Little Blitz

Said Winston Churchill: "It's quite like old times again!" But the phrase was not wholly felicitous. To many a Londoner it was not quite like old times. The newest raids somehow did not seem to re-create the mood of grim exaltation in which Britain had ridden out the Great Blitz of 1940-41.

Since then the people had lived through years of shortages, dislocations and exasperations of war. Now they eagerly awaited final victory and some were inclined to relieve strained nerves with a muttered: "Oh my God, is the whole damned thing going to start all over again?"

The newest raids were by no means mere propaganda demonstrations by the enemy. Four nights last week German planes struck hard at London, and though the raids were only about half as heavy as the main attacks of the Great Blitz, they added up to quite a respectable Little Blitz.

The raiders were frankly imitating R.A.F. tactics: swinging in over the city by devious routes; concentrating on short, sharp attacks; using the twisting, turning, climbing and dipping maneuvers that airmen call "jinking." They dropped incendiary bombs of all types, some carrying additional explosive charges; they hit buildings, blew out windows, started fires, caused casualties.

Efficiency, Anyhow. But London could still take it, with efficiency if not with exaltation. Londoners went to work immediately, helping to pick up the wounded, douse the fires, begin repairs. Subway shelters . became popular sleeping places again; attendance in the crowded theaters and restaurants dropped off noticeably.

Bombing stories again became the main topic of conversation in pubs, clubs, offices, busses and homes, on the old basis of ril-listen-to-your-bomb-if-you'11-listen-to-mine. There was the new tale of a German airman who parachuted from his crippled bomber, then had to hike seven miles, trying at an inn and three villages before he could get someone to capture him. There was the heartbreaking story of the big London distillery that took a hit and the stock of gin that was lost.

Londoners could not quite bring themselves to think of the new raids as a blessing, but taxi drivers, charwomen and red-tabbed brass hats of the War Office mused in much the same words: "Maybe we were getting careless. These raids are getting us good and mad just in time for the Second Front."

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