Summary
Highlights
The Great Plague of 1665 devastated London, killing 100,000 people. While Samuel Pepys' diaries offer a glimpse, parish documents preserve the stories of ordinary people. This documentary focuses on Cock and Key Alley, a cramped street where 30 poor families lived, including William Gurney the publican, John Gale the blacksmith, Thomas Birdwhistle the scavenger, Widow Andrews fostering orphans, John Dudley collecting alms, and William Penny the grave maker. Henry Dorset, the church warden, maintained meticulous records that form the basis of this film.
In winter 1664, London was a thriving, overcrowded city of half a million people, characterized by fast-paced activity and pervasive dirt. Disease was common, with practitioners like Mr. Drinkwater using unusual remedies. Plague, however, was the most feared, striking suddenly and agonizingly. Londoners were informed of deaths through weekly 'bills of mortality'. Despite understanding the historical impact of the Black Death, the cause of plague remained unknown, with beliefs ranging from divine punishment to physical contagion or miasma from decaying matter.
After a harsh winter, a single plague case appeared in Covent Garden in April 1665. The infected house was shut up, marked with a red cross, but the disease spread. Church Warden Henry Dorset, a survivor of a previous epidemic, recognized the danger. Authorities, prioritizing order, closed pubs, impacting livelihoods like William Gurney's. A disastrous measure involved the mass slaughter of dogs and cats, inadvertently removing natural rat predators and accelerating the plague's spread.
In May, plague orders mandated immediate reporting, the shutting up of infected houses for 40 days, and marking them with a red cross. Nurses, Watchmen, and Searchers, usually the poor, were appointed for these dangerous tasks. On May 23rd, Dorothy Chesington, 12, became St. Dunstan's first victim, her grave dug by William Penny. The hot spring weather caused plague cases to erupt across the city, leading to the wealthy fleeing and leaving the poor to face the epidemic.
By early June, Cock and Key Alley remained plague-free, but residents took precautions, like sterilizing letters with vinegar and self-policing for symptoms like buboes, the classical sign of bubonic plague. The pneumonic version of plague, spread through coughs, inspired the rhyme 'Ring a Ring o' Roses.' It wasn't until the 19th century that fleas, transmitting the bacteria from rats, were identified as the true cause. Ignorant of this, Londoners remained vulnerable.
On June 15th, plague arrived in Cock and Key Alley, infecting Widow Rebecca Andrews, who cared for foundling children. She and Lawrence Dunston, a foundling, were locked in their house under John Dudley's watch. The parish provided food and rudimentary medical care, with Sarah Leer as a nurse. Searchers like Widow Briggs and Widow Manton confirmed plague deaths. After Widow Andrews died, Lawrence Dunston followed, and their belongings were sold to fund care for others.
Preventatives ranged from unicorn's horn for the rich to arsenic amulets and tobacco for the poor. Children were even encouraged to smoke and consume alcohol- and opium-based concoctions. None were effective against the agonizing disease. By late June, six residents of Cock and Key Alley had died. William Penny's family found a token, sealing their fate; only his eldest son, Joseph, remained outside, forced to become the parish grave maker as the plague claimed his younger brothers.
The House of Lords, safe in Oxford, shielded themselves from the plague's effects and rejected building hospitals near people of quality. In summer 1665, London became a city of the poor, left to fend for themselves while those left outside profited. Joseph Penny earned more as a gravemaker than his father, while John Dudley lost his daughter. Neighbors like John Gail locked up families like the Birdwhistles, only to fall victim to the plague himself, illustrating the policy's fatal flaws.
Pest houses, isolation hospitals, offered an alternative to locking people in their homes but were scarce in London compared to Continental cities. These facilities, often staffed by poor, unqualified women, had a fearsome reputation. While some nurses like Sarah Fletcher were honest, many were accused of greed and contributing to the disease's spread, reflecting societal anxieties rather than their actions in dire circumstances.
In August 1665, plague deaths reached 7,000 a week. The official figures were likely underestimates, with many deaths hidden to avoid forced quarantines. Desperate citizens sought unlikely remedies, like the rumor that syphilis granted immunity. The breakdown of social order was evident when a child's body was found thrown over a churchyard wall. The dead became nameless, buried in mass pits faster than they could be dug. Entire cemeteries, like Broadgate, became vast plague pits.
In September, a desperate measure, fumigation with saltpeter, brimstone, and amber, offered a brief hope. King Charles II ordered massive fires across the city, which briefly reduced the number of rats. However, the intervention was short-lived, as rain extinguished the fires. By October, Joseph Penny, the grave maker, had died, and his tools were returned to his mother, Elizabeth. The epidemic finally faded as winter approached, with cold temperatures killing off the plague-carrying fleas.
Many who had fled returned, some too soon, bringing a resurgence of cases due to their lack of immunity. By February, the king returned, signifying the official end of the epidemic. White crosses replaced red ones on houses, marking them as free of infection. The poor suffered the most, with a contemporary reporter noting that no person of 'prime authority' had died. In Cock and Key Alley, 12 of 20 houses were afflicted, and over half the residents died—36 men, women, and children. Elizabeth Penny, having lost her entire family, struggled to survive, reflecting the profound and lasting impact of the plague.