How Britain Kept Calm and Carried On Read Online Free

the wreckage of a pub on the corner that had
also suffered a direct hit.
    ‘Hell of a thing,’ said the passer-by, ‘when an Englishman can’t get his dram or his beer because of that blighter in Berlin.’
    ‘All over England,’ wrote Sprigle, ‘people are taking these air raids in their stride . . .’

    I was working in London, in Cannon Street, at the time of the doodlebugs – the flying bombs that came over, then cut out, and fell to earth. It was nerve-wracking. Once
that engine stopped, you just waited for the explosion.
    One lunchtime, people were streaming out of their offices when we heard one coming over, so we just dived onto the pavement – which was muddy as it had been pouring with rain – and
then there was silence, followed by this almighty bang a couple of streets away. We all got up and started off again when over came another. Same thing – dive on the pavement, silence, big
explosion.
    As I was getting up yet again, a little chap in front of me, wearing a cap, was also climbing to his feet. He looked at me and said: ‘Gettin’ kinda ’umdrum, ain’t
it?’
    Etta Stern, Surbiton
    One night we were in a communal shelter in Bermondsey, just after the warning siren had sounded, when a friendly ARP warden shone his torch down the stairs and shouted:
     ‘Any expectant mothers down there?’
    Quick as a flash, a rich cockney voice shouted back: ‘Cor blimey, mate! Give us a chance. We’ve only been down ’ere five minutes!’
    Honor Helm, Hastings
    In the early days of the London Blitz we were living in Stratford, E15. Prior to going to the Anderson shelter it was our practice to cut sandwiches and make flasks of tea
because we knew that Jerry would regularly arrive shortly before 6 p.m. This particular night the East End was his target and it was very hectic. He was giving us a good going over.
    My wife and I, with our baby son, were quite comfortable inside the shelter, and around about 1 a.m. we decided to have a cup of tea. After about half an hour, I had a feeling that I would have
to run the gauntlet to the outside loo, but owing to the shrapnel from the anti-aircraft guns I decided to wait until a lull occurred. But eventually it became a question – excuse my French
– of shit or bust.
    Suddenly, miraculously, a lull occurred and I said: ‘Now’s my chance!’ I dashed from the shelter and reached the toilet safely enough. I proceeded to drop my trousers, but just
as my bottom touched the toilet seat, a mobile 3.5 ack-ack gun went off about fifty yards from the house. My head hit the toilet ceiling and I simply ran and dived headlong back into the shelter,
causing quite a commotion because I landed on the tea table and on my wife. My trousers were still around my ankles and to this day I don’t know whether I accomplished what I’d set out
to do.
    J. Edmonds, London
    I was in Bobby’s restaurant in Bournemouth and the sirens sounded. One of the waitresses, a lugubrious type, seized an umbrella, put it up and said loudly:
     ‘Peace in our time.’
    G. RODDA, PUTNEY, LONDON
    I’m hard of hearing, so the sirens and the bombs didn’t unduly worry me, as very often I didn’t hear them. One night, there was a particularly bad raid over
London and many buildings were destroyed, some not far from my home. In the morning my neighbour came in for coffee and exclaimed: ‘What do you think of last night’s terrible
raid?’
    ‘Oh,’ I replied, ‘I slept all night, didn’t hear a thing.’
    ‘Well,’ she said, in such a jealous way, ‘you’re just lucky that you’re deaf!’
    Cecilia Morgan, Golders Green, London

    It was during the Blitz on London in 1940 and a stick of bombs had fallen in Pembridge Crescent, Notting Hill Gate, and failed to go off – UXBs we called them.
    It was thought that one had penetrated the sewer (a brick one about thirty feet deep) and the bomb disposal sergeant said that he would remove it. I asked him how he would get it out and he