London’s commentators and authorities advocated and implemented a wide range of spatial containment measures designed to stop the invisible enemy in its tracks. The best-known of these is the forcible quarantining of infected people and other ‘inmates’ within their households for a period of between four and ten weeks; accompanied by the practice of painting a foot-long red cross on the door, this has given us one of the most enduring images of the 1665 outbreak. However, public health efforts went far beyond this. To eradicate toxic miasma, the city’s streets and channels were scoured and scrubbed, pet and stray animals were exterminated, and bonfires fragranced with ‘sweet odours and costly ointments’ such as juniper were set. In terms of social distancing, ‘publique meetings’ and ‘all extraordinary concourses of people… in the streets’ were prohibited; this included fairs and burials, the latter to be ‘done by night’ and without ‘publick assemblies’.
Unsurprisingly given the consensus that ‘promiscuously conversing with one another, do readily propagate the infection’, environments designed for sociability such as public houses, coffeehouses, and other intoxicating spaces were specifically targeted as vectors of contagion. A national proclamation issued by Charles II in 1666 ordered that ‘no more alehouses be licensed than are absolutely necessary in each city’, while citywide plague orders drawn up by the mayor and aldermen the previous year (based closely on previous directives) identified ‘disorderly tipling in taverns, alehouses, coffee-houses and cellars’ as ‘the greatest occasion of dispersing the plague’, and (re)imposed a 9pm curfew. As well as the menace posed by promiscuous conversing, these sites were dangerous in other ways. Physician Gideon Harvey included alehouses (along with chandler’s shops, churchyards, poultries, and shambles) in his roster of ‘close, dirty, stinking, and infected places’, while religiously inclined commentators feared they provoked divine retribution by inciting the sin of drunkenness and gluttony; as one writer explained, in drinking houses ‘the infection might spread and disperse, by reason of the sin, as well as the commerce and throng’. While, unlike today, intoxicating spaces were not subject to mandated and wholesale closure, they do seem to have been avoided by the risk-averse; in February 1666, normally enthusiastic coffeehouse-goer Samuel Pepys reported a trip ‘[w]ith Moore to the coffee-house, the first time I have been there’, and expressed surprise that it was ‘very full, and company it seems hath been there all the plague time’.