A fire broke out shortly before 9 o’clock on Thursday night in one of the huge warehouses of the London Docks. The docks were closed as usual at 4 in the afternoon, and there are then few persons except the night policemen and firemen left on the premises. At about half-past 8, a smell of fire was noticed and shortly afterwards there was an immense burst of flames from the top of one of the vast buildings right in the centre of the docks. The volume of the fire was terrific, but at 9 o’clock the authorities of the fire brigade had heard nothing of the occurrence. Shortly afterwards an alarm was given at the Whitechapel Station, and the officials of the brigade instantly ordered every steamer to proceed to the scene, and the circulation of the news amongst the other stations caused steamers to be sent on from every district in London. On arrival of the engines it was found that a fire of enormous strength was raging in the upper floors of a great building about 150 yards long and half as broad. The flames could not have broken out in a more dangerous part of the docks than the site of this fire – the South Quay Warehouses. They were crammed with colonial produce in the upper floors, and brandy and gin in the lower floors. Through the great iron-barred windows the fire could be seen raging like a furnace, and the enormous tongues of bluish and yellowish flames which constantly burst up with great roars pointed to the fact that spirits were aiding the progress of the flames. Gradually steamer after steamer was got to work, for it was seen that only a great body of water would subdue the fire, and at 10 o’clock the very considerable force of 12 steamers, as well as some hydrants, was fully engaged in playing on the flames. In the breaks in the great building, where the goods are hauled in by means of steam cranes, escapes were pitched, doors broken open, and the fire met face to face. The proceedings of the members of the brigade were particularly exciting when they essayed to burst open huge doors through the cracks of which a fierce fire could be seen raging. The scene at half-past 10 was an imposing one. In the enormous docks, crammed with goods of incalculable value, with vast buildings on every side, and with great vessels in the wet docks, firemen, policemen and dock officers were either watching or aiding in endeavoring to extinguish the fire, while an enormous crowd gathered round the great gates and gazed at the progress of the fire from a distance. In a great shed building close to the fire the steamers had been drawn up in little clusters of twos and threes, and were pumping continuously with a deafening noise, while the horses, which had been unharnessed, stood quietly in couples in every corner. The water poured over the granite stones of the docks in torrents, and the whole scene was brilliantly illuminated by the fire above. The great question was how far the fire would spread; but the opinion of one of the experts that a ”hole would be knocked in it directly all the steamers could get to work,” was slowly but surely fulfilled as the night advanced. By 11 o’clock the fierceness with which the fire was burning begun to be diminished, and presently the firemen were able to circulate the official ”stop” message, stating that the two top floors of the provision warehouse had been nearly burned out and part of the roof destroyed. At midnight, however, the great force of firemen and extinguishing appliances were still at work.

[There were two fires that night in the London docks. The dock fires are mentioned at both the Nichols and Chapman inquests, and provided part of John Pizer’s alibi. Here’s why the likes of Pizer and Ellen Holland found these fires such a spectacle!]

On the night of Polly Nichols murder, two huge fires broke out in London’s docklands. One of the fires occurred in the warehouse of Messrs Dible and Co, Engineers, at the dry dock in Shadwell, and as well as gutting the building damaged the rigging of a sailing vessel, the Connovia, which was under repair there at the time. The other fire broke out in a liquor warehouse in the South Quay of the Pool of London. A journalist for one of the newspapers of the day was crossing London Bridge at the time and described the scene.

A more imposing spectacle than the fiery furnace seen from this structure I have not witnessed for a very long time. From out of the grim blackness of the well known pool leapt lurid flames of gigantic volume, rising high against a canopy of fantastic clouds and throwing the tapering masts into clear relief until they and their rigging looked like fairy cobwebs, illuminated by a strange, unearthly light. The effect was grand, and in the stillness of the morning, distinctly weird. From afar came the rumbling whirr of the hurrying engines and the muffled shouts of the lusty firemen as they battled bravely with a sea of relentless flame. As one waited and watched and saw the fire fiend leaping, as it were in triumph, until gradually it fell victim to overpowering forces, it gradually became evident that in a few short hours some hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of property had been sacrificed to the merciless enemy.

The photograph above is taken from London Bridge looking in the direction of where the fire would have been. Tower Bridge was still under construction at the time, and while the towers had been built, the connecting bridges had not. Beside it you can see Canary Wharf tower peeking over the top of the Tower Hotel, which obscures the approximate position at which the fire would have been.

For the poor folk of the East End there was not much by the way of entertainment to be had. If they could scrape the pennies together they could enjoy a drink at one of the many local beer houses, and there was always the Music Hall. But a good fire was a real draw, something the always gathered a crowd of spectators. One of these, at the Shadwell fire, was Emily Holland, who until just over a week earlier had been sharing a room with Polly Nichols at the Thrawl Street lodging house.

Following the fire she headed back there, and along the way became the last person, other than her killer, to see Polly alive.