Welcome back to another edition of Temporal Travels. I’m your host, Alex, and today, I am standing on something that shouldn't exist. Beneath my boots is not cobblestone, not mud, but eleven inches of solid, marble-hard ice. It is January 25, 1684. I am standing in the middle of the River Thames in London.
But this isn't a desolate wasteland. It is a city within a city. They call it the Great Frost Fair, or as the locals have dubbed it, 'Freezeland Street.' The air here is sharp enough to cut glass, biting at my exposed skin with a ferocity that modern Londoners can scarcely imagine. It is the height of what historians will later call the Little Ice Age, and Europe is in a deep freeze. But London? London has decided to throw a party.
To my left, a row of makeshift booths stretches from the Temple stairs all the way across to Southwark. It looks like a shantytown built by carnival workers. The structures are patchwork—timber, sailcloth, old rugs—anything to block the wind. But inside? It is a riot of commerce. I see goldsmiths, toy shops, and coffee houses, all resting on a foundation of frozen river water.
The sensory overload is disorienting. You expect the silence of snow, but instead, you hear a cacophony. Hawkers are shouting the prices of gingerbread and sack. Fiddlers are playing a frantic jig near a booth selling hot brandy. And cutting through it all is the heavy, greasy smell of roasting meat. Just ahead, a crowd has gathered around a massive fire built directly on the ice—yes, a bonfire on the river. Over it, a whole ox is turning on a spit. The fat hisses as it drips onto the coals, sending up plumes of thick, savory smoke that mixes with the acrid scent of the coal braziers keeping everyone from freezing to death.
I’m walking now toward one of the most popular attractions: the printing booths. It seems the ultimate souvenir here is a piece of paper proving you survived the frost. I’m watching a printer—a man named George Croom, according to the sign—working a heavy iron press. The clack-clack-whoosh of the machine is rhythmic, almost hypnotic. Ladies in velvet hoods are giggling as he hands them cards with their names printed alongside the date: 'Printed on the River Thames.' It’s a certificate of madness, a memento of a world turned upside down.
But not everyone here is celebrating. For the men who make their living on this river, this ice isn't a novelty; it’s a catastrophe. I’m standing now with William, a Thames Waterman. Usually, he’d be rowing passengers from the City to Westminster. Today, he’s manning a small stall selling roasted apples.
William, thank you for speaking with me. This fair is quite a spectacle, but I imagine it looks different to you?
It looks like starvation, sir. That is what it looks like. Since December, the wherries have been locked in the ice. We cannot row, we cannot haul. The river is our highway, and it has been shut against us. They call this a 'carnival,' but for us Watermen, it is a dead vacation. No fares, no trade. If we did not build these sheds to sell trinkets to the gentry, my children would have nothing but the cold for supper.
You mentioned the gentry. I see plenty of fine coats and carriages sliding across the ice. It’s a strange contrast.
Aye. The King himself, Charles, God save him, is rumored to be coming down to the press soon. The quality come here in their coaches, wheels spinning on the slick, sliding about like children. They laugh at the cold. But the coal price has tripled, sir. The poor in the tenements are freezing in their beds. We Watermen, we are the lucky ones. We are out here scrapping for pennies while the river cracks beneath us.
Does that sound worry you, William? That deep groaning noise from below?
It is the river trying to breathe. It fights the frost. At night, when the music stops and the fires die down, you can hear it thunder. Like a cannon shot under the floor. It reminds you that you are walking on water. And one day, the thaw will come, and all this—the booths, the ox-roast, the printing press—it will all be swallowed or swept out to sea. But until then, I sell my apples.
Thank you, William. Stay warm.
Walking away from William’s stall, the gaiety feels a little more brittle. I can hear the sound he mentioned now—a low, resonant boom that vibrates through the soles of my shoes. It’s the ice shifting, a geological reminder that this is temporary. A game of bull-baiting has started near the London Bridge, the barking of dogs echoing off the stone piers, but I’m looking at the horizon. The sky is a bruised purple, heavy with more snow. This is a moment frozen in time, literally and figuratively. A bacchanalian triumph over the elements, fueled by desperation and wonder.
From the frozen surface of the River Thames, amidst the smoke of coal fires and the laughter of a shivering city, this is Alex, reporting from 1684. Signing off.
Backgrounder Notes
Based on a review of the article, here are several key concepts, historical figures, and terms that would benefit from further context.
The Little Ice Age This was a period of regional cooling that occurred roughly between the early 14th and mid-19th centuries, characterized by harsh winters and expanding glaciers across the North Atlantic region. It caused frequent crop failures and famines in Europe and allowed the River Thames to freeze over far more frequently than it does in the modern era.
Old London Bridge While the text mentions the bridge, it is important to note that the medieval structure (demolished in 1831) had 19 narrow arches and large piers that restricted the river’s flow. This design acted somewhat like a dam, slowing the current and trapping ice blocks, which was a primary geological reason the river was able to freeze solid enough to support a fair.
Thames Watermen These were members of the Company of Watermen and Lightermen, an ancient guild with the exclusive right to ferry passengers and goods along the river. Because there was only one bridge crossing the Thames in central London at the time, these oarsmen were the equivalent of modern taxi drivers and were vital to the city's economy.
Wherry Referenced by the Waterman in the text, a wherry is a light, shallow-draft rowing boat designed for speed and maneuverability. They were the standard vessel used for carrying passengers across tidal rivers like the Thames before the advent of steam power and additional bridges.
Sack Often confused by modern readers for a dry good, "sack" was an archaic term used in England to describe fortified white wine imported from Spain or the Canary Islands. It was a precursor to modern sherry and was a staple drink in London taverns and coffee houses of the 17th century.
George Croom Croom was a real historical figure and a printer who became famous for setting up his press on the ice during the 1684 frost. He printed personalized souvenir cards for visitors—including King Charles II and the Royal Family—which are now preserved in museums as primary evidence of the event.
King Charles II The reigning monarch in 1684, Charles II (1630–1685) is often called the "Merry Monarch" and ruled during the Restoration period following the English Civil War. His presence on the ice was significant, as he was known for mingling with the public and patronizing the sciences and arts during London's recovery from the Great Fire (1666).
