In 1559, the physician and cosmographer William Cuningham published a long and beautifully produced textbook under the title The Cosmographical Glasse. One of the most arresting features of the text was a printed illustration of what was, in the physician's opinion, an exceptionally ‘healthfull and pleasant’ city (fig. 1). The city was Norwich in the county of Norfolk, then England's largest and wealthiest provincial centre, and the place in which Cuningham was born. In the woodcut, Norwich appears as a paradigm of urban hygiene: it is well situated in the landscape; blessed with enviable natural resources; beautifully adorned with fine and imposing buildings all in the very best state of repair; and free from any obvious sources of pollution, disorder or corruption. Though clearly an idealized representation, Cuningham's vision had at least some basis in reality. The municipal authorities of Norwich had recently implemented various schemes to help improve sanitary standards in public areas by cleansing waterways, repaving the streets, refurbishing buildings and employing labourers to remove waste materials from public spaces. Local residents might, however, have raised a sceptical eyebrow when confronted with Cuningham's exemplary image of cleanliness and order. No one who had lived there during the preceding twenty-year period could ignore the fact that Norwich had suffered grievously from a series of damaging disasters: fire, plague, floods, food shortages and economic recession had all hit in quick succession, and the infrastructure suffered as a result. At one point manure was piling up in the streets, whilst many buildings and structures were left in ruins following arson and artillery attacks during Kett's rebellion (a regional uprising in 1549 inspired by damaging economic and social circumstances). Residents viewed these conditions as a direct threat to health. Perhaps the ultimate irony was that, even as Cuningham's woodcut was being prepared for the press, a virulent, protracted, influenza-like virus was raging through the city, decimating the population. However, no hint of such misfortunes can be detected in the plan. Indeed, Cuningham – a practised draughtsman and surveyor as well as a medical professional – greatly misrepresented aspects of the actual topography to achieve his end. What, exactly, motivated him? And what light does his endeavour shine on urban hygienic culture in an age before germ theory?