Ep 10 A Fire, Flood & Zeppelin Walk Into A Bar - Tales of Pints, Perils & Perseverance in London's Historic Pubs

Sometimes it's tough to be a pub.  This episode looks at 3 historical disasters that affected London beer supply and pubs.

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Google map with pubs covered in previous episodes pinned, courtesy of Andy Meddick:

https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/4/edit?mid=12c-WKa3XiT1qTLydK8psZocUR7Y_Wes&usp=sharing

Or TinyURL: https://tinyurl.com/bduca5dv

The following resources are referenced or quoted frequently in these episodes:

• Ted Bruning  -- Historic Pubs of London (ISBN 978-0658005022) and London By Pub (ISBN 978-0658005022)
• Wikipedia
• https://londonspubswherehistoryreallyhappened.wordpress.com/  by Ann Laffeaty

Additionally, the  following resource(s) were used in researching this episode:

• https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/1666/
• 1666 Plague, War and Hellfire by Rebecca Rideal (ISBN 178-1-250-09706-4)
• The Great Fire: In Real Time – 2017, TV Mini series
• https://landships.activeboard.com/t14106803/the-dolphin-tavern-and-wwi-german-air-raids-on-london/

Intro music:

Vivaldi - Spring Allegro by John Harrison with the Wichita State University Chamber

Website: https://historiclondonpubcast.com/

E-mail: hosteric@historiclondonpubcast.com

Transcript

Welcome to this episode of The Historic London Pubcast. I'm Eric Blair, and I'd like to take you on a journey through the rich history of London's iconic pubs. My goal is to share with you my passion for the great old pubs of London. I want to give you some facts to help you appreciate the history of these hallowed establishments mixed in with some fun stories that make it all go down as smooth as a well poured pint. 

To celebrate the 10th Episode of This Pubcast, we're going to do something a little different. Today's focus will be on three historical disasters, all involving and affecting London pubs or beer. I am calling this one Pubs Versus Fire, Floods, and Zeppelin raids. The first disaster, a fire you could well guess would refer to The Great Fire of London in 1666.

For pub history lovers like us, this is a pivotal point. The fire nearly wiped the slate clean of London pubs, although we will talk about a few that survived. But first, let's talk about the fire itself. Don't worry, dear Listeners, I'll get to the pub soon enough. 

1665 and 1666 were tough years for the folks in London. Britain was in the midst of what is now termed the Second Anglo-Dutch War, a conflict that involved a number of vicious sea battles. The Plague, which had come and gone several times since the 1300s, decided to make what would be its last appearance in around 1665 taking out an official 65,000 Londoners. But Historians think it actually was more like 100,000, which was 15% of the city's population. London had experienced a rapid growth with a high influx of people from rural areas, and these poor souls were living in crowded, substandard housing in what was becoming London's slums. As you could imagine, The Plague spread rapidly in these areas. More affluent folks knew well that they needed to social distance and got out of town. But many folks of lesser means did not have that option. 

Good news though plague deaths were abating in the first half of 1666, maybe the second half of the year would hold more favorable conditions. But no such luck. In the early morning hours of September 2nd, 1666. A fire broke out on the first floor Bakery of Thomas Farriner on Pudding Lane, not far from the northern point of London Bridge. Farriner was a widower, having lost his wife to the plague a year or so earlier, and lived upstairs from the Bakery with his two young adult children, a son and daughter and a maid. With the first floor and flames Farriner’s only exit out was the second floor window and a perilous path to the adjacent building. The father and the two children made it to safety, but the maid was two overcome by fear to attempt the escape, and died in the flames. 

All the ingredients for disaster were there for the fire to spread rapidly. 1666 had been a dry year. The wooden houses were built tightly together. The winds were coming up and the roofs were made of wooden shanks. Firefighting techniques in those days were limited to basically three options. Form a bucket brigade using leather vessels to throw water on the fire. Use a squirting device (a thing that looked like an overgrown hypodermic needle) to suck up water and then carry it over to the fire and use a piston to discharge the water on the fire. As you can imagine, neither of these two methods had the ability to put out the amount of water needed to control a large house fire. The last method was likely the most effective, pulling down adjoining buildings to create a firebreak. The house on fire was allowed to continue, but the break prevented nearby houses from catching fire, but in this case the effectiveness of establishing firebreaks was offset by the winds blowing glowing embers, effectively little airborne incendiary bombs that could ignite roofs of houses some distance away.

On the first day of the fire, there was just damage in the area around Pudding Lane. It was the second day in which things really got serious. The fire began to spread rapidly and not just the wooden houses were contributing the combustible materials. Now it was the warehouses full of building materials, including pitch, a tar like substance that was used as a roof sealant. It was bad enough up there, dry on the roofs, but in the warehouses there were barrels of this liquid just ready to make an even bigger fire. 

All right, patient Listeners, now we get to a bit about pubs. The next street over from Pudding Lane (that's where the fire started, remember), was a wider street called Fish Street Hill. Because of its width and proximity to London Bridge (the only south side exit from the city thanks to the river), it was not surprising that the street would be adopted by the coaching trade. Stage coaching in Britain started in the mid-1600s, and by 1666 was a viable way to journey between London and other major UK cities. But don't get too excited. It was not what we would call a fun trip. Roads were not good, and although the second generation of coaches employed springs, the trip was still rough and long. For example, London to Bath, which now takes about three hours by car, took three days back then. Even worse, there were no Pubcasts to entertain you! Truly terrible!

Fish Street Hill had several inns. These were the truck stops of their day where drivers and horses could rest and repair, and the passengers could get lodging, food and drink. Non passenger Londoners would also come to these places for food and drink. We know of at least three on Fish Street Hill - The Star, The Sun, and The Mitre. Although The Mitre might still have been closed as a remnant of The Plague outbreak. Famous Diarist Samuel Pepys reports meaning friends in all three establishments, so these served as the pubs of their day.

And unfortunately, sometime on the first or second day of the fire they were all reduced to ashes. Initially, the Lord Mayor of London, Thomas Bloodworth, told firefighters that they need to obtain permission from the owners of the houses they wanted to pull down to make a firebreak. He was concerned that the city would be financially liable if they took action without owner permission . On Pudding  Lane, most of the residents were just renters, not owners, so gaining permission was nearly impossible. Samuel Pepys, our Diarist, was an official in the British Navy hierarchy and knew King Charles well. Near the end of the first day, he realized that this thing was getting out of control and went to Whitehall and gave his appraisal to the King.

Charles told him to find Mayor Bloodworth and command him to spare no houses, but to pull down before the fire every way. The King would provide more soldiers if needed. Pepys  did as he was told and wrote of the conversation with the Mayor. 

“To the King's message, he cried like a fainting woman, Lord, what can I do? I’m spent. People will not obey me. I have been pulling down houses, but the fire overtakes us faster than we can do it.” 

He needed no more soldiers. And that for himself. He must go and refresh himself. Having been up all night, Well, with leadership like that, it's no surprise that panic was beginning to set in as people tried to gather their belongings.

After his meeting with the Mayor. Pepys walks around a bit. 

“I walked through the city, and the streets were full of nothing but people and horses and carts loaded with goods, ready to run over one another and removing goods from one burned house to another.”

Pepys encountered the King again, 

“Met with the King and the Duke of York in their barge. Their order was only to pull down houses apace, but little was or could be done. The fire coming on them so fast. River's full of lighters and boats taking in goods and goods swimming in the water.” 

Pepys  met up with his wife and some friends, and they made their way down to Pepys’ boat to take a look from the river's point of view. He continues, 

“So near the fire as we could for smoke, and all over the Thames with one's face in the wind, you are almost burned with a shower of fire drops. Houses were burned by these drops and flakes of fire. 3 or 4, nay, 5 or 6 houses away. When we could endure no more upon the water, we went to a little ale house on the bank side, and there stayed until it was dark, and saw the fire grow. As it grew darker, the fire appeared more and more in the corners and upon the steeples, and between the churches and the houses, as far as we could see up the hill of the city, in a most horrid, malicious, bloody flame.” 

All right, Sammy boy, when things get tough, the tough pop into our pub. That is my kind of thinking!

Boatmen and coachman were reported to have adopted their own version of surge pricing long before Uber thought it up. Prices for a cart or coach or vessel were reported reaching 10 pounds, and other sources put the highest prices as much as 30 pounds. This was a tremendous sum. It was perhaps three months or more of wages for a well-paid craftsman, and approaching a year's wages for an unskilled laborer.

It was on the second day that the severity of the fire began to set in. Toward the north it reached the financial district and took out the Royal Exchange. To the south, the fire began to burn the houses along both sides of London Bridge, but a previous fire in the 1630s had taken out the houses midway across the bridge, and thus there was a readymade fire break that saved Southwark. 

The devastation on the third day is by some considered it the worst. Saint Paul's Cathedral was initially a way away from the fire, and was seen as a place where possessions could be safely stored, particularly the inventories of many of the city's booksellers. The church crypt was packed with books and manuscripts, almost up to its vaulted ceilings. But on the third day, the fire reached Saint Paul's, and unfortunately it was surrounded by wooden scaffolding because up for renovation work going on. This helped create an inferno of intense heat, consuming the church and creating temperatures so high that the lead supports in the vaulted ceilings liquefied. The crypt vault collapsed, and the books and manuscripts became additional fuel for the fire.

On the fourth day, the fire progressed east to the Tower of London, and this became a concern. The Tower contained a large arsenal of gunpowder, and there was no question that a tremendous explosion would result if the fire reached The Tower. Fortunately, the winds shifted and the crews became more aggressive and adept at establishing the firebreaks by selective destruction.

One improvement was to use the gunpowder in the tower to blow up buildings, and thus more efficiently create a firebreak. Also, the crews began to understand that all the rubble between the buildings must be removed for the firebreak to be effective. By the end of the day on September 5th, the fire was out. 

All right, let's talk about the damage. First, there is no question about the extent of the property damage. Wikipedia reports,

“The material destruction has been computed at around 13,500 houses, 86 parish churches, 44 company halls, the Royal Exchange, the Custom House, Saint Paul's Cathedral and several city prisons, the General Letter Office and three western city gates Ludgate, Newgate and Aldersgate. The monetary value of the loss was estimated at between 9 and 10 million pounds, and that is equivalent to about 2.13 billion in today's money.”

But what is in question is the extent of the human damage – the number of deaths. A number as low as six deaths, has been officially reported. Most believe it was higher than that, but amazingly, not a lot higher, more likely in the tens rather than the hundreds. These figures don't include the indirect deaths associated with the fire, like health problems, hunger and reprisals against foreigners blamed for starting the fire.

But the good news is that no one suggests the fire deaths were anything like the death toll from the previous year's plague outbreak. So maybe there was a bit of luck in the second half of the year after all. 

Ted Bruning in Historic Pubs of London offers that the fire should not just be considered from the point of the destruction it caused, but also the effect on the rebuilding philosophy. London had grown up rather haphazardly over the previous three centuries. Now the fire made the property owner see land for its developmental potential. After the fire, London began to grow, filling in the gaps that had resulted in what might be termed disorganized village sprawl. Previously, throughout this Pubcast, we talk about establishments going back to the 1600s and 1700s, but are there any that precede the fire? Now, exactly what that means is, in the opinion of the individual. Some might claim that a pub has been at this location since 1500 or whatever, but that pub is long gone, so it clearly doesn't count. There are pubs that are now part of Greater London that were not in London at the time of the fire. I think those at least should be considered. Finally, there are pubs that were not pubs at the time of the fire, but the building or parts of the building survived. Those count with asterisks in my book. 

Okay, let's look at the pubs that almost all agree survive the fire. From what I can find, only a couple get mentioned.

First, The Seven Stars at 53 Carey Street, Holborn.I like this pub a lot and it will feature in an upcoming Pubcast. So let me just say that this is the one pub that was a pub at the time of the fire and survives until  today. Its location is definitely outside the fire area by about a quarter of a mile.

The other generally accepted winner is The Hoop and Grapes, 47 Aldgate High Street, reported by Bruning in Historic Pubs of London to be the only timber frame building left in the city, avoiding the flames by a mere 50ft. The building was not a pub at the time though, but was in the wine trade, possibly just in the storage end of it. So it really should get an asterisk. Hmm. Am I being too picky here? You decide. 

Now, there is one additional pub that claims to be a survivor. That is The Olde Wine Shades. An interesting pub in its own right, but I have some concerns about whether it was an actual fire survivor. Like myself, other sources would also like to see more documentation.

It is located at Six Martin Lane, a two-minute walk from Fire Ground Zero – Pudding Lane. Did fire breaking finally get it right to save this one? I would like for that to be true, but I need to see a bit more evidence. 

Okay, now let's consider the pubs that are in London now, but were not in 1666. I know of two - The Spaniard's Inn at Hampstead Heath and The George Inn in Southwark. The Spaniard's goes back to the 1500s and is a terrific pub. Its website makes no mention of The Great Fire. So maybe we should say that while still in Greater London today, it is a bit too far out to be called a survivor.

But the other pub, The George, is just across the river from the fire and would have been in jeopardy if not for the fortunate gap on London Bridge that served as a firebreak, and the George survives in tribute to its fallen comrades - the Coaching Inns we mentioned on the other side of the river on Fish Hill Street. In fact, The George is the only Coaching Inn left. But don't be sad. It's set to get its own episode of this Pubcast soon. 

Finally, let's go to the other asterisked pubs, the ones that had parts that survived. I may have missed some, but I can think of only two. And it's because they have cellar bars that were deep enough not to collapse, like the crypt of Saint Paul. These are Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese and The Cittie of Yorke. 

The cellar bar at The Cheese is one of my favorite places in all of London pubdom. The cellar is thought to have been a part of the monastery that existed on the site in the 1300s, and was almost certainly there when the fire took out The Cheese’s predecessor, a pub called The Horn. 

The Cellar Bar at the The Cittie of Yorke is also likely a contender. A pub was on this site in the 1400s, but I have not been able to find when the cellar might have been done. I think it's likely before the fire, so I will give it an asterisk as well.

As a side note, I always seem to get to the The Cittie of Yorke when the cellar is closed. I think I do remember visiting it years ago at a time when it was very crowded. But fear not. I will continue to try. And you should too. 

So, in summary:

·       A definite surviving pub - The Seven Stars.

·       One area survivor - The George. 

and:

·       Three with either the building or parts that survived - The Hoop and Grapes, Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, and The Cittie of Yorke. 

Okay, one final point. You know that Bankside pub that Samuel Pepys and his friends popped into around sunset on the first night of the fire? There are those that say it was The Anchor, a popular pub at Bankside today. But all we really know, though, is what Pepys describes in his diary, 

“A little ale house on the Bankside.”

I am sure that could have been one of several. Anyway, if it was The Anchor, it was the grandfather of today's pub. The Anchor has burned down twice since the year of the Great Fire - in 1750, and again in 1876. Still, whether The Anchor was Pepys’ pub or not, it’s certainly near the point where he drank and watched the conflagration, so it's worth a visit. Over a pint, you can relax. Look across the river to current London and think about what Pepys might have seen 350 years ago. 

All right, that's a lot of stuff about The Great Fire. Let's move on to another disaster, one that is less known. This one is The London Beer Flood of October 17th, 1814 that occurred at The Horseshoe Brewery, located at the corner of Great Russell Street and Tottenham Court Road. This is just outside the northeast corner of Soho. 

A quick telling of the tale is that a 22 foot tall wooden vat of Porter, burst, causing another vessel to leak massively as well and also taking out several large barrels. This resulted in almost 1.5 million liters, or about 400,000 US gallons, being turned loose. To put this in perspective, the average US home swimming pool contains about 20,000 gallons of water. So this is 20 swimming pools! The wave of brew, estimated to be 15ft high, took out the back of the brewery and flooded an area slum dwelling known as Saint Giles Rookery. Basement dwellers were inundated and a total of eight people were killed. The Brewery was owned by Sir Henry Mew, a second generation, both Knight and Brewer. Sir Henry's father, Sir Richard, had been at the forefront of scaling up his breweries. Richard had constructed the largest vat in London with a capacity of 20,000 barrels. Henry's vat, the one that burst, was nearly as large - 18,000 barrels. The vat contained Porter, a style of dark beer that was the most popular alcoholic drink in London at the time. This Porter had been aging in these large vessels, a process that usually took several months. 

On the afternoon of 17th October 1814, the storehouse clerk saw that one of the iron bands around the festival had slipped down on the vat, and that vat was completely full. Bands slipping from time to time was not unusual, so it was not deemed to be serious. The clerk did tell a supervisor, who told him to write a note to Mr. Young, a part owner of the brewery, so that Young could initiate a repair crew. The supervisor ended by telling the clerk that there was no need to worry in the interim. No harm whatsoever would ensue. 

An hour or so later, the clerk was holding the note he had just completed and was standing about 30ft from the vat when the vessel suddenly burst. The stopcock, in other words, the drain valve of a nearby vat, was knocked off and several barrels known as ‘Hogsheads’ were broken, resulting in a tsunami of Porter moving forward through the back wall and onto New Street. 

Two houses were destroyed and two others were badly damaged. Eight deaths resulted, including a four year old girl having tea with her mother and a friend, five members of an Irish family conducting wake for a two year old boy, including the boy's mother, and two other victims - a barmaid who worked at the Tavistock Arms pub on Great Russell Street, and another child that was found dead in a house on New Street. Tragic all around. 

Three workmen were rescued from the Brewery itself, and the supervisor and one worker had to be taken to the hospital, along with three others from the community. As time passed, stories arose that crowds scooped up the free beer and a drunken party ensued. But this is not supported from newspaper reports at the time. The papers said that the crowds of onlookers were well behaved, and there were onlookers.

The site was described as a scene of desolation, likened to that of a fire or an earthquake. Enterprising watchmen at the Brewery charged people to view the remains of the destroyed vat, and had several hundred takers. A Coroner's Inquest was held and the Coroner's Jury concluded that the disaster was a casualty, accidentally and by misfortune, so as an Act of God, the Brewery did not have to pay compensation.

The company later petitioned Parliament and received a 7,250 pounds refund of excise tax that they had paid on the beer that comprised the flood, and this was credited as saving the company from bankruptcy. The Brewery was repaired and continued to operate for over 100 years, closing in 1921 as production was shifted to another location outside London. The Brewery was demolished in 1922. The Dominion Theaterwas later built at the site and still stands there today. 

For a time, the craft beer pub, The Holborn Whippet, would hold a remembrance for the victims on the annual anniversary of the disaster, selling Beer Flood Porter brewed specially for this event. But The Whippet closed in December of 2020 and reports are that the signage has been removed and is now listed as permanently closed. Sad, but wherever you are, it would still be nice to have a pint a porter on October 17th in remembrance of The Beer Flood. Heck, it's nice to have a pint a porter any day. 

Okay, on now to our last historical disaster involving pubs. This event was the aerial bombing of the Dolphin Tavern at 44 Red Lion Street by the German Zeppelin L13 on the 9th of September, 1915.

The pub can claim to be one of the first victims of aerial bombing, but not the first. The first victims were in the Belgian city of Antwerp the previous year. The pub was severely damaged, with about half of it totally collapsing. You can judge the damage yourself from a picture in the pub. Three men were killed and one source reports two were patrons and one was a firefighter working after the bombs hit. A table clock was recovered in the wreckage and it is also on display at the pub today.Its hands are permanently frozen at 10:40 p.m., just 20 minutes before closing time. 

It's sad to think that the folks who back in 1516 that gave us The German Purity Law are bombing pubs 400 years later. The Purity Law was a set of regulations governing the ingredients used in brewing beer, and the is the oldest food and drink regulation still in effect today. It became a model for purity standards in beer production worldwide. Remember, this occurred right in the middle of World War One, so I can only quote the American Civil War General, William Sherman,

“War is hell.”

The Dolphin is a fun little pub, and the historical visuals make it all the more deserving of a visit. At one point a few years ago, the owner focused on the pub having more of a neighborhood aspect. The clock was not prominently displayed and I don't remember the picture being out either. Opening days and hours were varied, and I suppose available only to those who were in the know. But my last visit leads me to believe that that era has passed. Still, it might be worth checking that the pub is open before starting out. It's close in - about a seven minute walk east of the Holborn tube stop.

Okay, dear Listeners, we have survived three disasters and have come to the end of another Pubcast. Perhaps it is time to celebrate with a portion of my favorite libation? With all this heavy history, you deserve it! Tell your server I said it was okay! Until next time. Cheers!