The Volunteer served as a popular recruitment station during wartime (which is also how it got its name), though no fallen soldiers are said to haunt this space. Instead, legend suggests that Richard Neville — patriarch of the Neville family, whose mansion burned to the ground at this site in the 17th century — wanders the cellars in his breeches. Bartenders mentioned doors slamming shut, sudden gusts of wind, and even the sensation of someone pulling at their ears (eek!).
Fortunately or unfortunately, I didn't see any breech-wearing, ear-grabbing ghosts on my visit. That said, The Volunteer's bar staff insisted its haunted reputation went beyond rumours, so I'd say three out of five skulls for this Baker Street institution.
The Volunteer, 245-247 Baker Street, London, NW1 6XE