As a writer who tends to get lost in both history’s dusty tomes and the blinking lights of modern technology, it often strikes me that there’s a playful synergy when you blend the past with today’s tech. Today, I’d like to turn back the clock to the Great Fire of London in 1666, and imagine how different the story might have turned out if Samuel Pepys and his contemporaries had smartphones at their disposal.
The Burnt Reality Check-In
Imagine this: a warm September night, endlessly void of the eerie glow of streetlamps, instead haloed by the unsettling red of a city in flames. Instead of digging through diaries by candlelight, history buffs could simply flick through InstaBlaze, the faux app of my fictional yet fiery imagining, where all citizens could post real-time status updates. Let's be honest, "#LondonIsLit" would be trending faster than you can say "Where’s the Fire Brigade?".
The fire was discovered in the wee hours of Sunday, and without our modern means of communication, it spread unchallenged for days. But what if a Facebook or WhatsApp group, "The Baker's Dozen at Pudding Lane" perhaps, had been all abuzz with urgent messages by 2:00 a.m., alerting nearby residents with effective, illuminating pings? Safety measures could have been dispatched more urgently, and perhaps the flames would have been snuffed out faster than a trending meme.
Pepys’ Tweets
Think, for a moment, about the potential power of Samuel Pepys with a Twitter account. Can you even imagine his concise 280-character alerts? Instead of laboriously inking every sensation and observation over quill and parchment, he’d be rapidly firing off tweets like "🏃♂️💨 Mobility matters in this heat! Houses on fire! Scaling St. Olave’s tower for bird's-eye 🔥 #WhyIsNoOnePeeingOnTheFire."
Pepys wasn’t just a diarrhoeal diarist; he was also a man of connections, a net-worker if you will. He might have successfully mobilised his followers, including King Charles II himself!, to generate crowd-sourced solutions using Google Maps' ancestor, "ParchMaps." Let's face it; with geo-tagging, it would be much easier to see how streets were laid out and identify strategic points for fire breaks.
Smoke Signals and Selfies
I like the notion that with forwards-thinking, the Great Fire might have also been the Great Selfie Opportunity of 1666. Imagine locals stopping in front of the towering flames for a quick "THIS IS NOT A DRILL 🔥🔥🔥 #SurvivalSelfie," complete with nervous smiles. Not to diminish the chaos, but the technology to record such events at the instant could indeed have played a part in the storytelling to come, detailing what it felt to be part of such a monumental event.
In crises, citizens often lean on humour to cope, and what better way to maintain wit, when faced with a city going up in smoke, than sarcasm-laden TikToks detailing do’s and don’ts of avoiding fire hazards. “Do – run away. Don’t – run towards the bakery.”
Apps and Assistance
Even without FingerSnap, the Rees-Mogg-named platform for digital volunteer oversight, London's water supply was woefully inadequate. If only they had been privvy to apps encouraging more than mere bucket brigades and mild panic. Can you see it? A “Just doused it!” option on Waterwall!, allowing citizens to chart their dousing progress. "Rachel's Reservoir" could have been a virtual leaderboard hosting non-fire-laden domestic ideas about how to reuse your ".9M litres."
And as the city rebuilt, 17th-century urban planners could swipe through "CityScaper", a CAD-like app showing reconstructed neighbourhoods in virtual 3D. Who wouldn’t aspire to a more aesthetically baroque London, even with a tongue-in-cheek suggestion functionality, "Perhaps fewer flammable timber roofs, eh chap?"
The Rebuilding Equalisation
While the fire raged, demolitions were considered the only way to create fire breaks. Wouldn’t an Uber-like service have been the secret weapon in efficient urban demolition? "We can have a crew at your historical dwelling ASAP!" You see, in managing infernos, sometimes the logistics are almost as important as the extinguishing.
Post-fire, here's hoping smartphone alerts might have aided in rallying an exodus or recruiting fire-proof architects. Christopher Wren might’ve traded SMS with Londoners, securing civic buy-in with renderings sent via encrypted ephemeral messaging before revealing his masterpiece, St. Paul's Cathedral 2.0, fall 1675!
Beyond Smoke and Mirrors
Imagining the past with today’s trinkets isn’t just an alteration; it paints a vivid tapestry of "what ifs" that prompt laughter yet encourage reflection on human ingenuity. Had smartphones been around in 1666, London’s ashes could have promised a different lesson, a burnt, pixelated reality check showing not just how to alert friends and family, but uniting communities in extinguishing the common problem with efficiency.
One thing's for certain: given the chance, that conflagration wouldn’t have stood the chance of survival it had. But then again, that's just what makes me tick, open daring and cheeky, to ponder and sieve through the "what ifs," and remember that whether quill or QWERTY, history happens. 🕰📱🔥
