The Great London Fire by Katherine Pym

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London Fire reached Ludgate, September 4, 1666

I understand this is a subject that may have been slightly overdone, especially since 2016 marked the 350 year anniversary of the vast destruction that occurred within a short 4 day timespan. To celebrate, London had a lovely old city effigy burned on a barge in the Thames. BBC had a television show on how it happened, where it started. It looks like Pudding Lane wasn’t quite where we thought it was all these years. The bakery was a block or so farther away. A marker that shows where it was is in a nice, clean street where cars now parallel park.

My current work in progress (WIP) takes place in London 1666. Since the fire was a big event in that year, I cannot not mention it, now can I? The reader would wonder why I’ve listed every other important moment but not that one, which to this day marks many souls as a living catastrophe.

In 1666, England was at war with the Dutch (fought entirely at sea). It was really a merchant’s war, caused by skirmishes over ports of call in the East and West Indies. The English felt the Dutch should share in the profits of spices, new fabrics (cotton), exotic fruits, differently manufactured furniture and fine pottery. After all, the Indies included vast areas of land and people. It wasn’t fair that one country take everything. 

 

Fighting fire with a 'squirt'. It held 4 pints of fluid, and took 2 men to operate.

Almost 18 months into the war, as the English fleet prepared to meet the enemy in a pitched battle, on September 1, 1666, a gale entered the Channel. A wind so strong, it felled the fleet. Sails ripped from masts. Bowsprits shattered. Ships collided and listed. Gun ports were closed to keep the seas from flowing onto the gun decks, swamping everything in its wake. The winds tore the fleet to shreds, then moved onto England. In the wee hours of Sunday morning, September 2, London winds whipped a spark and London began to burn.

The fire was so fierce, it created its own weather. Lightning slashed, thunder boomed. Warehouses along the Thames contained oils, pitch and tar, which burned fiercely.

People weren't this calm as they ran

Most homes were squeezed along narrow, dark lanes, cantilevered so that top stories were only inches apart. Made of half-timbers, wattle and daub, a material that if maintained did not burn easily, many houses were not maintained. Leased houses and shops were the responsibility of the renters. They had to fix anything that broke, burnt or toppled over. They were responsible for the walkway and road outside their doors. Not many followed these regulations. And with the winds so fierce, it was fodder for fire.

People took their goods to neighbors’, thinking the fire wouldn’t reach them. They took furniture and clothing to churches, thinking the walls were too thick for fire to burn them. As the fire moved west along the river and northwest through town, people removed what they had stored and moved them farther away, into a neighborhood they were sure would not burn.

Black smoke could be seen over 56 miles away. The city looked like daylight when it was nighttime. A contemporary wrote the firestorm sounded like “a thousand iron chariots beating on stones”. It was deafening. Stone facades exploded like bombs. Church steeples engulfed in flame toppled over onto streets and houses.

Booksellers lived in the vicinity of St. Paul’s Cathedral. They sold their wares in Paul’s Yard. Their parish church was St. Faith’s located under St. Paul’s church in the undercroft. They called it St. Faith’s under St. Paul’s. They took their presses, paper and books to St. Faith’s knowing with the massive pillars of Paul’s it would never burn. By the time the flames licked Paul’s outer walls, St. Faith’s was stuffed. St. Paul’s was filled with goods up to the choir loft.

St. Paul’s was in disrepair. Over time, the heavy, lead roof had spread its walls outward. Pillars were crumbling. Scaffolding supported some of the pillars and the outside of the church. Just a few days prior, a meeting had been held to discuss renovation of the building. 

The Burning of St. Paul's Cathedral

By 8 o’clock Tuesday evening (September 4), fiery debris had fallen on Paul’s roof. Shoddy repairs of timber caught and burned so hot, a gentleman who stood over a mile away saw the inferno.

“Large parts of the roof, both stone and burning timber fell in, and the Cathedral became a roaring cauldron of fire…”

“Molten lead dripped in silvery beads from the roof, raining down upon the broken stones and tombs that strewed the Cathedral floor, and there collecting, ran out into the streets in a stream.”

Paul’s choir and lower floor crashed into St. Faith’s. When St. Paul’s collapsed, the whole building exploded with an earsplitting roar. Burning papers and books sailed in the air, some of the pages landing miles away in the English countryside.

St. Paul’s was a mass of smoking ruins within an hour.

London after the fire. It poured beyond the old Roman walls into west London.

 

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Many thanks to Wikicommons, public domain,

By Permission of Heaven, the True Story of the Great Fire of London, by Adrian Tinniswood, Riverhead Books, NY 2004

The Story of London’s Great Fire by Walter G. Bell, Butler & Tanner, Ltd., Frome and London, 1923

Strange 17th Century Thoughts by Katherine Pym

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 During the 17^th century in England an explosion of thought dominated. King Charles II blessed the establishment of the Royal Society after his Restoration and men enthusiastically dove into scientific experiments.

Plague Doctor's Headgear

 For medicine, plague doctors almost had it when they said all dogs and cats must be killed to stop the spread of plague. They just did not realize rats that penetrated wattle and daub walls, women’s kitchens and family bedchambers might also carry the disease. Physicians bold enough to enter a plague house wore protective coverings made of soft leather or canvas when visiting the sick, their bird mask beaks filled with disease preventative spices, the types generally unspecified. One master of his house contrived a system of pulleys and tubes that would bring food and stuffs up to a family, with a blast of gunpowder at the onset of sending or receiving goods. The wise patriarch quarantined his family in their upper rooms and barred their doors in June of 1665. They did not leave for months, even as the plague died down with colder weather. My sources say the family lived to write of their experiences.

Women’s reproductive process provided enthusiastic discourse. If virgins were pale and listless, they had the green sickness, and the only cure, according to a 16^th century German physician, was to have sex. Once they conceived, their ailment would go away.  

Robert Hooke's Microscope

If a woman was sexually active and did not conceive, physicians considered her womb had lost purchase and wandered about her body. One learned fellow declared a female patient came to him complaining of severe headaches. He determined her womb had wandered and lodged in her brain. He performed surgery on the luckless lady, cutting into her skull. There is no evidence she survived.

When one fell into an epileptic fit, the best way to revive him was to bend back their fingernails.

For Science, the Royal Society provided a plethora of opportunities to study nature and how things worked. There were lectures and experiments.

One such experiment dealt a transfusion of blood between two dogs. Samuel Pepys wrote of it in his diary: Nov 14, 16666: “A pretty experiment of the blood of one dogg let out, till he died, into the body of another on one side, while all his own run out on the other side.¹ The first died upon the place, and the other very well, and likely to do well.”  

Boyle's Air Pump

Robert Boyle was a brilliant man, and the intellect behind Boyle’s Law: a law stating that the pressure of a given mass of an ideal gas is inversely proportional to its volume at a constant temperature. He created an air pump, which Robert Hooke enhanced and performed experiments at the Royal Society.

From my novel, The Barbers:

A tubular, metal vat sat on a tripod of sorts, and atop it was a round glass chamber. Inside the chamber a little chick sat on the bottom, looking bewildered. Its beak opened and closed but Celia did not hear it chirp. To see if it was strangely dead, she tapped the glass. Its head moved.

Robert Hooke said, “Air is very important for all creatures to live. See this here handle?”

Celia felt Deeping nod, and she did too.

“The base of it is attached to the metal cylinder. If you turn this forward, it sucks air out of the glass chamber. Watch.”

He turned the handle, and the chick fluttered its wings a little. As Hooke turned the crank, the chick’s beak opened and closed. The poor, little bird sagged to the bottom of the glass, then it fell over, its little chest pumping up and down. Soon, the chick stilled.

Hooke pointed at the glass globe. “The air has been pumped out of the chamber. Now, I’ll reverse the action.”

He turned the handle backward, and the chick stirred. Its chest went in and out, its breathing less labored. Hooke cranked the handle backward until the chick gathered its wits, gained its feet, and perched once again on the bottom of the glass chamber. It looked around, and chirped.”

NOTE: The animals used in most of these experiments died, their carcasses thrown into the muck pile in the street.

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Many thanks to: The Barbers, Erasmus T. Muddiman by Katherine Pym, Samuel Pepys’ diary, and Wikicommons Public Domain.

Captain Kidd & Wooden Ships by Katherine Pym

YA for All Ages London 1665

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Capt Kidd in NY Harbor. It was traditional to have wives & lovers aboard before sailing

Research takes me to different eras and locales. One of those places is on a wooden ship slicing through the ocean's heavy swells. I have several books that describe the building of them, their terminologies, but few mention what it was like living on board. Until now...

Oh, I knew ships were crowded. Cages of ducks, geese and chickens lined the main deck rails. Cows and goats were harnessed to masts. Below decks, the magazine and filling rooms sat close together but the powder room was farther astern. Safety, you know, even as ships sometimes spontaneously exploded.

Capt Kidd's New York home

Seamen would often re-use old gun cartridges that, after a while, would deteriorate to a fine dust, and combined with particles of sulphuric and nitric acids found in gunpowder, a highly combustible substance called ‘guncotton’ would form. This friction of dust and gunpowder would cause terrific explosions, sinking the ship and everyone on board. 

Upward to several hundred men crowded onto a vessel. Captain Kidd, the privateer who turned pirate in the last years of the 17^th century, had one hundred fifty-two men and boys cheek to jowl aboard his ship Adventure Galley. Men had to sleep in shifts. 

Inaccurate renduring of Capt Kidd

The decks were so short, maybe 5 feet ceilings, everyone had to walk in a permanent crouch. Unless a seaman was given express permission from the captain, no fire could be taken below decks, and unless the decks had gun ports, it was damn dark down there. 

“’No man will be a sailor who has contrivance enough to get himself into a jail,’ observed Samuel Johnson. ‘For being in a ship is being in jail with the chance of being drowned... a man in jail has more room, better food and commonly better company.’

“Every available inch below deck was taken up with water-casks, barrels of salt beef, peas, beer; coils of ropes, bundles of extra canvas;” a private cabin or two, depending on the ship’s rate. These cabins were 4x4 feet. No one could stretch or pace. One had to sleep in the fetal position. 

“For landsmen, novices at this naval dormitory, the smell of that sleep chamber was gagging. Their overworked fellow sailors rarely changed their clothes or bathed; to top off the aroma of vintage sweat, toilet hygiene was rudimentary at best. 

“The ship’s head (i.e., toilet) consisted of a plank with a hole in it, which extended forward from the bow; a sailor perched on it, rode it like a seesaw, and, while doing his business, resembled some gargoyle or perverse bowsprit; the ship’s rail might provide the merest amount of privacy. A man attempting to tidy his ass risked a plunge into the sea.” 

Sailor being flogged

Even as existence such as this seemed pretty unpalatable, it got into the blood of men. Once they found their sea legs and learned the ways of the sea, many wouldn’t leave it for all their stolen treasure. If they didn’t like what their captain did, they could always mutiny, throw the offending captain overboard (as the Henry Hudson’s crew did) and sail away into the stormy sunset. 

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Many thanks to: 

Wikicommons, public domain 

The Pirate Hunter, The True Story of Captain Kidd by Richard Zacks. Hyperio, NY, NY. 2002

Tuesday 4 August, 2015: http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/the-london-after-350-years-the-riddle-of-britains-exploding-fleet-is-finally-solved-10438854.html

More Dirt and Foulness in 17th Century London by Katherine Pym

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Later model of Coach with Seat-Box higher & safer

Riding in a coach sounds romantic. I certainly would like to climb into a 17^th century ‘chariot’ as Pepys says on occasion. It would be cool. 

I’ve read a few historical fiction novels where the hero seduces the heroine in a carriage as it rolls down a neat cobblestone lane, the coach lanterns slightly swaying. The visual is pretty. It is clean. Flowers scent the air. Unfortunately, some things in these novels aren’t quite correct. 

Most of the middling sort of society did not own horses and until the latter half of Queen Elizabeth I’s reign, my sources say there were no coaches (carts, yes). Everyday folk  foot-slogged wherever they wanted to go. When they finally came onto the scene, you had to be rich to own one. 

Coaches of the late 16^th & early 17^th centuries were not like what we see in movies and television. They were heavy, cumbersome boxes attached to solid frames with wheels. They made for a teeth rattling trip.  

Sometimes leather flaps covered the windows. When doors were attached, they were generally ill-fitted. Cold, rain and dirt found their way inside. Travel was uncomfortable and unwieldy. Eventually, the heavy coach was suspended by great leather straps but the swaying this produced caused terrible motion sickness.  

17th century Coachman

During most of the 17^th century, the coach had no box-seat. The coachman was forced to sit or stand on a low platform attached to the coach pole. If he sat, there was no place to rest his feet. This put his head very close to the horses’ hooves where a coachman could easily be kicked or splattered with mud and waste. The coachman’s foot could snag a root or an object and be pulled under the chassis, breaking a leg.

If you think of a coachman and postilions in plush livery with lace and shiny boots as they jaunt down a country lane, don’t. They would be mud splattered, the lace, their faces, hats and clothes fouled by the time they reached their destination.

The old Roman roads were in disrepair. Other highways were mud tracks or scratched paths. In springtime, farmers plowed across roads then people, carts and horses brazenly trod over this, crushing seed and new growth. Wheel ruts were deep. Great holes pockmarked thoroughfares that could break a horse’s leg, do irreparable damage to a cart or coach. 

Coach with low, unsafe seat-box

The actual city of London resided within its walls, an area of approximately one square mile. Everything beyond was considered the Liberties or suburbs. City lanes were narrow. As years went by coaches were built taller, wider. (Seat boxes were placed higher, equipped with foot rests.)Their sides and roofs scraped along cantilever houses, destroyed the edges of jutting eaves, knocked off butchers’ displays of hanging meats, pushed over vegetable stands. In London, iron clad wheels were outlawed due to the ear splitting noise and road destruction, but for the most part, this law was ignored.

By 1636, it is suggested upwards to 6,000 coaches rumbled up and down the lanes of London, (which seems excessively over the mark). Gridlock! Another source stated 300-700, which is still pretty darn crowded.  

Coaches fought with pedestrians, merchants with loaded carts, sedan chairs and men and women on horses. They rolled down lanes that were a combination of pavers, cobblestones and dirt, piles of muck and filthy mud running down center kennels. [Men were allowed to urinate on fires and empty their bladders in the street.] Cattle and sheep were herded through town. There were no fenders on the coach wheels. This allowed mud and other foul substances to wash onto the coachman and passengers.

Waterman plying his trade on the Thames

Another mode of dirty travel:

Watermen plied their boats for hire up and down the River Thames. They had a strong guild. They were tough and ornery. You never wanted to cross a wherriman. When they were pressed into service during the 2^nd Anglo/Dutch war, soldiers were sent to keep them subdued. Considering the crush of coaches in London, taking a wherry where you wanted to go probably proved to be much faster.

But there were issues. The Thames is a tidal river. When the tide was out, oftentimes you had to walk to the boat on planks of wood spread over mud that held centuries of filth.  London Bridge on the Southwark side of the river held heads of beheaded traitors on pikes. Once the flesh was eaten away, the caretaker would fling the skulls off the Bridge where they sank into river mud.  

The river was used for suicides. Men and women jumped off the Bridge to land willy-nilly on anything flowing beneath. Bodies would bloat up and float for days before the city scavengers could retrieve them. Dogs and rats had a tendency to find their way there, too, where they’d be left to rot.  

The Thames was also a dumping ground, from the Fleet River that was a sewer to anyone who wanted to get rid of something. Your wherriman guided the boat through this sludge to your destination.

Then there was the sedan chair.

Like a fly or a gnat, these little guys buzzed underfoot and added to the congestion. Cramped and closed in, it was a cleaner way to travel once you got into the chair.

Attached by two hefty poles, men at each end of the chair carried you to where you wanted to go. They were the ones who got dirty during the journey, not you, unless somehow a man tripped and the whole chair fell to the ground. I don’t want to go into all the hazards this would cause especially if it had been raining. 

Sedan Chair carried by mules. Nifty way to go.

So, no matter what you did in the 17^th century, where you went in London, prepare to get dirty. If you go back in time, go with an open mind.

You’ll find yourself in a rollicking loud place, filled with all sorts of people. Your mind will stagger from the myriad of visuals and powerful scents. Just hope you can safely return to the present where you can take a bath in warm, clean water.

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Many thanks to:

Wikicommons, public domain for sedan chairs

Other pictures taken from the book Travel in England, 1925

Travel in England in the 17^th century by Joan Parkes, Oxford University Press, London 1925

Old and New London: Westminster and the western suburbs By Walter Thornbury, Edward Walford, Vol IV, London 1891