London's burning - 350 years since The Great Fire of London

By Rob John  

Read by Alice Bullard

It’s 1666.  A long, long time ago.  We’re in Pudding Lane, in London. It’s the end of the summer. It’s very hot.

We’re walking along Pudding Lane.  The houses and shops are very small and close to each other.  They’re made of wood and straw.  We come to Bartram’s Pie Shop and look inside.  Sitting on a chair beside the pie oven is a girl called Mary.  She’s stroking a small white cat.

Mary is six years old.  She’s a very clever girl.  Always asking questions:  “Why does it get cold in the winter, Father?”  “How old is the king?”  “Can cats swim?”  

Mary’s very happy living in the pie shop.  The oven keeps it warm even in the winter and there are always lovely smells of baking pastry.  Best of all Mary has her little white cat, Will.  Mary thinks Will is the best cat in the whole of London.

Next morning Mary’s mother wakes her very early. 

“Quick  Mary!  We have to get up.  There’s a fire in Pudding Lane.  We have to leave now!”

Mary can smell black smoke.  She can hear people shouting and running in the street. 

“How did the fire start?”

“They say it started in Thomas Farriner’s bakery.”

“But that’s the other end of the street.  Why do we have to leave?”

“No more questions,” says Mary’s mother, “we’re leaving now!”

Mary puts on her best shawl and grabs her favourite doll.  Downstairs her father is loading things onto a cart. Then, her father picks Mary up and puts her in the cart too.

“Wait!” says Mary. “Where’s Will? We can’t go without Will.”

“There’s no time”, says Mary’s father. “We’ll have to go without him.”

“He’ll be alright”, says Mary’s mother.  “Cats are good at looking after themselves.”

As her father pushes the cart down Pudding Lane, Mary cries.  She wonders if she’ll ever see Will again.

At first, the family goes to Mary’s aunt’s house a few streets away.  But even here they’re not safe.  The fire is spreading, coming closer.

“Why is it spreading so quickly, father?” Mary asks.

“It hasn’t rained all summer.  Everything’s so dry. And all the buildings are close together.  The fire’s just jumping from one house to the next.”

“Will they be able to put it out?”

“I don’t know,” says Mary’s father.  “London’s never seen a fire like this before.”

Over the next two days, Mary sees some amazing things. She sees huge buildings collapsing in heaps of sparks; people running through the streets carrying their belongings; melting lead dripping from the roofs of churches.  Mary even sees the King who comes on a big white horse to see the damage for himself.

And then Mary hears a huge bang.

“They’re blowing up the houses with gunpowder,” says Mary’s father. 

“Why are they doing that?” asks Mary.

“If some of the houses have gone, then there’ll be big spaces between the buildings.  When the fire reaches an empty space there’ll be nothing for it to burn, so maybe it won’t be able to spread.”

But the fire does spread.  On the third day, it’s so close to Mary’s aunt’s house that the family has to move again. Mary’s father pays a boatman to row them across the river.  The flames can never cross the great River Thames so at last, the family is safe.  

That night as she looks across the water at the burning city, Mary is sad. She can’t stop thinking about Will, her little white cat.

It’s three weeks before it’s safe for Mary and her family to return to Pudding Lane.  Their pie shop - their home - has gone.   

“Don’t cry,” says Mary’s father.  “Everything will be alright. They’ll build London back up again and this time, it’ll be safer. No more little wooden houses close to each other. It’ll be much better.”

“Will it?” says Mary.

“’Course it will!” says her father.  “You’ll see.  Everything will be alright.”

Mary thinks nothing will ever be alright again.  Then she hears a purring sound.  She looks down and sees a black cat.  There’s something about its face that seems familiar. And then the cat purrs again.  Mary picks up the cat and notices a patch of white fur on its back.  She strokes the cat and some of its black colour comes off on her hand.  Mary sees that it’s not a black cat. It’s a little white cat covered in soot.

“It’s alright, Will,” says Mary.  “We’re home now.  Everything will be alright.”