Over the decades since the Second World War, the concept of the 'Blitz spirit' has risked becoming a somewhat clichéd article of national faith. Most recently invoked during the Covid-19 pandemic, it suggests a uniquely British resilience, the idea that stoicism is a resource the UK can always draw upon in times of hardship.
Inevitably, the 'Blitz spirit' is a phrase most often used by people who do not remember the Blitz. This is partly because anyone who can recall those days is now at least in their late eighties. But it is also because, as a lived experience, the Blitz was clearly not something that lends itself to sentimental platitudes. This wonderful, deeply moving film is, for both reasons, an immensely important piece of social history.
The voices of these witnesses to the Luftwaffe's 'lightning war' are variously lyrical, wistful, resolute, and profoundly regretful. We see them as they play with grandchildren, visit old haunts, or attend yoga classes. Their wartime experiences are clearly a backdrop to their lives, yet very present. They are offered not quite as a corrective to national myths, but certainly with a harder edge than is customary, serving as a sobering reminder that to evoke the Blitz is to evoke deep trauma.
A Nationwide Experience
What this film documents is not just the specific experience of the Blitz, but the experience of any war arriving among any group of civilians. Made to commemorate the 85th anniversary of the end of the Blitz in May 1941, this film represents one of our last chances to hear an emotional history of the period, told by people who remember its harshest realities. It is a story of uncertainty and loss, but also of survival.
'Don't worry. We've got big strong slates on our roof.' Liverpudlian Ernie Gaskell, now 100, recalls his father's reassurances as the bombing began. As both were to discover, the slates were not enough. Neither would there be much protection in Coventry or Belfast, in Cardiff or Sheffield. Quite rightly, the Blitz is explored as a nationwide experience rather than, as is traditional, a London-centric one.
Tiny, Shattering Reflections
A huge story is told through dozens of tiny, shattering personal reflections. Ted Bush in Cardiff remembers going to the pictures with his father. When they returned home, they found a pile of rubble; his father's first response was to retrieve Ted's Hornby toy train from the remains of their house. Meanwhile, in Sheffield, Jean Whitfield's mother was killed by a bomb as she hung out her washing. Jean recalls being plied with freshly baked lemon tarts by a neighbour in the aftermath. Death and destruction were everywhere. What does that do to a child?
The answer to this question is one of the film's great revelations about how we lived then and how we live now. 'You didn't tell anyone what you felt,' says Monica White, who spent most of the war in Croydon. 'And I don't know who would have listened.' Instead, the idea of the stiff upper lip was internalised. 'You had to keep everything going,' she remembers. 'You could not add to the unhappiness of your parents.' Is this the origin story of the 'Blitz spirit' – not as a strength but as a form of psychological crisis management? It certainly feels like it.
Priceless Access to Inner Lives
This kind of access to the inner lives of children in wartime is priceless, and it is impossible not to transpose these insights into emotional dislocation onto the modern-day children of Gaza, Ukraine, and Sudan. Eventually, Monica was evacuated to Sussex and, as she saw the Downs, suddenly realised: 'I didn't feel frightened any more.' Even now, her sense of relief when recalling this joyful moment is palpable. Such memories are still so present in the lives of the interviewees – tears are close to the surface throughout.
In the context of this cathartic sadness, it is only right that the other side of this human tragedy is not ignored. Gently and tactfully, there is an acknowledgment that similar tactics were employed by the Allies; that from Hamburg to Dresden, almost identical stories could be told by German civilians of the same vintage. 'Should we have bombed German cities in the same way?' wonders David Rawdon from Hull. 'I don't know.'
Loss and Regret
Then, all of a sudden, the war was over. Everyone involved had learned much too much, much too early, about the fragility of human life. In Liverpool, Roy Babbs heard of his father Charles's death in Germany, just as the war was ending and celebrations were beginning. 'Please remember my father,' he says, addressing the camera, voice overflowing with grief. 'He gave his life for you.' Suddenly, Roy is not a composed elderly man. At the age of 89, he is a child of the Blitz once again. If the 'Blitz spirit' has a face and a meaning, it is this: loss and regret. In a world that, as several of these survivors point out, feels increasingly menacing, we would do well to remember it.
Children of the Blitz aired on BBC Two and is available on iPlayer.
