I’ve known many restless people. They’re sad, disappointed. Often they believe they’ve been dealt a bad hand. The great work they do is never recognised. The best opportunities never come their way. They’re dissatisfied, rarely thankful, and constantly striving but never arriving.
However, I also know people who are deeply content, happy with their lot, fulfilled, pleased with what they’ve done, what they have, and relaxed about what the future holds. They have inner peace.
What characterises that second group, those who are at peace, who feel content and fulfilled? The answers aren’t the same for everyone, but there are distinct features in the lives of content people.
Contentment is a decision they make
Much of the time we attach satisfaction, sufficiency, fulfilment to achievement. We think, ‘I’ll be content if I get this promotion, or buy that house, or have everything I want’. Bill took pride in his photography. Rightly so, for he was good, occasionally paid to do a photo shoot. “Of course,” he told me, “to do exceptional work I’d need the very best lenses”. But Bill couldn’t afford them. Each lens would cost thousands of dollars, money he did not have. So Bill was restless. I’m fairly clued up on photography, and I knew the lenses he used already were excellent. But they were not the very best. And Bill could not be content with that. His problem? His inner feelings depended on achieving external things, such as the ‘best lenses’. Even if he’d had the money to buy them, he’d soon be discontent again. Why? Because in a year or two there would certainly be ‘better still’ lenses. Similarly, those who think they’ll be satisfied if only they get a promotion or live in a dream house, they’d soon long for an even higher promotion, or an even more dreamy house. Such folk are endlessly restless because they imagine the route to contentment involves getting all they want.
Those with inner peace don’t connect their satisfaction to achievement. They choose to be content with what they have. That doesn’t mean they never strive for something better, but even if everything stays just as it is, they’re okay. Contentment for them is a choice, not something that exists only if everything falls into place. While he was a prisoner in jail, the Apostle Paul wrote: ‘I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances’ (Philippians 4:11). Those are wise words.
Being at peace with our Maker
Just once, I rashly attempted to do pottery. Even more rashly, I had a go at wheel throwing a bowl. That involved shaping the clay into a bowl while the clay was spinning on a wheel. I was spectacularly unsuccessful. I didn’t use the right amount of water and didn’t place my hands correctly to shape the clay. But my fundamental problem was that I didn’t get my clay centred. The wheel turned but the clay was off-centre, so it wobbled around and then collapsed. If the wheel had been spinning any faster, my clay might have ended up on the far side of the room. Trust me, you could get everything else right but failure to centre the clay will doom your pottery to disaster.
My perspective, as a Christian, is that our lives need to find their centre in God. Perhaps the most famous statement of that truth was written more than 1620 years ago by Augustine of Hippo[1]: ‘you have made us and drawn us to yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you’ (St Augustine, Confessions[2]). Augustine’s restlessness about how he was living was resolved only when he made peace with God.
I’ve talked with many restless people. Some could not let go of past sins. Some could not forgive those who had wronged them. Some could not shake off their parents’ disappointment in them. Some couldn’t come to terms with their own failed ambitions. Some felt they’d missed life-changing opportunities. Some couldn’t cure unhealthy or unacceptable habits.
With those restless people, I never suggested that a quick prayer could sort out their struggles. But I did talk with them about who made them and what their lives were for. Some found a new centre for their lives in knowing God, finding forgiveness for themselves and others, and a new sense of purpose for the future. Others coped with their off-centred lives, but were not at peace.
Contentment isn’t about getting more but being satisfied with what we have
In October 2022, I wrote this in a blog post: Many years ago, when the Glasgow area called the Gorbals had the worst of tenement slums, I visited a young Christian worker who lived in the most troubled area of the Gorbals. Not only were these tenements in dangerously poor condition, gangs and drugs dominated the streets. That young man’s small flat was over-run with local kids, who ate his food, watched his TV, lounged on his sofa, and sometimes stole his property. No matter how tough his life was, that Christian didn’t leave. He kept right on befriending youth, helping them and forgiving them. (https://occasionallywise.com/2022/10/05/a-good-tree-bears-good-fruit/)
I talked for some time with that Christian worker in his tenement flat. He had very little, partly because his more valuable things had been stolen. “God knows where they are,” he told me with a wry smile, “so they’re not really lost, are they?”. He was at peace. He didn’t long for what he didn’t have; he didn’t wish to live anywhere safer or more pleasant; he didn’t long for any other kind of work. He was in the right place doing the right thing, and therefore at peace.
I admit there have been times when I’ve thought ‘If only I had this or that, then life would be good’. But now, thankfully, I’m usually content with what I have. Recently my laptop died. It wouldn’t boot up. I got expert advice, but the final verdict was ‘Buy a new laptop’. Thankfully all my essential files were backed up to the ‘cloud’, so letting go of the old laptop was no more than saying goodbye to a faithful friend. Here’s my point: I had used that laptop for ten years (which is probably why it suddenly expired!). Why not change it after three years, or five? My answer: because it kept on doing everything I needed. There was nothing of significance that a shiny, new laptop would have given me. Until it passed away, that old laptop was quite sufficient.
Recognising the sufficiency of almost everything we have, and not longing for more, brings contentment.
Change what you can, accept what you can’t
One of the world’s most famous prayers is commonly called the ‘Serenity Prayer’:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.[3]
All three parts of the prayer are difficult to do:
Accepting calmly what we can’t change
Acting boldly to bring about changes which are possible
Knowing whether acceptance or action is the right choice
Faced with an impossible situation, most of us survive through gritted teeth, hating the experience. Or, knowing something must change, we struggle to find the drive or determination to take on the challenge. Or, through indecision, we do nothing and feel miserable about our inactivity.
Inner peace belongs to those who overcome these challenges, whether that means living with an unpleasant truth or risking all to make things better for ourselves or others.
Recently I talked with a man who was diagnosed with cancer three years ago. It began in his vital organs but then spread to his brain. He went through major medical interventions. That was a hard experience, but those treatments have made a huge difference and his cancer has stopped spreading. But he knows it could restart. He is scanned every three months in case there are new growths. What impressed me is his attitude: “You learn to live with things as they are, while always still fighting the enemy you fear.” He has his dark days, but mostly he’s at peace. Brave man.
That’s a tranquillity not everyone finds. I feel for them. But the truth remains, that inner peace comes from changing what you can and accepting what you can’t.
I have four more principles for inner peace. I will describe them briefly.
Be right with the important people in your life For many years my professional life took me all over the world. Sometimes I was in isolated locations, such as rural Bangladesh, the Congo jungle, or North Korea, places where I was out of touch with the rest of the world. But, in less-remote places, I’d buy postcards, sit up late at night writing them, and next day find somewhere to buy stamps and post them to each of my four children. Postcards don’t have space for significant news sharing, but at least my children knew I was thinking about them. I still do. And we continue to have a great relationship, for which I’m deeply grateful. They are a source of great peace and joy for me. Be right with those you love.
Accept your limits One of my boyhood heroes was David Rollo, a Fife farmer. He had attended my school and later I watched him play international rugby for Scotland. The legendary radio and TV rugby commentator Bill McLaren remembered Rollo’s international debut in a match against England:
“That 1959 match, at which I shared the radio commentary was quite distinctive for the courage shown by the Fife farmer, David Rollo who was gaining his first cap out of the Howe of Fife club. Soon after the start David suffered a broken nose, but after a brief absence for repairs, he returned to play prop with undiminished fire. After that debut it hardly was surprising that David went on to gain 40 caps.“[4]
I wanted to play rugby for Scotland like Dave Rollo did. In the school team I played front row prop in the scrum, just like Rollo did. I tried to tackle like he did, pass the ball like he did, do everything on the rugby field like he did. Except I couldn’t. I didn’t have Rollo’s skill or fitness, and before I’d reached the ripe old age of 14 I realised I’d never be like Dave Rollo and never play rugby for Scotland. And I accepted that. I might do other significant things, but they wouldn’t be related to rugby.
Being at peace means recognising and accepting your limits.
Invest your life in things that matter
In an earlier blog post I described an experience during a two week stay in hospital.[5] The man in the next bed to mine had his own TV, and watched television soap operas all day. I couldn’t see his TV but I heard every word of those annoying dramas since my neighbour didn’t have earphones. When his wife visited each evening, their whole time was spent watching an evening soap episode together. This was clearly normal life for them. ‘Do they have nothing better to do with their lives?’ I wondered.
On the whole, inner peace is related to doing things that matter. Our lives have significance, so should be used in some way, perhaps only a small way, to make the world around us a better place. We won’t all be doctors, or aid workers, or civil rights activists, or campaigners for the poor. We don’t need to be. Margaret was well-educated and could have had a great career, but she poured her life into bringing up her four boys. It was the role she believed was uniquely hers. “People criticised me for that choice,” she said, “but I knew what I did for my boys would be important.” She was right. Two of her sons had world-wide influence through their leadership, speaking, and writing. The other two were never prominent people, but quietly did a great deal of good in their communities, helping and healing lives, as well as bringing up their own families to be good people.
Having peace flows from knowing your life has significance.
Be kind
I’m not sure if having inner peace causes people to act kindly, or if acting kindly creates inner peace. Probably both are true, and there’s a virtuous circle: being at peace leads to kindness which, in turn, generates an even greater sense of inner peace.
For about 15 months I worked in a local government office, and often dealt directly with the public. Many people were polite and reasonable. But not everyone. Right from their opening sentence, some were angry and hostile. The nasty customers often had weak arguments, and tried to compensate for that with shouts or threats. It seemed to me that’s how they were wired, their approach to everything, and I often thought, ‘I wonder what it’s like to be married to him or her?’ Not a happy experience, I concluded. These people were not at all at peace in their inner selves.
But I’ve also known folk who were wired with kindness, thoughtfulness, and graciousness. They wanted to help, to please, to make my life better. There was no drama, no seeking advantage, just a quiet desire to bless others. Out of a good heart, love flowed.
Jesus said: “every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit” (Matthew 7:17). In other words, what’s true about our inner lives is shown in our outer lives. Let kindness, peace and joy reign.
To finish, one final thought. Inner peace can’t be had instantaneously. It’s not as if people who have been troubled and angry for decades go to bed, and wake up next morning magically transformed into people who feel calm and peaceful about life.
Rather, I see it this way. There’s a road we travel through life. Along that road lies positive events and experiences which help us feel good. But along that road are also problems, conflicts, disappointments, and frustrations. More than anything else, what determines a troubled or peaceful inner self is how we respond to the challenges, the hard things strewn in our path. I urge you, whether your way is easy or hard, make the choices which bring you inner peace. You will never regret it.
[1] Hippo is now the modern city of Annaba, on the coast of Algeria, North Africa.
[2] The full reference to Augustine’s words: Lib 1,1-2,2.5,5: CSEL 33, 1-5.The Confessions were written around 400 AD.
[3] The prayer first appeared in print in the 1930s. Scholars debate its authorship. It has appeared in various forms, though always with the same main ideas.
We don’t make many really big decisions during our lives. But we do make some. Whether we’ll share our life with someone, and who that will be. Which career we’ll follow. What we believe. Our lifestyle choices. Whether we’ll have children. How we care for our health.
Matters like these are not the routine decisions of life. They’re not about choosing coffee or tea, or whether to call a friend for a chat, or if we’ll take the afternoon off to play golf, or should we take home a Pepperoni pizza or a Hawaiian pizza. We’ll probably make ordinary decisions 20 or 30 times every day, but in the whole of our lifetimes we’ll likely make less than ten major, life-changing decisions. Mostly our routine choices don’t matter significantly, but our big decisions affect everything about our lives, and maybe the lives of others too.
Here are eight principles I’ve kept in mind when making such decisions.
Principle 1 You have more time than you think
Alison and I have been house buyers several times. Early on in most of our searches we’ve found a dream house, only to be told other buyers are interested, and we need to make an immediate offer. We’ve wished we could. There can never be another house as good as this one. But circumstances prevented us acting quickly. The perfect house was sold to someone else. However, happily, later on we’ve found another house, far more perfect for us, and we were able to buy that. Those later choices were great homes for us and our family.
That’s just one kind of circumstance when people feel they must decide quickly but the early choice wouldn’t have been the right choice. There are moments for fast action, but they’re unusual. Mostly the biggest of decisions rarely need to be rushed.
Add to that an obvious truth: the bigger the decision, the greater the catastrophe if we get it wrong. The more important something is, the more time and consideration it deserves. Don’t ne hasty.
Principle 2 Don’t confuse small decisions with big decisions
Your new friends, Mary and Joe, are coming for dinner. ‘Should I serve steak?’ you ask yourself. ‘Or how about a casserole?’ Next day: ‘Perhaps they’d like fish?’ Next day: ‘What about lamb chops?’ Eventually there are ten different options, but finally one is chosen. But is it really the right one? As the day gets nearer the stress level rises, tempers get frayed, and you wish you’d never invited Joe and Mary for dinner.
What’s gone wrong here? Put simply, all the options were good. There was no ‘right one’. Mary and Joe are thrilled you’ve invited them for dinner, and as long as you don’t poison them they’ll go away believing they’ve had a lovely evening. That’s all that really mattered.
Too easily we promote ordinary decisions into matters of high importance. Alison and I now resolve a lot of things by simply asking one question: ‘Is this decision life-changing?’ Ninety nine per cent of the time what we’re considering isn’t a big deal at all. So, we make the best decision we can and get on with the things that matter much more. That works well for us.
So, second principle: Be realistic about what’s really important.
Principle 3 Think whether your decision is based on facts or feelings
If we’re making decisions about people, then of course feelings will greatly affect our choice. That’s entirely appropriate.
But emotions can intrude where they don’t belong, or at least shouldn’t dominate our decision-making. Here are two imaginary examples.
If we had rushed to buy a house, we’d have done it on superficial impressions and emotional reactions, such as ‘How wonderful it looks’ or ‘What a pretty area it’s in’ or ‘I’ve fallen in love with this property’. But, after moving in, we might have found roof problems, drainage problems, boiler problems, flooding problems. In fact, there could have been so many problems we’d have realised the real value of the house was about half of what we’d paid. Falling in love with a property can mean we skip the research a responsible house-buyer should always do.
A job is advertised I’d long to have. The post would give me a fifty per cent salary boost, a shorter commute, and an array of fringe benefits. I’m great at interviews, and I exaggerate my skills and experience. Wonderful – I get the job. What I never studied is what the work would entail: much longer hours; boring tasks; complex issues I don’t know how to resolve. Within weeks it’s obvious to me and to my bosses I’m out of my depth. I hate the job, and with encouragement from management I resign. Longing and ambition propelled me into that job, but I never assessed what doing that work would be like. A costly, painful mistake.
The bigger the decision, the greater the need to think through all relevant issues. Emotions or longings can be like a tide that sweeps us along, not necessarily in the right direction.
Principle 4 Push doors gently
I’ve known many people so driven by desire or ambition, they don’t probe opportunities carefully. They rush forward headlong. Instead of pushing doors gently, they kick them down and march through. Almost always that’s unwise.
There are two opposite temptations when faced with a big decision. One is to be so nervous we never act. The other is to be so determined, we plough forward ignoring any dangers. Determination is a quality, except when it controls all our thinking.
I read the story of Sally who got into serious financial trouble with an unwise investment. She’d been told that if she’d buy shares immediately in a new start-up, within weeks she’d be a wealthy woman. She cashed in all her savings and then borrowed even more, and bought the shares. For a few days they soared in value, so Sally took out another loan and invested that as well. Two weeks later the start-up failed. It declared bankruptcy. Sally’s shares were worthless, her money completely gone. All Sally was left with was a debt it would take many years to clear. A friend asked Sally why she had not sought advice from a qualified financial advisor. Sally’s answer: “I was so sure I was investing in a winner, I didn’t want anyone to talk me out of it”. That was a very expensive mistake.
At times the temptation to fulfil an ambition is so high we won’t let anything stand in our way. Frankly, that’s about as sensible as imagining that running fast through a minefield lessens the chances of being blown up.
Move forward, but don’t rush.
Principle 5 Where you excel may be a guide to what you should do
What I’m about to write under this heading is an imperfect guide to rightness, but should nevertheless have a place in our thinking.
In short, I’d encourage you to consider what you can do that most others can’t, because, at least in part, that’ll guide you towards a right decision.
Here’s a little of my story. My career beginnings were in journalism. After training – including shorthand and typing(!) – I was a reporter for The Scotsman and a sub-editor for its Edinburgh daytime paper the Evening News. I was a good journalist, reporting on important stories and trusted to cover late-breaking news just before the presses rolled. I enjoyed the work, and imagined a wonderful career in journalism.
Then Christian faith came alive in me in a way it had never been real before. I handed my life and my career over to God. It seemed to me that being a Christian in the world of journalism was important. But before too long I realised it wasn’t right for me.
Two factors helped me see that. The first, and certainly the most important, was a growing sense of calling into Christian ministry. How I sensed that is complicated and personal. Put simply, I felt that calling was God’s will for my life. And the one thing you can’t say to God is ‘No, I won’t do that!’
The other factor is more mundane but not unimportant. I was a good journalist, but alongside me were some great journalists. Not all my colleagues were great, of course, but a few were truly brilliant writers. By then, I’d begun to do some preaching and found a gift I’d never imagined I had. I worked hard at preparing sermons, and then words flowed in front of a congregation. People were challenged and helped. Churches asked me to return and preach again. I’d found that I didn’t have a unique contribution to make to journalism, but did have one to make to Christian ministry. And that’s what I dedicated my life to doing.
I’m cautious about saying ‘Do what you’re best at’ because it’s possible to be very good at doing something very wrong. History has plenty examples of bad people doing bad things brilliantly.
So, finding what you’re near-uniquely gifted at doing isn’t an infallible guide, but it can be a pointer in the right direction.
Principle 6 Take account of how others are affected by your decisions
For many years the city of Aberdeen, in the north east of Scotland, has been the European capital of the oil industry. The city is not large but its airport is one of the busiest in the whole UK, its numbers boosted by dozens of helicopter flights to and from North Sea oil rigs. Among the employed members of the Aberdeen church where I was senior pastor, about two-thirds owed their jobs to oil.
One consequence was that many who joined the church moved on after about three years. They didn’t leave for another church; they were sent elsewhere by their oil-related employer. Management would be moved to another administrative office and engineers to a new location of oil exploration. All of them made it clear to me that they couldn’t refuse. Following their careers meant being at the disposal of their companies. They could be sent anywhere, even to the other side of the world. (Years later I was in Indonesia and visited former church members by then living in Jakarta.)
But here’s my point. These changes didn’t affect only the employee. They had a profound effect also on spouses and children. Each transition meant ending relationships not long formed. They’d form new bonds somewhere else, yet always knowing they’d soon have to let those go too. I felt especially for the children who constantly changed schools and lost friends.
Alison and I made only one major move while our children were young. It was challenging for them. There were times of tears. Thankfully we stayed in the new place for many years, which did allow them to form long-term friendships.
Faced with major decisions, it’s thoughtful and loving to ask: ‘Who will pay the biggest price for this choice?’ Often the cost will not be borne by the one making that choice.
Principle 7 Let trusted friends advise you
In November 2021 I wrote this in a blog post on ‘Friendships’:
I took a deep breath, then asked a question no friend expects. Tom’s answer could affect the rest of my life. ‘I’m planning to ask Alison to marry me. You know both of us well. Am I doing the right thing?’
Tom looked startled. He’d never imagined being asked such a question. But he didn’t hesitate. ‘Of course you’re doing the right thing. You should have asked her ages ago.’
I laughed, feeling grateful and relieved in equal measure. I wasn’t inviting Tom to make my marriage decision for me, but as a deep and close friend his support meant a lot.
Thankfully Alison said ‘yes’ and, as well as being my wife, she’s been the closest friend of my whole life. But Tom probably came next. Sadly, Tom died several years ago but he knew me through and through, and I’d have trusted him with my life. (https://occasionallywise.com/2021/11/06/a-question-no-friend-expects/)
A real friend, someone you’d trust through and through, is a wonderful resource when faced with a major decision. A truth I’ve learned is this: ‘Someone who loves you only a little will tell you what you want to hear; someone who loves you a lot will risk telling you what you don’t want to hear’.
Principle 8 Stay true to your ultimate values and goals
This principle should underpin all the others. What matters, what really matters, the most for us? When we know the answer to that – our values and goals – we have a guide for all our big decisions.
Is this how I should be spending a large sum of money?
Is this relationship one that I’ll always value?
Is this choice taking me toward or away from my life goals?
Does this behaviour fit with my deepest values?
An old idea is that all of us have a certain amount of treasure, and we should spend it wisely. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. What we’ve spent will never be replaced. It would be sad to get near to life’s end and to realise we’d frittered away our treasure on things that haven’t had value.
Every time we make a big decision we spend treasure. Each decision, therefore, should fit with our very most important values and goals.
Closing
My last word here is that we should realise it’s a privilege to have choices at all. Many people in the world have few choices other than to work in the fields or sell in the market in hope of earning enough money to buy food for just that day. If we have options far greater than those, that’s an enormous privilege. May our biggest decisions be made thoughtfully, wisely, and bring great benefit to us and to others.
On May 6th, 2023, Charles III was crowned king. He was already king, of course, because that title passed to him immediately upon the death of his mother, Elizabeth II, on September 8th, 2022, at 3.10 pm. Charles’ coronation today recognised his kingship, and included pledges by king and people of loyalty and service to each other.
I’m not an ardent royalist like some are, but also far from being anti-monarchy. There are parts of a nation’s history that should not easily be discarded, and hard-working and wise ‘royals’ can do much for the United Kingdom, its commonwealth countries and other ‘realms’.
So I settled down to watch the coronation service and its associated events. I knew I was in for a marathon – and it was that – but I could relax which is more than what was possible for the thousands of military and police on parade and guard duty, and those who had an active part inside Westminster Abbey. They’ll all sleep soundly tonight.
I will share a few personal thoughts on the day’s events. But – since this is written on the same day – they should be seen as immediate reactions rather than deeply considered reflections.
Here’s what stood out for me.
Superb organisation It’s hard to grasp how anyone can bring together the complex content and timing that makes a coronation day work. And all today’s events were marvellously efficient. What undoubtedly helped is the little-known fact that ever since Elizabeth II became queen officials of the government, Church of England, and royal staff held meetings at least annually to plan Charles’ coronation. Now that’s being prepared.
But I’m not surprised. Decades ago – as a young journalist in Edinburgh – I saw advance press releases outlining visits by royalty. The itinerary was timed to the minute. Indeed, my newspaper had an early edition sold on the streets as soon as one royal event was over. The story detailed where the Queen had been, who she’d met, what she’d seen. How did they have it written so soon? They didn’t. It was written before the event, entirely from the detailed schedule issued in advance. Royal events – great and small – are planned to the smallest detail.
But today’s coronation was one of the greatest of events, and I applaud those who brought together people from all round the world, thousands of military personnel, many clergy and politicians, London’s city officials, broadcasters, and many more. Quite a feat.
Remarkable endurance I was impressed that several people involved in the service could retain their posture for long periods of time. In many cases, they stayed still while holding ceremonial items. Charles himself had to stay balanced with a crown resting precariously on his head while sitting on an uncomfortable ancient Coronation Chair, holding an orb in one hand and a sceptre in the other. Queen Camilla was put through similar torture. Both did well. And so did others who kept their concentration, passed the correct items of regalia exactly at the right time, moved to new locations when needed, and so on.
Outside, on the routes between Buckingham Palace and Westminster Abbey, there was constant discipline from police who faced out to the crowd and military who faced in towards the procession. They stood there for hours from long before dignitaries went past.
To add to the discomfort outdoors it rained much of the time. That’s oddly normal for coronation days. It also rained on the previous four occasions, including the coronation of Elizabeth II in June 1953. Yet everything about Charles’ coronation seemed unaffected, except low cloud meant the fly past was scaled back to only helicopters and the Red Arrows performance team. (The plan had been for 14 waves of aircraft, ranging from World War II fighters and bombers to super-modern jets. Some were already flying holding patterns off the east coast when the Ministry of Defence cancelled their participation. Aircraft crashing over London is a risk that could not be taken.)
A very religious service Coronation services have their origin in ancient times. And coronations at Westminster date back to William the Conqueror on 25th December 1066. For many centuries there was a strong belief in the divine right of kings, the view that kings were appointed by God and could rule absolutely. Though no-one now believes in divine right, the idea that a monarch should be blessed, strengthened and guided by God prevails.
Hence it’s not surprising that today’s coronation was a profoundly religious event, led by the senior clergy of the Church of England. For a long time Charles has recognised that British people are not only Christian; many adhere to other faiths. Thus representatives of other religions had roles too. However, the monarch is formally the supreme governor of the Church of England, so there’s no surprise that denomination’s forms of prayer and worship predominated.
Charles has also said that he intends to defend all faiths – in the sense that no faith should suffer discrimination – and I applaud that. For many of the tough situations he will face, I hope the prayers for Charles will be answered. He will need the wisdom only God can give to navigate the right way.
A considerate event Two things particularly made me realise those responsible for the coronation had tried to be thoughtful and kind.
First, I was following the official coronation order of service, and right at the end I could read the wording of a greeting other faith leaders would give the king just before he exited the abbey. The TV cameras covered that moment but we didn’t hear a word they said. That seemed a shame to me. Until, later, a commentator explained the silence. The Chief Rabbi observes strict Jewish practices about the sabbath (which is a Saturday). That meant he could not travel by car or train to the service. That could be overcome by staying near the abbey overnight. But sabbath rules would also prohibit him speaking into a microphone. So, to allow the Rabbi to participate alongside other faith leaders, there was no microphone to pick up their voices. That is a remarkable consideration.
Second, thousands of military personnel marched well in advance of the ornate coaches that carried King Charles and Queen Camilla. That meant they never saw the monarch and his wife while on parade. That was tough. The day had begun at 3.30 am for many of them, as they had to travel into London and be in position early on. Then they stood and marched in the rain. Of course that was their duty, pleasant or not, and I’m sure they considered it a privilege to have a part in the day. But never to see their new king and queen? Someone thought that didn’t need to happen, so when they finished their march up The Mall they continued on past the frontage of Buckingham Palace and gathered on the vast lawn behind (where Garden Party events are held[1]). The troops lined up in long rows on the grass, and when the royal couple appeared on the terrace overlooking the grounds, the military removed their headwear and gave the heartiest of ‘hip, hip, hooray’ cheers. That’s something they’ll tell their children and grandchildren. I found it quite moving.
At the age of 74 King Charles today became the oldest person to be crowned monarch in Britain. He was just three years old when his mother became queen, making him the heir for over 70 years. That’s a long time to wait. He’s used a lot of that to campaign on important issues, especially about the environment. As monarch he can no longer speak on any subject considered political, but the king has other opportunities to do good. I believe he’ll make a positive difference, and do that with passion and wisdom.
Lastly, a note, especially for those who think it rains all the time in Britain. It really doesn’t. I enlightened many of my American friends on that subject, but even British commentators seemed to suggest today’s rain in London was typical late spring weather. So why have the coronation in May? But here are two facts:
London’s largest airport, Heathrow, has recorded an average of 45.91mm (1.8 inches) of rain in May between 1991 and 2020. Only four other months are drier.
Heathrow, London, has an average annual rainfall of 614.98 mm (24.2 inches) while Central Park, New York City, has 1267.5 mm (49.9 inches) – more than double London’s total. Even Paris has more rain annually than London – 641 mm (25.2 inches).
So, today wasn’t really a bad choice for Coronation Day. And King Charles – perhaps thinking of the long reign of his mother – described the rain as a ‘blessing’. May there be showers of blessing on his time as king.
[1] Many years ago my wife Alison was invited to attend the Queen’s Garden Party, and I was her ‘plus one’. I know my place.
Was the death toll from the Great Fire four or four thousand? Did the blaze end the Great Plague? Who or what emerged hairless but alive from the heart of the inferno? How long was it before the bakers of London apologised that one of their own had started the fire? Did someone commit suicide by falsely confessing he set London alight?
Answers to these questions and much more will follow.
There were both serious and less serious consequences from the Great Fire of London. This is the fourth and final part of the story of the 1666 Great Fire, and I’ll explore a variety of outcomes here. Episode 1 of this series describes the beginnings of the Great Fire in a bakehouse in Pudding Lane, and explains why it spread quickly.[1] Episode 2 shows how the fire intensified, with residents fleeing the city and leadership failing.[2] Episode 3 records the fire’s relentless spread; St Paul’s Cathedral is lost but the Tower of London is saved.[3] The footnote links in this paragraph will take you quickly to those earlier episodes.
The Great Fire began in the early hours of Sunday, September 2nd, 1666. Most consider that the destruction was over by the end of Wednesday 5th, four full days later.[4] But, of course, the consequences of the fire lasted far longer than the blaze.
In this final episode, I’ve summarised some of the major effects of the Great Fire under several headings. A few oddities I’ve uncovered along the way are mentioned under ‘Eleven curious details’ near the end.
I’m aware this section is lengthy. I hope you’re willing to read it all, but if time or energy fails you, I’ll admit the parts that most interested me have the headings: ‘Death toll’, ‘The plague’, ‘The lust for vengeance’ and ‘Eleven curious details’. You may especially appreciate those sections too. I’d like to believe you would also find my final summing up under ‘Lessons from the Great Fire’ important.
Extent of damage
All reports of the physical damage done by the Great Fire are not identical. However, the figures below are commonly cited.
Property and land destroyed:
Houses: 13,200-13,500, leaving 130,000 people homeless
Churches: 87
Significant buildings: St Paul’s Cathedral, Baynard’s Castle, The Royal Exchange, the Custom House, Bridewell Palace, The Guildhall, 52 livery company halls and three city gates.
Acreage: approximately 436 acres, equal to more than four fifths of London. Some quote the figure as 86% of the city.
Total financial loss of the damage was approximately £10 million (equivalent to £1.79 billion in 2021). To put the £10 million in perspective, the annual income of the city was only £12,000.
The map shows the final spread of the Great Fire across London. The area surrounded by a bold black line is the city surrounded by the ancient Roman-built walls. The locations of the various gates are marked. The fire originated in Pudding Lane indicated by a green line. The fire mostly drifted westward, driven by the wind, and spread to areas outside the walls. But – inside those walls – the greatest part of London was destroyed.
People:
Bald statistics do not, of course, tell the human story. In addition to loss of life (to which we’ll come next), the loss of homes was devastating. The majority of those forced to camp outside the city walls in fields, or living in primitive shelters among the ruins inside the city, really were homeless. They had no immediate means of rescuing their situation. There was virtually no such thing as house insurance. Besides, the large majority were renters. They didn’t know if their landlords had the finances to rebuild homes, if they’d wish to rebuild homes, and, even if they did, whether those homes would be leased to them. Meanwhile the refugees’ employment was largely gone. Some would be engaged in rebuilding projects, but for the foreseeable future the ordinary factory worker or tradesperson had lost their livelihood. Tens of thousands, then, were now utterly insecure with no idea how they’d survive.
Death toll
There are very varying ideas of how many died in the Great Fire. Numbers extend from a handful to a large multitude.
Official accounts written soon after the fire put the death toll in single figures. Some say four, others six or perhaps eight. And there are modern writers who would argue that people had time to escape so these numbers may well be accurate.
However, there are several reasons to be cautious about a very modest death toll:
We should ask, ‘Were there reasons to understate the death toll?’ For example, perhaps the largely absent Lord Mayor Bloodworth[5] wished to play down the consequences of his failure of leadership. Other civic leaders – thinking of future investment in England’s foremost city – may have wanted to minimise the devastating consequences of the fire.
The late 1660s was an age without anything like modern forensic science. No-one picked their way carefully through the ruins of thousands of fire-ravaged homes for skeletal remains. Perhaps, in any case, there would be virtually no remains. Those who choked and collapsed because of smoke or intense heat may well have been cremated by the intensity of the flames which swept through their property.
Attributing deaths to any disaster is not simple. Issues of how, where and when someone died arise. To illustrate, think about a large battle during a war. When a death toll is stated, are we being told the number who died during the battle? Or does the death toll include those who were wounded, lived for several days or even a few months and then died of wounds sustained during the battle? Then what about those so severely scarred mentally by what they went through they later took their own lives? Defining one number for casualties is complicated. So it is with the death toll of the Great Fire. Are very low numbers of deaths referring only to those who died in the flames? If so, is it not better, for example, to include the large number who perished later because they were still camped outside the city walls when winter fell? Those poor people didn’t die in the fire, but they did die because of the fire.
So, how many deaths can really be attributed to the Great Fire?
Some modern historians still support a death toll in single figures, albeit accepting that some deaths would have been unrecorded, and that refugees also died later camped in fields. Another historian supports a number greater than the lowest figures but thinks it likely the total would not run into the hundreds. Neil Hanson draws attention to known deaths because of hunger and exposure during the cold winter after the fire. He also believes that while some foreigners and Catholics were rescued from mob-lynching, many violent deaths went unrecorded. Hanson also supports the theory that the heat at the heart of the firestorms was much more intense than an ordinary house fire, and thus able to near fully consume bodies. He believes that instead of four, six or eight the death toll was “several hundred and quite possibly several thousand times that number”.[6]
The writers of the Short History of the Great Fire of London podcast researched parish records for deaths before the fire, for the year of the fire, and then for a short time after the fire. They find anomalies in those figures, perhaps suggesting that the recording of deaths was unreliable. What I find even more enlightening is a comparison they make with deaths linked to the Great Fire of Chicago. The Chicago fire was not until 1871, but there are similarities with London’s 1666 fire – population size, density of wooden buildings, time of year, and presence of a strong wind. Deaths were more properly recorded in the late 1800s, and between 200 and 300 are attributed to the Chicago fire. Thus, the writers conclude, the London fire likely also resulted in several hundred deaths but probably not thousands.[7]
Given all the limitations of a major disaster in the 17th century, we will never know an exact number of deaths because of the Great Fire of London. My own view is that the low numbers are unlikely, but so are the extremely high guesses.
Planning a new London
Before the fire, the writer John Evelyn compared London to the grandeur of Paris and described Britain’s largest city as a “wooden, northern, and inartificial congestion of houses”. That’s a confusing mix of words, but he’s trying to describe how poorly designed and built London was. For Evelyn, the city was an unorganised sprawl of unattractive streets and homes.
Within days of the Great Fire ending, many – including King Charles II – determined the rebuilt London would be much better. The city would be redesigned, and homes built to a much higher standard.
Work began almost immediately to clear massive heaps of debris, almost all of it unusable. A special Fire Court[8] was set up to decide property disputes. Many of those were arguments between tenants and landlords about who should pay for rebuilding. Cases were decided quickly with verdicts based on ability to pay. Without the Fire Court legal issues could have lasted years and seriously delayed rebuilding.
Right from the start drawings of a new London flooded in. Many of the submissions were sent direct to the King. Some came from ordinary citizens with radical ideas, and some came from people with planning experience, including Christopher Wren. Most proposals involved a grid system of streets, a significantly different pattern to how London had evolved. There were also plans for boulevards and piazzas similar to those in French and Italian cities. Along with the drawings came bold and romantic statements of rebirth, that a marvellous new London would emerge from the ashes.
But almost none of that ever happened.
Wren’s plan, for example, failed because a very large number of property titles would have had to be redefined, an almost impossible task because land in London was owned by many people. Besides, no-one was willing to wait for complex plans to be assessed. With little building control, work had already started on building new homes on the scorched earth. People needed houses simply to survive. So London was rebuilt much as before.
However, some new regulations were imposed.
One of the reasons the fire had spread so easily and quickly was the density of the housing. There were almost no gaps between houses. Streets were very narrow, and roofs overhung so far they virtually joined with adjoining homes, even those on the opposite side of the road. Another reason the fire took such a strong hold was that most houses were made of wood which, when dry, was perfect fuel for the fire. So, the new construction regulations required all buildings to have at least a stone or brick facing. Streets must be widened and new pavements[9] built. Two new streets were created. No houses must obstruct access to the River Thames, and better wharves must be built there. The cost of building materials was regulated, as were the wages of workers. A deadline of three years for rebuilding was set; if not met, land could be sold. In the end most private rebuilding was done by 1671.
Supervision of much of the reconstruction was entrusted to a six-person committee, with Christopher Wren as the ‘Commissioner for Rebuilding’. Wren was born in October 1632, therefore still just 33 at the time of the Great Fire. Though his general plans for a new London were mostly rejected, he did design 51 new city churches and The Monument (more on which shortly). His most famous achievement was designing and overseeing the rebuilding of St Paul’s Cathedral. The excellence of Wren’s work was recognised with a knighthood on 14th November, 1673 (hence he had the title ‘Sir’ after that date).
Overall it took almost 50 years before the fire-ravaged area of London was rebuilt. It was 1711 until the reconstruction of St Paul’s was complete.
The Monument
Because the Great Fire of London was so momentous, a decision was made by the King to build a commemorative monument close to where the fire started. Some attribute the design work of a monument to Christopher Wren, others to surveyor Robert Hooke – very likely they combined their skills. Work began on a Doric column in 1671 and it was completed in 1677. Known simply as The Monument, it stands 202 feet tall (61.5 metres) and is located exactly 202 feet from where the fire began in the Pudding Lane bakery. At the very top is a drum and copper urn from which flames emerged, symbolizing the Great Fire.[10]
On the column were sculptures and engravings telling the story of the fire. In 1681 a plaque was added attributing blame for the fire. An official enquiry determined the Great Fire was due to “the hand of God, a great wind, and a very dry season”, but, with anti-Catholic feeling running high, the inscription on The Monument put the blame on the ”treachery and malice of the Popish faction”. The inscription was removed in 1830.
Fire Insurance and Fire Brigade
The Great Fire made people think more seriously about better fire safety and the cost of repairs. In 1680 Nicholas Barbon set up the ‘Fire Office’, an insurance company.[11] Other similar companies were soon established.
By 1700, those fledgling companies had the common sense to realise it was probably cheaper to extinguish fires than pay for repairs. They set up their own fire brigades, and had plates fastened to houses naming which company insured that property. If a fire brigade of another company put out the fire, the insurers had reciprocal arrangements so the correct insurer would cover the cost.
Eventually even more common sense prevailed. The most efficient fire-fighting system would be one unified force covering the whole of London. So, in 1833 the London Fire Engine Establishment was founded. There were numerous fire stations across the city, each providing 24/7 coverage. Floating engines were built for The Thames to tackle fires in the docks.
Now known as The London Fire Brigade, it has become one of the largest firefighting and rescue organisations in the world. It employs more than 5000 people, and in 2022 dealt with 125,390 incidents, of which 19,297 were fires.
The plague
The Great Plague (or Black Plague) began to spread in early 1665. It was deadly, and the number of victims rose quickly. In London about 15 per cent of the population died in the plague’s first year. That could be as many as 75,000 deaths, a huge number.
There were plague victims also in 1666, then in September the city was consumed by the Great Fire. And afterwards the Great Plague faded away. Why? The obvious conclusion is that the insanitary houses – overrun with rats and fleas which spread the plague – were gone, so the epidemic was halted. The tragedy of the Great Fire eradicated the tragedy of the Great Plague.
Except it didn’t. Sometimes an obvious conclusion is a wrong conclusion.
The Museum of London says that the idea that the Great Fire stopped the Great Plague is the most talked about myth they hear.[12] It’s nice to think there was a silver lining to the Great Fire. But the idea isn’t true. The Museum lists five reasons:
The Great Fire burned only about a quarter of the overall London metropolis. It could not have killed off the plague for the whole ‘Greater London’ area.
Houses built after the fire had stone or brick-faced walls, but hygiene and sanitation did not significantly improve.
Areas where the plague was worst – Whitechapel, Clerkenwell, Southwark – were not affected by the fire.
The number of plague-related deaths was already declining long before the fire.
People in London still died from the plague after the Great Fire was over.
The Great Plague’s major death toll occurred during 1665-66, and the Great Fire broke out in September 1666. So it’s not surprising that the second is assumed to have eradicated the first. But that is a wrong assumption. The Museum says: “We are still not sure why the plague did not return to our shores after it faded out in the 1670s but it wasn’t due to London’s 1666 fire”.
The lust for vengeance
During the Great Fire, anger became rage and rage became a lust for vengeance. In the minds of many, the destruction of London could not be an accident. Farriner protested long and hard that the fire did not start in his bakery. He had double checked his ovens before he went to bed. Many were willing to believe him. A fire like this had to be a deliberate attack. A Parliamentary investigation blamed the fire on the hand of God, the strong wind, and the dry season, but those reasons were not enough. Enemies of London and of England were surely responsible. Blame was directed at Catholics and foreigners.
The anger was fed by homelessness and near starvation. Camped outside London while autumn temperatures dropped, people were dying. Evelyn wrote: “Many (were) without a rag or any necessary utensils, bed or board… reduced to extremest misery and poverty”. The King, Charles II, was so afraid these refugees would rise against the monarchy, he ordered daily supplies of bread to be brought to the city and new markets created.
Charles went even further, encouraging people to move away from London and ordering neighbouring towns and cities to permit incomers to engage in their trades in these new locations.
These were good measures, but still thousands suffered. The mood was volatile. For those living in and around London there was an overwhelming longing to hit back at those responsible for their misery. Before the fire had even been fully extinguished, a rumour spread that French and Dutch troops were approaching. Londoners would not wait to be slaughtered, so mobs rushed through the streets attacking foreigners. Soldiers had to intervene to stop the violence.
In the months following, the lust for vengeance was undiminished. It was inexcusable to attack people simply because they were foreigners, but Londoners were traumatised and panicked. As still happens today, the general population didn’t entirely trust official statements from central authority, in their case from the King. And – with no press or TV or internet – they were fed a strong diet of rumours. And since the only rumours worth spreading are those which are frightening or threatening, people became terrified and angry.
As well as rumours there was (what we now call) ‘fake news’. The official parliamentary enquiry into the fire[13] heard evidence from many people, including those who suspected the Dutch or French or Catholics. The committee recorded everything that was said, but rejected the suspicions of arson and ruled that the fire was an accident made worse by the strong wind and dry season. But someone collated the testimonies of those who blamed foreigners, made those statements into a pamphlet, and leaked it to the public. By now it was obvious there was no Dutch or French invasion, so the story spread that shadowy Catholic agents had started the fire.[14]
In fact, a man who swore he was Catholic had already been arrested, tried and executed. His name was Robert Hubert.
Hubert was a watchmaker who originated from Rouen in France. He had come to London, but, as he headed later for east coast ports, he was stopped just outside the city. Authorities questioned him. Hubert admitted he was a member of a gang, that the fire was a French plot, and he had started the fire. He was charged, and imprisoned in one of the unburned jails.
There are several reports that Hubert was not fully able to explain himself. Some have said he was simple-minded, and may not have realised the implications of his confession, or had imagined the story he told. It’s also possible he was tortured.
Hubert’s story was inconsistent. Originally he said the French gang was 24, but then he dropped the number to just four. He stated that he started the fire in Westminster, but then learned no fire had ever reached there. Where the fire actually began was mentioned to him, so his story changed to how he had thrown a fire grenade through an open window of the Pudding Lane bakery.
He was brought to trial in October 1666 at the Old Bailey courts. There were doubts about his evidence. Some said he had not even been in London when the fire started. He insisted he was a Catholic, but those who knew him said he was Protestant and a Hugeunot.[15] His story of throwing a grenade through a window was nonsense, because the bakery in Pudding Lane had no windows. Besides, Hubert was crippled and incapable of throwing a grenade. The Lord Chief Justice, who presided over the trial, said Hubert’s confession was so disjointed he couldn’t possibly believe him guilty. But Hubert insisted he was guilty. McRobbie says that put officials in the strange position of trying to prove he hadn’t done what he said he did. But Hubert was adamant that he had started the fire, so was found guilty and hanged at Tyburn on 29th October, 1666.
Hubert was innocent. Evidence soon emerged from the captain of a Swedish ship that he had been on that ship in the North Sea when the Great Fire started. He did not arrive in London until two days after that. He was not a Catholic, not a member of a French gang, and certainly had not started the fire.
Perhaps the strength of his confession meant a guilty verdict had to be given. Perhaps people thought that convicting Hubert would end the rage of the crowds. Perhaps Hubert wanted to die. Apparently his life had been miserable, and he wanted to end it. In that case, to use a phrase of McRobbie’s, Hubert committed ‘suicide by confession’.
Anti-Catholic sentiment and suspicion of foreigners continued for many years. Negative feelings do not change quickly, as many today would still testify.
Eleven curious details
One In 1681 a plaque was placed in Pudding Lane blaming ‘Papists’ for the Great Fire. In the mid-1700s it was removed. Why? Had people realised Catholics were not to blame? No. It was taken down because people stopped to read the wording and that caused a traffic hazard.
Two The Monument was designed with a 311 step internal staircase leading to a viewing platform, so Londoners could see their city being rebuilt. A mesh cage was added to the viewing platform in the mid-19th century because people had committed suicide by jumping. Some 100,000 people each year continue to climb to the viewing platform.
Three In 1986 – 320 years after the Great Fire – the London members of the Worshipful Company of Bakers apologised to the Lord Mayor for the fire. They placed a plaque in Pudding Lane acknowledging that one of their own, Thomas Farriner, was in fact guilty for causing the Great Fire.
Four Sir Christopher Wren’s range of professional interests included astronomy, optics, cosmology, mechanics, microscopy, surveying, medicine, meteorology. He was also an inventor of scientific instruments.
Five Wren began studying architecture in Paris in 1665. By the next year he was back in London, where he drew his first design to improve the rapidly decaying (Old) St Paul’s Cathedral. One week later the Great Fire began in Pudding Lane on Sunday 2nd September. On the evening of Tuesday 4th September embers landed on St Paul’s and before morning the building was gone. Wren’s masterpiece, the new St Paul’s Cathedral, was completed in 1710.
Six Sir Christopher married twice. Though neither wife lived long there were two children from each marriage. Wren died aged 90 years, and of these years was married for only nine.[16]
Seven Though Wren’s designs for a new-look London were never implemented, he was honoured in 2016 (the 350th anniversary of the Great Fire) with a Royal Mail stamp illustrating him presenting his plan.
Eight A central shaft in The Monument was created as a scientific instrument for the Royal Society. It included a telescope and a space to enable experiments on gravity. However, the vibrations of nearby heavy traffic spoiled those experiments which were soon discontinued.
Nine On Wednesday 5th September, 1666 – the fourth day of the Great Fire – the diarist Samuel Pepys witnessed a cat being rescued from the ruins of the fire ravaged Royal Exchange. He wrote: ‘I also did see a poor cat taken out of a hole in the chimney… with the hair all burned off the body, and yet alive’.[17]
Ten St Paul’s Cathedral famously survived the ‘Second Great Fire of London’, the World War II London blitz with incendiary bombs.
Eleven John Evelyn summed up what the Great Fire had done to his city in six words: ‘London was, but is no more’.
Lessons from the Great Fire
There have been many lessons as the story has unfolded:
Something small, such as one spark, can have massive consequences
The unimaginable should have been imagined, and preparations made
Clear and decisive leadership is vital to deal with a catastrophe
How ready people are to find someone to blame, and take the law into their own hands. The sad truth is that people want villains and want vengeance.
Sometimes you can’t wait for permission; you must act now. That’s what happened when the garrison at the Tower of London used gunpowder to demolish houses between the fire and the Tower. They’d waited for help which never came. So, before it was too late they took responsibility for halting the flames, and thus saved the Tower.
Nowhere is immune from harm. Many thought the stone-built St Paul’s Cathedral was safe so they put all their possessions inside. That was a bad decision. The Great Fire was greater than the resistance of the cathedral, and the building and everything inside was lost.
Often you can’t control an outcome. The best firefighting efforts did not stop the Great Fire. What halted its spread was that the easterly wind subsided. The flames were no longer driven westward, thus providing an opportunity to extinguish fires.
Here’s my final lesson. I began this series by saying one spark from a fire left smouldering under an oven caused the Great Fire. Just one spark cost vast amounts of property to be destroyed, many lives lost, and a huge financial cost to rebuilt London.
We neglect the small or ordinary things of life at great peril. Those seemingly small things can be personal, like time with family or looking after our health. They can be the background factors when running a business, like getting to know colleagues or being careful about contracts. They can be the affairs of state or global relationships, such as misunderstanding or neglecting an issue, or threat, or contrary voice.
There’s a saying that large doors swing on small hinges. Extremely large consequences flow from small, seemingly unimportant matters.
Bad things will always happen. But some can be avoided by careful attention to details, by preparation for worst case scenarios, by wise and decisive leadership, and the other lessons taught to us by the Great Fire.
The Great Fire of London began in the early hours of a Sunday morning. By Tuesday you’d expect the fire would have been extinguished or simply died down. You’d be wrong.
In fact dawn on Tuesday heralds the day of greatest destruction. The fire spreads faster. More houses than ever are consumed. And buildings burn to the ground which no-one thought could even go on fire.
Why?
Primarily because a major fire in the 17th century was very different from a major fire now.
Our modern assumption is that, with time, a fire will be beaten. We have fire brigades staffed by fully trained firefighters. They have excellent equipment, such as high pressure hoses, extending ladders, protective suits, breathing apparatus, and even drones. And fire hydrants provide near-endless water supplies. Also, many buildings don’t burn easily because they’re constructed with fire-retardant materials, fitted with early warning smoke alarms, and sprinkler systems are installed in their ceilings.
The realities of September 1666 were nothing like those. Citizen firefighters threw buckets of water on fires, and used hooks to tear down walls. At the height of the Great Fire neither of those methods were possible because the heat was so intense no-one could get nearer than 100 yards (91 metres).[1] London’s houses were the exact opposite of fire-retardant – after a warm, dry summer the thatch-covered wooden homes were perfect fuel; they caught fire easily and burned quickly. What made every challenge much worse was the exceptionally powerful east to west wind, fanning the flames and spreading embers to neighbouring streets.[2]
So, in 1666, as long as there were houses not yet ablaze, the fire could spread. And on that Tuesday the fire did.
Here’s one example. One of the rivers flowing through London is the Fleet. The river is how Fleet Street – the one time centre of the newspaper industry – gets its name, but today the river is almost entirely underground. In the 17th century, the Fleet was a sizeable river, and therefore a natural firebreak. It flowed about a mile west of Pudding Lane where the fire started.
Early that Tuesday morning, the Duke of York (James, the brother of King Charles II) stations his ‘firemen’ beside the river, determined to stop the fire’s progress. It will not pass this point. But the fire has a different plan. Driven by the gale, sparks fly high in the air, cross the river, and start new fires to the side and behind the soldiers. Now their lives are in great danger. All hope of halting the fire is abandoned and the Duke and his troops run to save their lives.
The soldiers are not the only ones trying frantically to escape the fire. The mass of London’s ordinary citizens, and the wealthy, upper classes, become very aware a fast-moving inferno is raging while they are imprisoned with it behind solid stone walls. Those ancient Roman-built city walls surround them on three sides with the River Thames on the fourth. The fire is spreading fast. It is clearly beyond anyone’s control. They must get outside the city walls. Citizens pack whatever they can carry on their backs and head for the city gates. The affluent are desperate not only for their lives but also for their valuable possessions. For those they need carts or wagons, and that generates opportunistic commerce. Prices for hiring a cart soar. A charge of a couple of shillings before the fire now becomes £40, equal to more than £133,000/$161,000 in today’s money. And the desperate demand to transport possessions creates new employment as the poor of the city hire out their labour as porters. Some load themselves with wealthy goods and are never seen again.
The mood now is panic. Throngs of people along with many horses and carts push towards each of the city gates. Those gates are narrow since part of their purpose is to protect the city from invading armies.[3] Narrow gates cause no problem for casual traffic in and out, but they soon block when huge numbers try to flee at once.
Then a difficult, dangerous situation gets worse. The crowds at the gates are frightened, and their fear quickly turns to anger. Some push even harder. There is a serious danger that people will be trampled under feet, hooves or cart wheels. That concerns the city magistrates. But those officials are also worried about something else. They need people to stay and fight the fire, not flee to safety in nearby fields. So they take the remarkable step of ordering the city gates shut. No-one is to leave. They must turn back and tackle the flames, “that, (with) no hopes of saving any things left, they might have more desperately endeavoured the quenching of the fire”.[4]
The magistrates’ reasoning is delusional. The hordes at the city gates will never go back. The city is an inferno. They have nothing with which to fight the fire. They cannot save a single building, but could lose their lives, their children’s lives, and what remains of their possessions. No-one turns back. There is near rioting at every gate. Before long the magistrates see sense, and order the gates reopened so people can escape the burning city.
As the Great Fire rages on two major buildings are threatened: the Tower of London and St Paul’s Cathedral. One is successfully defended; the other burns to the ground.
Defence
Fires burn strongly through Tuesday morning. The Duke of York’s firefighters are ruthless in tearing down properties to create firebreaks. With the King’s authority, they’re permitted to destroy private property, and now they do it on a larger scale. On the north edge of the fire, they create a massive firebreak, one they know the fire cannot jump. But they’re wrong. Still fed by strong winds, burning embers fly across the gaps, and the Great Fire continues its relentless march.
Then the fire does something wholly unexpected, something seemingly impossible, something deadly dangerous – it moves east. The gale has blown for more than two days east to west, and therefore pushed the fire westward across the heart of the old city. But now, with no change in the wind, from the fire’s origins in Pudding Lane flames spread in the other direction from one house to another.
That is critically dangerous for one of London’s most prominent buildings, the Tower of London. The Tower is a military establishment, part of the city’s defences against invaders. Inside are barrels of gunpowder weighing some 600,000 lbs (272,155 kg). It’s the largest stockpile of gunpowder anywhere in the country. Massive heat alone could cause that gunpowder to ignite without the fire even getting close. The blast will destroy the Tower and nearby London Bridge. And, writes John Evelyn later, the detonation would have “sunk and torn all the vessels in the river and rendered the demolition beyond all expression for several miles about the country”.
Until now no-one at the Tower of London has been alarmed. Many times fires have started but quickly died down. Besides, the Tower is a major stone stronghold. No fire could harm the buildings or its occupants. But, as the fire raged through the city during Sunday and Monday, and now into Tuesday, the Tower’s garrison recognises this fire is very different. Despite the wind, the flames are coming their way. And they are very afraid.
The Tower of London is in fact a castle. The word ‘tower’ in the name comes from the White Tower, one of its oldest and most prominent buildings. (There are more details on the Tower of London in the footnote below.[5])
In the 13th century the initial castle walls were supplemented by outer walls, known as curtain walls. They were built behind a wide moat and a short distance further out than the walls around main buildings. Together the moat and curtain walls would be a near insurmountable barrier halting invaders getting near to the castle. So surely they would stop any fire threatening the Tower of London.
For many centuries, the landward side of the Tower of London has been protected by its curtain walls – the outer walls shown here are set apart from the inner walls. Joy, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
Except perhaps not this fire. Steadily it moves east, ever nearer to the Tower. The garrison inside know that other stone buildings – even the massive Baynard’s Castle – have been ruined by the fire. And their situation is much more perilous because of those massive stocks of gunpowder. They are almost literally sitting on a massive explosion.
Desperate requests for help are sent to James II. His men are needed today – right now – to save the Tower of London. But the firefighters never come. Every one of them has been sent west. All the assumptions are that new blazes will start where the wind blows the flames. No-one thought the flames could move east. But they do. And a catastrophe at the Tower of London is imminent.
The commanders wait and wait for firefighters until they dare wait no longer. Finally orders are given for gunpowder to be taken from the stores, planted in houses between the castle and the fire, and ignited. Those homes are privately owned, and the Tower’s soldiers have no authority to demolish them, but this is an extreme emergency.
With gunpowder placed inside dozens of houses, the order is given to detonate. The explosion is massive. Homes are blown apart, debris scattered over long distances. Above the noise of the fire, London’s citizens hear the blasts, many thinking the Tower itself is now in smithereens. But it’s safe. In fact a massive firebreak has been created, a gap so wide the fire cannot cross it. The London Gazette later reports that the fire came almost to the very gates of the Tower, by which they likely mean close to the curtain walls. But it came no further. The magazines of gunpowder inside are saved. The spread of the fire to the east is stopped.
Disaster
But it’s not stopped on the west, not where St Paul’s Cathedral sits on Ludgate Hill. The location is not close to Pudding Lane, where the fire began, but distances are not large in the city, and the wind is still driving the blaze steadily westward. Now it’s near to the cathedral.
An engraving of Old St Paul’s as it looked before the fire of 1561 in which the spire was destroyed. Francis Bond (1852-1918)Anton van den Wyngaerde (1525-1571W.H. Prior, Typographic Etching Co, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
The cathedral is the fourth church dedicated to St Paul to sit on that hill. Like many cathedrals in medieval times, it was constructed over a long period of time (from 1087 to 1314) and frequently altered later. The old cathedral was a very impressive structure, close to being the longest church in the world, and with one of the tallest spires. The beauty of its stained glass windows earned them a mention in Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales. The length and beauty of its nave was particularly remarkable. It soon became known as ‘Paul’s walk’.
Pilgrims came from far and near to visit a shrine inside the cathedral, admiring its decoration with gold, silver and precious stones. Monarchs held occasional court sessions in the cathedral. There was at least one riot, but also royal weddings. Kings lay in state before their funerals. Bishops and nobles were entombed there.
Old St Paul’s, however, seemed to lose its spiritual focus. Paul’s Walk became a gathering place and even a marketplace in the late 1300s. The bishop had to circulate an open letter denouncing the selling of goods, firing stones and arrows at nesting birds, and those guilty of ‘playing at ball’ and breaking expensive painted windows. From then on, such perpetrators would be excommunicated.
The nave of (old) St Paul’s, known as Paul’s Walk. Wenceslas Hollar – St. Paul’s. The nave (State 1)jpg: Wenceslas Hollar, restored by Bob Castle derivative work: Bob Castle, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
But many London citizens did nothing more stirring than use the ‘Walk’ as a gossip centre. In the pre-printing press age, news was shared verbally and ‘Paul’s walkers’ visited simply to stay up to date with what was happening, mostly sharing information related to commerce and state business. Some historians say that by the 1600s: ‘Infested with beggars and thieves, Paul’s walk was also a place to pick up gossip, topical jokes, and even prostitutes’.[6]
But spiritual fervour was not the only thing to deteriorate at the cathedral. By the 16th century the building’s structure was in a seriously poor condition. Partly that was due to post-Reformation action against religious centres. Partly it was simply because St Paul’s was poorly constructed in the first place.
In 1561 the near record-setting tall spire was gone. It caught fire and crashed right through the roof of the nave, the main central area of the cathedral. Blame was quickly attributed to a lightning strike which set the spire on fire, melting the bells and the spire’s lead covering, which then flowed like lava on to the roof, destroying it. Catholics and Protestants blamed each other for displeasing God.
St Paul’s, set on Ludgate Hill, as it was shortly before the Great Fire. The spire no longer exists. Claes Van Visscher, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
The spire was not rebuilt, and repair work on the roof was of a very poor standard. Within a few decades the roof was in danger of another collapse. When Charles II became King, he determined to restore the condition of St Paul’s. He had the very man for the job, Sir Christopher Wren. Wren surveyed the building, and, finding its whole structure unsatisfactory, recommended that the building should be completely demolished. That solution was opposed by both clergy and citizens. Wren relented, and instead proposed restructuring walls and creating a dome to replace the existing central tower.
Though debates about repairs still raged, a beginning is made in the early 1660s, and St Paul’s is covered with wooden scaffolding. And now, in 1666 with the Great Fire raging, the stone cathedral which would never burn is packed with the goods of local businesses, including the stocks of printers and booksellers from Paternoster Row. Wealthy citizens have brought in their money, paintings, valuable furniture, fine wines, gold coins. And a miscellany of ordinary, nearby residents have carried inside whatever they consider important. But what they’ve all done is put their possessions inside a building wrapped in highly flammable wood.
The sun sets, but there’s no darkness because the Great Fire has arrived.
Remains of the Cathedral after the fire drawn by Thomas Wyck, c. 1673 Thomas Wyck, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
People hope St Paul’s will be spared because it’s a house of God, and because a wide plaza separates it from nearby homes. Their hopes are dashed. Nothing stops this fire. Around 8.00 pm burning embers settle on the scaffolding. It’s dry, and the heat as the fire approached has made it easily combustible. The wood bursts into flame, first here and then there, fire spreading from spar to spar. Soon the whole exterior of the cathedral is alight. The intensity of the blaze melts the lead remaining on the roof. Thick stones crack and break apart with loud bangs that many think are gunfire. The building is collapsing. If those sheltering inside stay they’ll die. Wisely they abandon their goods and run to save their lives. Within a few hours St Paul’s is no more.
The contemporary writer John Evelyn said that what remained was no more than a ‘sad ruine’ with very little still intact, He adds: ‘It was astonishing to see what immense stones the heate had in a manner calcin’d’[7] That included the stationers’ books which are still burning a week later.
St Paul’s Cathedral is destroyed. Wren’s dome will have to wait.
The end is nigh
Crowds watch St Paul’s burn to the ground. What they don’t know is that St Paul’s is the last major building to become a victim of the Great Fire. During the night between Tuesday and Wednesday, the easterly wind which has driven the flames finally eases.
It is the change everyone has longed for. If the fire is no longer driven from one building to the next, there is a chance it can be beaten, or even that it’ll just burn out. In fact, both those things happen during Wednesday.
No longer do embers soar over gaps and no longer is there fresh fuel for the fire to burn. Certainly, the close proximity of houses might still have allowed a slow spread of the flames, but now, without the strong wind, the creation of firebreaks actually works.
The Duke of York’s exhausted and demoralised teams of firefighters rally. They have a real chance of stopping the fire from spreading. Furiously they tear down houses. Some they blow up. There is a new ruthlessness in creating very wide firebreaks, gaps which would not be bridged by the flames. And it succeeds.
The spread of the Great Fire ends, and on that Wednesday – the fourth day – burning diminishes and by dawn the next morning the fire is practically out. Small fires continue for a while – coal still burns in cellars for two months – but the battle is won.
Probably some celebrate, but most mourn. The diarist, Samuel Pepys, climbs a church steeple to assess the destruction, and records that it was “the saddest sight of desolation that I ever saw”. Tens of thousands have lost their homes. Some camp in any area of the city the fire has not burned, and many more settle in the fields outside the walls. Their next phase of suffering is just beginning. John Evelyn sees people huddling under makeshift tents, and writes: “Many were without a rag or any necessary utensils, bed or board … reduced to extremest misery and poverty”.
In the final part of the story of the Great Fire, we’ll learn much more about the aftermath of the fire, including the number of casualties, plans to build a new-look London, and what happened to the man convicted of starting the fire even though authorities knew he hadn’t.
[5] Work on building the White Tower is thought to have begun in 1078, but the origins of the overall Tower of London are earlier. William the Conqueror was victorious in the Battle of Hastings in 1066, and then pressed further into England, that is into ‘enemy territory’. He ordered many castles to be built, and he particularly wanted to overawe citizens of its largest city, London. Hence he would have a large fortification there, predominantly of stone, on the south-east corner of the ancient Roman walls. The old walls would be part of its defences, and the River Thames immediately to the south would give further protection.
Occasionally wise 