were paved with gold. Maybe that is true of the City, the British capital’s financial district, but take a walk five minutes to the east, to Shoreditch, and the surroundings are more mundane. Here you will find a theme park of pre-Thatcher Britain. The pub at the end of Redchurch Street is no exception. A drab spot despite its exotic dancer, the White Horse sports a cautious sign noting that Shakespeare is reputed to have drunk there. But if the White Horse is timelessly East End, the East End is itself changing. Not so long ago Redchurch Street was part of that old stereotypical London of the Ealing comedies and the kindly bobby. Now it is also home to a mosque, a Bengali grocery store, and, most recently, a cannabis museum.

Located in a nondescript office building, the museum was opened amid some fanfare in April. Howard Marks—a graduate of both Balliol College, Oxford (politics, philosophy, and economics), and the American prison system (cannabis smuggling)—was the guest of honor. The press came, and so did the police. There are, of course, drug laws in Britain, and a wide range of “hemp” products was on display. Hemp? The police were wise to that alias. Hemp is also known as Cannabis sativa, a name it received, somewhat alarmingly, from the Emperor Nero’s surgeon. No contraband was found, however. The hemp jeans passed muster. Even the revolting “Hemp 9,” a “high energy protein mixed seed bar,” was allowed. British law, that is, permits the manufacture of hemp products so long as they contain no more than 0.3 per cent tetrahydrocannabinol, hemp’s narcotic element. Smoking a hemp T-shirt would be a waste of time; even Bill Clinton could inhale.