The Day the Crystal Palace Burned: A Greenhouse Dream in Flames

November 30, 1936

On this day, the Crystal Palace in London was destroyed by fire — a blaze so spectacular that it was seen from miles away, lighting the night sky with a sorrowful glow.

The Palace was the brainchild of Joseph Paxton, the English gardener, architect, and Member of Parliament, who designed it for the first World's Fair — the Great Exhibition of 1851. Known fondly as the “People’s Palace,” it was more than a building; it was a glass-and-iron cathedral celebrating human ingenuity and the natural world.

Paxton was no stranger to glass. Before the Crystal Palace, he had created four magnificent greenhouses for the Duke of Devonshire at Chatsworth, each project a stepping stone toward his masterpiece. In fact, his inspiration came partly from nature itself — the giant water lily, with its strong radiating ribs, gave him the idea for the palace’s revolutionary structure.

Biographer Kate Colquhoun captured its grandeur:

“[Paxton's] design, initially doodled on a piece of blotting paper, was the architectural triumph of its time. Two thousand men worked for eight months to complete it. It was six times the size of St Paul's Cathedral, enclosed 18 acres, and entertained six million visitors.”

Unlike a cavernous warehouse, Paxton’s creation was essentially a massive greenhouse. The soaring central arch — that unforgettable barrel vault so often seen on postcards — allowed full-sized trees to flourish inside, as if Hyde Park itself had been gently encased in glass. Even the elegant cast-iron columns served double duty: they carried not just the roof but also the building’s drainage system, marrying beauty with utility.

For decades, the Crystal Palace was a triumph, a place of wonder. But on this day in 1936, tragedy struck. Around 7 p.m., Sir Henry Buckland, the building’s manager, was making his rounds with his young daughter — poignantly named Chrystal — when he noticed flames at one end of the vast hall. Within hours, the Palace was engulfed. Newspaper accounts describe how the firestorm roared through the great Handel organ, as if the flames themselves were playing a mournful requiem.

By dawn, nothing remained but twisted iron and ash. The People’s Palace, that glittering greenhouse of dreams, was gone, leaving behind only memories of glass, gardens, and glory.