The Great Fire of London - Eye-witness Accounts



The pink areas indicate those parts of London destroyed in the Great Fire

This week it’s my brother’s birthday, a date he shares with the anniversary of another significant historical event –  the Great Fire of London in 1666. It seemed appropriate to mark his birthday on my blog with eye-witness accounts of the Great Fire, almost 350 years ago (OK, it was 347 years – but that doesn’t sound as momentous.)

Samuel Pepys- diarist

 

In the early hours of Sunday 2 September 1666, Mr and Mrs Samuel Pepys were woken by their maid, Jane, to tell them of a fire within the city. Pepys was concerned enough to rise in his nightgown for a look but recorded:
“Thought it far enough off, and so went to bed again and to sleep.”

At 7am the news was not good:

“Jane comes and tells me that she hears that above 300 houses have been burned down to-night by the fire we saw, and that it is now burning down all Fish-street by London Bridge.”

To investigate Pepys took to a boat on the Thames, to get the view from the river. He found a four acre area of light industry and warehouses ablaze. On a large scale people evacuated their houses and public order began to break down as they looked for someone to blame.

It seems London’s population turned against foreigners, and in particular the French, as the likely culprits for starting the fire. A schoolboy recorded a terrible incident where a blacksmith attacked ‘an innocent Frenchman’ with an iron bar. Another report was of a Frenchman ‘almost dismembered’ by a mob who thought he had firebombs (they were actually tennis balls.)

            The reason the fire was so severe was the medieval city of London consisted of closely packed wooden buildings with gables practically touching. That and a high wind that fanned the flames and that the city was dry for want of rain, added together to make an inferno.

“The wind got up mighty high…driving the fire into the city…and everything after so long a drought was proving combustible, even the very stones of the churches.”

            That Sunday evening (day 1 of the fire) Pepys and his wife sat in a wharf alehouse and watched the flames.

“An arch of above a mile long: it made me weep to see it.”

The Duke of York,
the future King James II

By Monday morning (day 2), that same alehouse had been destroyed. The brother of King Charles II, took charge. James, the Duke of York, recognised drastic action was needed and ordered whole streets to be demolished. But the fire continued to spread and the Royal Exchange, one of the landmarks of Elizabethan London, was gone by the afternoon.

John Evelyn -
described the fire and also proposed a layout for
the city to replace the one destroyed.

Tuesday(day 3) must have be terrifying indeed as the medieval cathedral of St Paul’s caught fire. Another famous diarist, John Evelyn, described a hellish sight.
“The melting lead [from the roof of St Paul’s] running down the streets in a stream, and the very pavements glowing with fiery redness, so as no horse, nor man, was able to tread on them.”

Evelyn also recounted how.

“The fall of towers, houses and churches was like a hideous storm.”

The Great Fire - by an unknown artist.
Tower of London on the extreme right
London Bridge on the extreme left
St. Pauls on the left amidst the highest flames

            The Duke of York had hoped the Fleet Ditch would provide a natural fire break but nature worked against him and a strong wind blew from the east and the fire leapt the ditch to arrive in Fleet Street. But later on Tuesday, the wind dropped abruptly and the fire-breaks held…dare they hope?

            The morning of Wednesday 5^th September (day 4) Pepys set off to inspect the city. He wrote of his ‘feet ready to burn’ such was the residual heat. Some indication of the damage was shown as he wrote about picking up a souvenir:

“…a piece of glasse of [16^th century] Mercer’s Chappell in the street…so melted and buckled with the heat of the fire like parchment.”

An early fire-engine - which would have been impotent
against the power of the Great Fire.

            But the fire had largely done its worst and that night Pepys ‘slept a good night’ – the first since Sunday.

            By all accounts on the Thursday, although the fire on burnt in localised areas, the heat radiating from scorched pavements and walls was fierce. No accurate figures existed of the number of deaths but although supposedly low, one wonders how many vagrants were burnt and went unaccounted for.

Pudding Lane in the modern day!

            After the fire, someone had to be blamed. A Frenchman, Robert Hubert, ‘a poor distracted wretch’ was executed as the culprit, but it later turned out to be a baker, Thomas Farynor of Pudding Lane. He had failed to put out his oven properly and an explosive aerosol of flour became exposed to the cinders, igniting the conflagration. In total, his negligence led to the destruction of the 13,000 homes, 87 churches and one cathedral that made up medieval London. 

 

John Evelyn's plan for rebuilding London on a structured grid pattern.
This never happened as Londoner's swiftly started rebuilding on the site of their ruined homes.

Southsea Castle, King Henry VIII and the Mary Rose

Did King Henry VIII stand on this spot to
watch the Mary Rose sink...

‘Your Highness’s new fortress here…may be called a castle, both for the compass, strength and beauty…and marvellously praised of all men that have seen it.’

Sir Anthony Knyvet, 22 Oct 1544

Southsea Castle (centre, in the distance to the left of the lighthouse)
Seen form Southsea Common.

            On a perfect summer’s day, I fed my history addiction by visiting Southsea Castle and then the Mary Rose museum, Portsmouth.
Indeed, Southsea Castle is perhaps most well-known for being the place from which, on 19^th July, 1545, King Henry VIII witnessed the sinking of the Mary Rose. My aim was to revisit the spot where Henry stood…

The Mary Rose - flying green and white Tudor pennants.

Southsea Castle was built to Henry VIII’s own design, in 1544. He was concerned about a French invasion of Portsmouth and positioned his new castle, or fortress, at a strategic site overlooking the Solent (the stretch of water between the mainland and the Isle of Wight). It commanded a stretch of deep water where ships passed closest to shore on their way into the important naval base of Portsmouth.

The entrance to Southsea Castle.

Henry appointed Sir Anthony Knyvet, Governor of Portsmouth, to oversee the construction. Knyvet took care to report regularly to his majesty. In one letter, some idea of the pressure to complete the build is hinted at when he bemoans a 10 day period in June 1544 when the weather was too poor to ship building supplies over from the Isle of Wight. Just a week later he reports construction will be far enough advanced, 12 days hence, to support weaponry.  However, on 8^th July he wrote again, anxious to correct the king who had been told the castle was fully defensible, “the which [sic] is not.” Again, supplies seem to have been the problem:

“Only a small quantity of gunpowder and the two sacres [small brass canon firing 6 pound shot]had been delivered, along with a good store of bows, arrows, bills and pikes.”
 

The keep - an original part of Henry's Castle.

Keen as he was to have the new fortification finished, Henry was slow to send money for wages and materials, and Knyvet was forced to apply for more funds on several occasions. Over the six months it took to build Southsea Castle  3,000GBP was spent, of which 1,300 GBP came from the dissolution of the monasteries.

‘I dare say your Majesty had never so great a piece of work done and so substantial, in so little time, as all skilful men that have seen it do report.’

Sir Anthony Knyvet.

When completed Knyvet wrote to Lord Wriothesely, the High Chancellor, that never had such a fortress been built at so little cost. He also hoped the king would be pleased “which was of his Majesty’s own device” – that is to say, Henry himself had been responsible for the design.

Standing on the ramparts, looking west across the entrance
to Portsmouth harbour.

Over the centuries the castle has been adapted and expanded, to meet changing defence needs. Indeed, Charles II visited in 1683 to inspect improvements made by his chief engineer, Sir Bernard de Gomme. Charles’ coat of arms can be seen carved in stone above the castle’s entrance.

It is hard to imagine how Southsea Castle looked in Tudor times but part of Henry’s original castle can still be seen at the keep, as well as East and West gun platforms. The keep, its walls up to 3 metres thick, was blissfully cool inside on the hot summer’s day of my visit. Whilst I’m not convinced I found the exact spot where King Henry VIII stood on that fateful day in 1545 – I hope the photos give some flavour of the view. Most of the photographs were taken from the ramparts – which were built in the early 1800’s as canon placements during the Napoleonic wars.

View from the keep over-looking the Solent.

 

The Language of Dogs: Cur and Tyke



18th century Cheezburger?

Satirical etching that portrays Sir Roger Curtis as Lord Howe's dog

The association between man and dog is an ancient one, perhaps even extending back beyond the birth of language as we know it. But the words used to describe our canine companions, have changed and evolved, every bit as much as the dogs themselves. My next couple of blog posts consider some of the terms used to refer to dogs over the centuries.

The earliest way of referring to canines was either as a  dog or hound.‘Dog’ is one of a group of old English words ending in ‘-g’ that refer to animals – such as pig, hog, stag and even earwig! ‘Hound’ has common roots in a number of European countries – such as German ‘hund’ and the Dutch ‘hond’. In the Middle Ages especially, there were a number of disparaging terms for dog. According to the Oxford English Dictionary a ‘cur’ is defined as:

A dog: a worthless, low-bred, or snappish dog. Formerly (and still sometimes dialectally) applied without depreciation, esp. to a watch-dog or shepherd's dog.

The first recorded usage of ‘cur’ is in by Chaucer in 1385, and mentions crop up in literature from pretty much every century.

‘The most Staunch and best Hunting Hounds; (all babling and flying Curs being left at home).’

1684   R. Howlett

 

‘I am hunted away..by every barking Curr about the House.’

1712   J. Arbuthnot

From around the 17^th century, the word ‘cur’ became used as a term of contempt for certain people:

Cur: Surly, ill-bred, low, or cowardly fellow OED,

As cited is this quote from ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’.

‘Out dog, out curre: thou driu'st me past the bounds Of maidens patience’

Shakespeare, 1600

And also ‘Coriolanus’

‘What would you have, you Curres, That like nor Peace, nor Warre?’

Somewhat confusingly, the OED definition states that a ‘cur’ could also mean a guard dog.

Cur, a good, sharp watchdog. The word does not refer, in the least to low breeding.

1884   R. Holland – Words from the County of Chester.

An alternative word dating from the Middle Ages with similar meaning to cur is ‘tyke’ – this was especially associated with the Yorkshire dialect, where a ‘tyke’ could be used interchangeably with ‘dog’. Other counties were not so forgiving and the term was largely disparaging.

Tyke: A dog; usually in depreciation or contempt, a low-bred or coarse dog, a cur, a mongrel.

OED?c1225—1884

References can be found in writings from the 15^th century onwards.

‘He barkis lyk an midding tyk’

1513   W. DUNBAR

 

and my favourite;

‘The mad randy gipsy, that had..been hounded like a stray tike from parish to parish.’

1829   SCOTT

And finally, it is interesting to reflect that more modern expressions such as dog-sitter, dog-napper and doggy-day-care imply a similar importance to a child. So next week, I look at some of the affectionate language used through the centuries to refer to our lap-dog companions.

English Customs: The Devil's Nutting Day

Did you know that September 14^th is ‘the Devil’s Nutting Day’?

 

An English folk tradition dating back over 450 years connects Holy Cross Day on September 14th with another custom called ‘nutting’.  Originally, the feast day took place to commemorate a piece of the True Cross that was recovered and stored safely in Constantinople, in 629 BC. But as is the nature of events, in 1560 some Eton schoolboys were granted a half-day holiday on Holy Cross Day and decided to amuse themselves by gathering nuts.

“All the youths are now a-nutting gone.”

Grim the Collier of Croydon- a popular 17^th century play.

The nuts in question are hazelnuts with the nuts ripening in hedgerows from September onwards. Hazelnuts have many links to folk lore and have associations with wisdom and power (it is a hazel rod that should be used for water divining) The phrase ‘going a nutting’ crops up regularly in 17^th century songs and plays, and was a by word for sex and seduction –  young people being alone in the woods ...! Such was the link between collecting nuts and more risque activities that a popular expression in 1660 was:

“A good year for nuts, a good year for babies.”

Eton College in 1690

Over the years the Devil became associated with the collecting of nuts, although exactly how these two things became linked is not clear, (perhaps parents invoked the devil to discourage their offspring from getting pregnant!) Country folk were warned not to go nutting on Sundays as the Devil would be disguised as a gentleman and trick them by offering to pull down the top branches.

Another time the Devil was likely to be abroad was Holy Cross Day, as poet John Clare, writes in 1825:

“On Holy Rood [Cross] Day it is faithfully…believed both by old and young that the Devil goes a –nutting…I have heard many people affirm that they thought it a tale until they ventured into the woods on that day when they smelt such a strong smell of brimstone as nearly stifled them before they could escape…”


Victorians collecting nuts.

And finally, in Warwickshire there is a legend that a particular hill, The Devil’s Nightcap near Alcester, was formed when the Devil met the Virgin Mary on the road and dropped his nutting bag in fright!

 

This blog post is part of an Absolute Write blog hop. To read the other posts in this hop follow the links below:

 

Devil Child - a short story
DevilChilde
Lurking Musings
Morning Glory
D R Slaten
Do Not Tamper With...
Lizzy's Dark Fiction
Tara Quan

In Praise of Dogs - Words from History

"The best thing about man is the dog." Voltaire

Man’s best friend – the dog.

 U.S. Navy photo by Petty Officer 2nd Class John F. Looney

The War Dog Cemetery, near Naval Base Guam



Our canine companions have had a long journey from guard and working animal to lap dog and friend. It is quite a transition from Shakespeare using the noun ‘dog’ interchangeably with ‘cur’ to denote an untrustworthy person, on to Benjamin Franklin writing in 1738 who said:

"There are three faithful friends—an old wife, an old dog, and ready money."

John Bull and his dog, Faithful.
A play on the politicians of the day.

The theme of dogs as faithful is frequently repeated such as in this quote from Sir Walter Scott in 1825:

"Recollect that the Almighty, who gave the dog to be companion of our pleasures and our toils, hath invested him with a nature noble and incapable of deceit."

And in 1720, John Gay writes in “An Elegy on a Lap-dog”

He's dead. Oh lay him gently in the ground!
And may his tomb be by this verse renown'd.
Here Shock, the pride of all his kind, is laid;
Who fawned like man, but ne'er like man betray'd.

 

Lord Byron

In this quote from Lord Byron, 1808, the death of a faithful canine companion elicited words of praise:

The poor dog, in life the firmest friend
The first to welcome, foremost to defend

King Charles II

However, this devotion was not welcomed by everyone, especially when the dog was a distraction. King Charles II’s love of dogs is well documents, but when he paid them too much attention during a meeting, a courtier was heard to remark:

"God save your Majesty, but God damn your dogs."



Samuel Pepys records another encounter with Charles II and “A dog the King loved” whilst travelling on a barge. The dog seemingly fouled the boat, “which made us laugh, and me think that a King and all that belongs to him are but just as others are.”  However, Pepys sense of humour did not extend to his wife’s dog, whom he threatened to “Fling out of the window” if he soiled in the house again.

Samuel Pepys

And finally, in praise of dogs:

"Histories are more full of examples of fidelity of dogs than of friends." Alexander Pope

"The dog puts the Christian to shame." Robert Burns

As a cat lover, I concede that dogs can be (perhaps) more faithful, but as to which species makes the better companion – my vote goes to cats because they can chose not to befriend you. So, what is your choice: cat or dog?

Fictional Cats

How are cats portrayed in fiction?
Those of you that visit this blog regularly will have worked out that I’m a bit obsessed by all things feline. Today I feed that obsession by considering how cats are portrayed in literature.

 

A good starting point is Rudyard Kipling. He wrote a ‘Just So’ story that captures the essential qualities of the cat’s character. In ‘The Cat that Walked by Himself’ – the cat bargains with the woman to drink her milk and sleep by her fire, but in return will do exactly as he pleases! Those cat lovers amongst you will sympathise with that scenario!

Stephen King has the same perception of cats as independent creatures.

“Cats were the gangsters of the animal world, living outside the law and often dying there. There were a great many of them who never grew old by the fire.”

First edition copy of Pet Sematary

Pet Sematary is the story a cat ‘Church’ (Winston Churchill) who is killed in a traffic accident. He is buried in the sematary/ cemetery of the title, but returns home… “Sometimes dead is better”

The reaction of Ellie, that cat’s young owner, to his death, reflects something of the bond between cat and owner.

 “He’s my cat! He’s not God’s cat! Let God have his own cat! Let God have all the damn old cats He wants, and kill them all! Church is mine!”

Hilary Mantel in one of my favourite novels, Wolf Hall, beautifully describes that gentle pleasure to be had whilst watching a cat. This passage describes an interaction between the powerful political manipulator, Thomas Cromwell, and his cat, Marlinspike.

Portrait of Thomas Cromwell
by Hans Holbein.

“A cat may look at a king,” he [Cromwell] says. He is cradling Marlinspike in his arms, and talking to Thomas Avery, the boy he’s teaching his trade…

…He puts the cat down, opens the bag.He fishes up on a finger a string of rosary beads; for show says Avery, and he says, good boy. Marlinspike leaps on to his desk; he peers into the bag, dabbing with a paw. “The only mice in there are sugar ones.” The boy [Avery] pulls the cat’s ears, tussles with him. “We don’t have any little pets in Master Vaughan’s house.”

In J K Rowling’s novel, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, the author creates Crookshanks, Hermione Granger’s cat. Her pet is half cat, half Kneazle with a lion-like appearance and has the distinctive quality of recognising untrustworthy people (even when transfigured.) Hermione bought Crookshanks from the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley where he had been languishing because, ‘Nobody wanted him.’

I love this interaction between Ron (obviously not a cat person) and Hermione.

Ron: "You bought that monster?"

Hermione: "He's gorgeous, isn't he?"

Ron: "Hermione, that thing nearly scalped me!"

 

 

Roald Dahl also tackles the conflict between those for and those against cats, in his book, Edward the Conqueror. In this tale a wife rescues a stray cat from a bonfire and then discovers he appreciates her piano playing. She becomes convinced that the cat in the reincarnation of the composer, Franz Liszt, much to the chagrin of her cat-hating husband. The husband-wife bond is sorely tested when he becomes jealous of the cat and attempts to dispose of the animal…

 

Charles Dickens also mentions cats in his novels and several characters, from Lady Jane, to Mr Jellyby and Mrs Pipchin have feline companions. Perhaps more chilling are the references to cats finding their way into the human food chain!

‘Veal pie,' said Mr. Weller, soliloquizing, as he arranged the eatables on the grass.  'Very good thing is veal pie, when you know the lady as made it, and is quite sure it ain't kittens … they're so like veal that the very piemen themselves don't know the difference.'

And:

'I [Sam Weller] lodged in the same house with a pieman once…make pies out o’anything, he could. ‘What a number o’cats you keep, Mr Brooks,’ says I ‘You must be very fond of cats’ says I.

‘Other people is,’ says he a-winkin’ at me…and wispering in my ear, ‘don’t mention this again…but it’s the seasonin’ as does it,’ says he, a-pointin’ to a very nice little tabby kitten, ‘and I seasons ‘em for beefsteak, weal or kidney, ‘cording to the demand.’

Pickwick Papers

 

And finally, on a more cheerful note, in my latest release, Verity's Lie, - our heroine learns something unexpected about the gruff Lord Ryevale:

Verity stepped into a bright hallway that smelt of sweet peas.  A jute runner covered the flagstones and picture frames lined the walls.  There was a lack of fussiness and sense of refined simplicity that appealed to Verity.  Added to that, a plump back cat came padding along the corridor, mewling for attention.

            "Gibbe, you cheeky boy.  I might have known you'd appear when visitors arrive...making out as if no one feeds you."

            The cat made straight for Lord Ryevale and rubbed around his ankles whilst purring ecstatically.  His lordship stooped to rub Gibbe's ears, the purrs growing ever louder.  Seeing this softer side of Ryevale moved Verity beyond words.

            "You like that, don’t you?  Is that the spot?" A soft light entered Ryevale's eye.  Verity watched wide-eyed as the cat rolled over to display his ample belly whilst Ryevale clicked his tongue and made gooey noises. 

            It was Mrs Featherstone who interrupted this touching scene.  "Now Gibbe, leave his lordship alone.  Come into the kitchen and I'll find you some oysters.  Lord Ryevale, dear, Miss Foster is in the studio.  Can you see yourself up?"

            "Indeed."  Ryevale glanced around defensively, as if remembering Verity's presence.  "This way, Miss Verrinder."

Performing for the King - at the Banqueting House

 

Last Thursday I was fortunate enough to preview a new exhibition ‘Performing for theKing’ at London’s Banqueting House, Whitehall. To be fair, ‘exhibition’ is too static a word to describe this event since there is movement and music, costumes to try on as well as period characters that mingle with the visitors. With deliberately subdued lighting to recreate the atmosphere of 17th century candlelight,  this is anything but a walk-and-read display.

A model of Inigo Jones's contraption for lowering the queen
out of a cloud

The aspect that most fired my imagination were Inigo Jones set designs and his use of early special effects. But first, a little background about ‘Performing for the King’ the creation of a court masque. The aim of the Banqueting House’s curator, Jane Spooner, is to give the visitor a sense of what went on behind the scenes at a 17^th century masque and a taste of the atmosphere.

Jones' innovative use of newly 'discovered' perspective.

 To illustrate this Jane recreates part of the 1620 production of Tempe Restored. This masque (a play with music and dancing) was a sort of Stuart propaganda piece, pushing the message of the Stuart’s as a uniting monarchy, bringing peace to a troubled England and Scotland. The extravagant spectacle was designed to amaze and awe, but of course this carried a commensurate price tag. For the ordinary working man looking in from the outside, the cost of such masques must have rubbed salt into the wound of their day-to-day hardships.

Another of Inigo Jones' set designs.

 One of the most eye-catching things about Tempe Restored was the innovative set design by Inigo Jones. For maximum impact the main players (the King and Queen playing the parts of Apollo and Diana) were to descend from the heavens in a cloud. To achieve this Ingio Jones created a piece of scenery worked by pulleys and powered by teams of strong men. Don’t forget this was in a time before hydraulics and engines, so any heavy lifting had to be done by muscle power. These moving elements were heavy and dangerous - and made a lot of noise which was disguised by playing loud music.

The screen before which the actors perform

Inigo Jones used tricks of perspective, (a recent ‘invention’), as well as layering, lighting and masking to transform a 2-D stage into a 3-D drama. The clever people at the Banqueting House give the visitor a feel for these effects with Monty Pythonesque slides of scenery projected on the stage backdrop as the performance takes place.

The great man himself - Inigo Jones.
Meet him at Performing for the King!

To find out more click on Performing for the King - open from July 19th to September 1st 2013.

You can also chat to Inigo Jones himself on Twitter – simply tweet @ask_inigo and include a hashtag #man #woman #boy or #girl – to enrol yourself a character in the masque.

Once again, I’d like to extend my thanks to the Historic Royal Palaces organisation, and especially John Shevlin, for inviting me to this preview.

Even I got into the spirit of things and tried on a ruff!