On this day 1666…all up in flames

It wasn’t just the homes and churches of London that were lost in the great fire of 1666, it was the livelihoods of its traders too – vintners among them.

The great fire of 1666 was not the first fire to have gripped the city in its history. Indeed, only 30 years before there had been a serious blaze that destroyed many buildings around London Bridge.

However, in both its extent and its intensity there was nothing to rival the fire of 1666. Writing in the 19^th century, the historian Thomas Macaulay said that no fire like it had been seen in Europe “since the conflagration of Rome under Nero.” Its ferocity and scale likely went unmatched in European history until the fire bombing of Dresden in 1945.

The fire began in the early hours of Sunday morning, apparently in Pudding Lane, and spread quickly.

Not only were the closely-packed, wooden, thatched and tarred houses of the time horribly susceptible to fires but there had been no rain for some weeks. London was a tinderbox.

As the fire built in intensity sparks and embers leapt from house to house, spreading the conflagration wherever they landed. One witness, a schoolboy called William Taswell, remarked that the wind carried burning cinders a distance of three furlongs (600m). By Sunday afternoon it was estimated that the fire was consuming 100 houses every hour.

Unfortunately, when first informed of the fire, the Lord Mayor, a certain Sir Thomas Bloodworth (or Bludworth), remarked that an old woman might “piss it out”, before going back to bed.

Bloodworth was a member of the Vintners Company and had acted as its Master the year before. His dismissive attitude would have dire consequences for the city’s people and merchants, not least the trade to which he had so recently been a titular head of.

Eventually the fire reached the warehouses along the north bank of the Thames, which were packed with yet more combustible material, “oil, hemp, flax, pitch, tar, cordage, hops, wine, brandies and other materials favourable to fire….coal, timber and wood,” wrote Edward Waterhouse in his book on the fire published in 1667.

The warehouses, especially those with spirits in them, must have exploded. It is already known that at its height it was impossible to approach within 100 yards of the blaze. The fire grew to such an extent that it began to create its own weather (a thunderstorm on Tuesday although without rain) and a chimney effect whipped the fire into an absolute vortex.

Melted pottery from the time found in Pudding Lane has led historians to estimate that the heat of the fire at its height was 1,700°C (3,092°F). Even stone melts at this temperature.

The diarist Samuel Pepys, from whose writing we know so much about the fire saw his neighbour, Sir William Batten, putting his wine into a hole in his garden before leaving for the safety of the country – sure his house would be consumed int he conflagration.

“The jostling in a cart would ruin it,” Batten explained. “It is better to bury it here and take a chance on its not being molested.”

The next day Pepys too had grown sufficiently alarmed by the fire’s spread that he sent much of his gold to the country and, likewise, buried some of his “good wine” and a precious Parmesan cheese in his garden. He dug them up again a few days later as, presumably, did his neighbours.

The fire raged for five days before it burnt itself out having destroyed over 13,000 houses, five sixths of the city. Remarkably, only six people are officially recorded as having died in the fire, though modern historians think the number was higher.

The damage caused by the fire was estimated at over £10 million, £1.1 billion today. The loss of wares and household goods in the riverside warehouses was valued at £2m and the stocks of tobacco, sugar, plums and wine another £1.5m.

King Charles’ vintner, Sir William Hale, lost his entire stock in the blaze and petitioned the monarch for recompense. Meanwhile, the widow of the king’s former vintner, Elizabeth Proctor, found herself in such desperate financial straits afterwards that she had to chase up the king for the £600 he still owed the family for wine purchased in 1662 to entertain the Prussian ambassador.

Despite the destruction many buildings did survive, pubs included. The White Hart on Bishopsgate was one such survivor. Built in the 14^th century it was renovated in 1480 and 1829 and, more recently, was a popular place for city workers to enjoy an after-work pint. Sadly though the pub was closed in 2014 and has since been demolished to make way for a nine-storey block of offices. Only the façade remains, a cheap shot at preservation and a sore reminder to those who know the area of yet another loss.