Picture this: It’s 1666, and London is about to have the mother of all barbecues. No, we’re not talking about a cheeky Sunday roast gone wrong. We’re talking about the Great Fire of London, the blaze that turned the city into a giant bonfire and gave urban planning a whole new meaning.
Our fiery tale begins in the wee hours of September 2nd, 1666. Thomas Farriner, a baker on Pudding Lane (yes, that was a real place), goes to bed without properly extinguishing his oven. Now, we’ve all been guilty of forgetting to turn off the stove, but Farriner’s absent-mindedness was about to take things to a whole new level.
Around 1 am, sparks from the still-warm oven ignite some nearby firewood. Before you can say, “Toast is burning,” the bakery is ablaze. Farriner and his family barely escape, but their maid becomes the fire’s first victim. It’s a tragic start to what will become a citywide catastrophe.
At first, Lord Mayor Sir Thomas Bloodworth (a man whose decision-making skills were apparently as questionable as his name) is called to the scene. When advised to demolish nearby houses to create a firebreak, he famously replies, “Pish! A woman could piss it out.” Spoiler alert: they couldn’t, and his blasé attitude gives the fire time to spread. Note to future mayors: when faced with a potential inferno, maybe skip the colorful metaphors and go straight to action.
As the fire grows, it meets the perfect conditions for a massive conflagration. London in 1666 is essentially one big tinderbox. Narrow streets are lined with timber-framed houses packed tightly together. A long, hot summer has left everything bone-dry. And to top it off, a strong easterly wind is fanning the flames. It’s like Mother Nature looked at London and said, “You know what this place needs? More fire.”
By dawn, the blaze is out of control. Londoners, realizing this isn’t your average house fire, start to panic. Some flee to the River Thames, loading their possessions onto boats. Others head for the hills – literally – gathering on spots like Moorfields to watch their city burn. It’s like the world’s most terrifying bonfire night, minus the toffee apples and sparklers.
Enter our reluctant hero: Samuel Pepys. This naval administrator and famous diarist becomes our eye-witness to the unfolding disaster. He rushes to inform King Charles II, who orders the creation of firebreaks by demolishing buildings. It’s a good idea, but it’s also a case of too little, too late. The fire has a mind of its own now, and it’s hungry for more of London.
Over the next few days, the Great Fire devours some of London’s most iconic landmarks. St. Paul’s Cathedral, believed to be safe due to its stone construction, goes up in flames when its wooden scaffold catches fire. The lead roof melts, streaming down the streets like a river. It’s a scene straight out of a disaster movie, only with more powdered wigs and fewer special effects.
By September 5th, the fire finally starts to die down, thanks to a combination of firebreaks and a change in the wind. But the damage is done. When the smoke clears, 80% of the city lies in ashes. Over 13,000 houses, 87 churches, and 44 livery halls are destroyed. Surprisingly, only six verified deaths are recorded, though the actual number was likely much higher.
In the aftermath, London resembles a post-apocalyptic wasteland. 100,000 people are homeless, camping in fields around the city. It’s like Glastonbury Festival, but with more actual glasto and less music.
But here’s where things get interesting. Rather than wallow in the ashes, Londoners do what they do best: they rebuild, bigger and better than before. King Charles II appoints Christopher Wren to redesign St. Paul’s Cathedral and many of the city’s churches. Wren, showing the ambition of a modern-day tech startup, proposes a complete redesign of London with wide avenues and grand piazzas. The city’s residents, in a display of characteristic stubbornness, largely ignore this plan and rebuild along the old street layouts. Some things never change, eh?
Despite this setback, the rebuilding process does bring significant improvements. New buildings are made of brick and stone instead of wood. Streets are widened (a bit). Building regulations are introduced. It’s like London got a makeover, swapping its medieval rags for a snazzy new Restoration-era outfit.
The crowning glory of this rebirth is the new St. Paul’s Cathedral. Wren’s masterpiece, with its iconic dome, becomes a symbol of London’s resilience. It’s as if the city is saying, “Nice try, fire, but we’re not going anywhere.”
In the end, the Great Fire of London, catastrophic as it was, became a turning point in the city’s history. It cleared away much of the old, plague-infested medieval city, paving the way for a more modern London. It sparked advancements in firefighting and insurance (the company now known as Royal & Sun Alliance was founded in its aftermath). And it gave us one of London’s most recognizable landmarks in the form of the new St. Paul’s.
So next time you’re admiring London’s skyline or wandering its (slightly) wider streets, spare a thought for the Great Fire of 1666. It may have been London’s hottest year, but it also forged the city anew, proving that even in the face of fiery disaster, London’s spirit remains unquenchable. Now, that’s what we call a great British glow-up!
Author: Jonathan Thomas
Jonathan is a consummate Anglophile who launched Anglotopia.net in 2007 to channel his passion for Britain. Londontopia is its sister publication dedicated to everything London.