GREAT BRITAIN: Business Almost as Usual

London last week was a normal city in all save two respects: its ruins and nightly blackouts. Dingy it was, but for lack of paint, not from bomb dust. Its last air alarm was more than two months ago.

Last year London staved off blitzes and worried. Last week it breathed easily and all too complacently while Russia bore the brunt of Hitler’s attack. Last year London worried over Winston Churchill’s habit of walking around during raids, listened to Parliament jump from one major war issue to another. Last week London watched Winston Churchill and 75,000 other people whisk off to Wembley for the year’s biggest football match (England downed Scotland 2-to-0), winced as the House of Commons wrangled testily over whether or not R.A.F. officers should smoke pipes on the street.

Last year theaters closed at seven, so that bomb-wary patrons might hurry to inadequate shelters. Taxi drivers received half-crown tips for venturing out in the blitz. Patrons in bathrobes slumped about the lounges of swank hotels. Princess Elizabeth made her first broadcast. The Zoo’s lone emu shuddered when the ack-acks whammed.

Last week theaters were open until ten, packing their houses with Chu Chin Chow,* Hello, America, Noel Coward’s Blithe Spirit, the Russian opera and ballet—altogether ten musical shows, six plays. Patrons could go home to clean, comfortable shelters or into tubes accom modating 20 millions. Cabbies were thankful for a sixpence. Hotel lounges brightened at the reappearance of formal gowns, mink and ermine wraps. The Queen and Princesses Christmas-shopped at Fortnum & Mason’s. The emu was content.

Last year thoughtful people made no dates more than two days in advance. Future blitzes and sudden death colored every conversation. Listed divorces for the Michaelmas term numbered 797. A steady stream of children sought the country and safety. Women were not conscripted. Fire watching was not compulsory. Air Marshal Sir Charles Portal scooted around town in his big, black Humber.

Last week pubs and restaurants were crowded to capacity; foresighted people went early or made reservations. Social events included two lectures, “The Georgian Country Home” and “Six Centuries of Tun Huang.” The Michaelmas term divorce list hit 2,000. Two million women had been registered, but only 575,463 interviewed, for war work. Parents had reclaimed 190,000 evacuated children. Fire watching was a nationwide must, but in some areas appeals for exemption ranged up to 90%. Air Marshal Portal traded his Humber for a big, black Packard.

A year ago prosecutions for looting averaged twelve daily. Labor’s Clement Richard Attlee told the Trades Union Congress that “Hitler has already suffered grievous defeats.” The Sultan of Johore’s girl friend, Lydia Cecily Hill, was killed by a bomb.

Last week the Government charged a wharf superintendent with theft of 232 tons of U.S. molasses, counted up 27,000 food prosecutions since rationing began. Scotland Yard puzzled over four blackout murders in eight days, searched vainly for a lone suspect, monocled, mysterious “Dr. Trevor.”

A year ago London had little effective anti-aircraft defense. Last week London was ringed with batteries of anti-aircraft guns. So secure did London feel that the press raised a wail for the Moscow-type blackout (lights dimmed only after first alarm has sounded).

Hot-bath and telephone services were just about normal last week. Pedestrians no longer gawked at rescue squads digging out bodies, instead watched the installation of auxiliary water tanks in bomb craters. Rationing of food (somewhat lessened) and clothing (still 66 coupons per person) continued, but there was food aplenty for those who could pay (50% more than last year).

Moscow trembled and so did Britain’s Government (see below). But in London it was a dull, slothful week, and ordinary Londoners, 1,500 miles from the fighting fronts, thoroughly enjoyed it.

* Revival of the extravaganza that ran 2,238 performances in London during World War I.