The Great Below

living the feeling life

Surviving a crisis


With all the talk of the current situation being ‘unprecedented’, and much like a war, I’ve been thinking a lot about what my parents lived through during WW2. We are facing six months or more of disruption to our usual, privileged lives, but for Britons in 1939, there were six years of restrictions, deprivations and danger ahead. It would take even longer for their way of life to recover to anything resembling normality, with food rationing and some travel restrictions continuing into the 1950s.

It began with the blackout – “general darkening as a permanent condition” –  imposed just before the declaration of war. From dusk onwards all windows had to be covered with heavy fabric, cardboard or black paint to stop any light escaping and attracting enemy bombers. Streetlamps and car headlights were dimmed; shops and theatres were no longer illuminated; no fireworks were permitted, and torches had to be scrupulously angled downward. The exception was of course the moon, which shone as brightly as ever, turning the city into one big target. The stars were also clearly visible in the night sky – when it was not lit up by the glow of fires from bombed buildings, that is.

The Blitz started in September 1940, and within days my mother’s home was seriously damaged  by a time bomb which fell at the end of the garden. When it exploded, it took with it seven bomb-disposal men who were working desperately on defusing it, and demolished several nearby houses. My mother was thirteen at the time and felt as if her world had ended; I don’t think she ever felt truly safe again. After being allowed home, the family spent many nights in the damp and often freezing Andersen shelter in their garden, and the rest of the time slept downstairs huddled all together. At least 32,000 people were killed in London during nine months of relentless nightly attacks, and bombs continued to fall throughout the war, including the terrifying V1 and V2 unmanned rockets.

Shortly afterwards my mother’s school also suffered major damage, and was forced to drastically scale back classes. For the next two years, she went in only part-time, sometimes just to collect homework or sit exams. During Air Raids lessons were held in the school shelter, and they also took over part of a local primary school, sharing classroom hours with the younger children. Needless to say, my mother’s education suffered greatly – she became disaffected and rebellious, and ended up being expelled for going ice-skating when she should have been in a ‘prep’ class. A bright and intellectually curious young woman, her prospects were utterly thwarted by the war.

Food rationing began early in 1940, partly in reponse to hoarding and to increasing shortages caused by the war at sea. Much like today, over half of Britain’s food was imported from elsewhere, and the sinking of so many merchant ships severely disrupted imports. It began with butter, sugar and bacon and as the war progressed more and more items had to be bought with ‘coupons’, including clothing and even soap. Other things simply became gradually unobtainable.Vegetables and fruit were not rationed but hard to get, and people were encouraged to grow their own as much as possible, to “dig for victory”. My mother recalled the disappointment of cutting open her one permitted weekly egg, only to find it was bad.

The list of things that gradually became scarce over the years included metal for saucepans, cutlery and razor blades; wood for making furniture, toys, musical instruments and matches; candles and batteries; any kind of ceramic or glass; rubber for wellington boots, baby teats and condoms; paper, pencils, paint, cosmetics, soap and shoe-polish. Petrol was reserved for official use only and even phone calls were rationed to three minutes, if you were lucky enough to have access to a telephone.

Everything was saved, re-used, or cleverly adapted to some other purpose, and people became extremely ingenious and resourceful, as they still are today in poorer countries. It’s little wonder that many of the wartime generation went to their graves with secret stashes of ‘pieces of string too short to use’ and the like. Drowning in possessions as we are today, it seems appealing to live in a more basic way with only what you really need; the reality is that it took up a lot of time and effort, and was frequently uncomfortable, inefficient and depressing.

Listening to comments from some of the older generation on today’s crisis, their message is that we need to “just pull together and get on with it.” and that is indeed what they were taught to do, and what probably got them through. People bombed out of their homes were given shelter by others, community spirit became essential in a world without resources. My mother was desperate to be useful, and furious that she was not allowed to go out on fire patrol with her father and sister: “They wouldn’t let me go. They say I’m too young. POOH! It does make me feel fed up. If only I was a bit older then I might be able to do something to help. Too young for this! Too young for that! I think it’s a DARN SHAME.” Strong language for a well-brought up young woman.

I have tremendous admiration for the courage and stoicism everyone displayed in coping with the ongoing adversity. But there were high costs in terms of mental health – most people learned to suppress their ‘negative’ emotions to the extent that they hardly realised they had feelings. Depression, PTSD, grief – all were hardly recognised, and even less frequently expressed. We’re only now beginning to find our way out of this emotional lock box and to realise that to be human is to feel, and perhaps above all to feel for others.


2 thoughts on “Surviving a crisis

  1. Beautiful, Maddy.

    Strangely, I was just writing to a friend in New York about my sense that my generation—post-war baby boomers—were deeply marked by the war, because our parents were marked—even those in the USA , who hadn’t experienced the bombing of their homes and cities. Even if the men returned without apparent wounds, they were still marked.

    That generation in my parent’s circle used to drink a lot, smoke a lot and party pretty hard. They weren’t very plugged into their children. I was raised in part by a black housekeeper—and had a better relationship with her than I had with my mother or father. This WASP suppression of feelings, fueled by the post-war mentality, did not make for a rounded upbringing—and perhaps fed lifelong issue around intimacy. When it was decided Mabel was no longer required, she left without even saying good-bye to me. Much later in life when I talked to her about that, she regretted it very much. But my mother clearly didn’t see any value in a ceremonial good-bye.

    In the same way, my best friend’s parents divorced—that was an absolute first in my world—no one had ever been divorced as far as I knew. Mike moved away with his mother and brother with no acknowledgment that severing that friendship abruptly like that might be painful for the children.

    Just to say the repercussion of WW2 were far deeper on families than I think was appreciated at the time or in later decades. Only now is it clear to me.

    How is Ruairi? Is he staying with you in isolation? Or is he grown-up and off somewhere else?

    Hope you’re well.

    Keep writing! I appreciate your skill and sensibility and it’s good to read.



  2. It’s always interesting to read your blog – always clear and straightforward English.
    And it is always interesting to read about first hand experiences particularly of WW2 as so much of the ‘British national character’ gets ascribed to it at the moment what with Brexit and now Coronavirus. The effects of blackout, rationing and bombing must have been very frightening and exasperating, especially for someone in their teens who just wants to LIVE.
    My own mother was about 10 years older and in the forces. For her it was a great escape from her own mother, who was rather severe and controlling.