Lights Up

In full splendor for the first time since World War II began, London's lights shone again. Like hope, their return had been long deferred through gloomy phases of semi-blackout and brownout. But to many a bemused Londoner they were a luminous confirmation of all but incredible peace. Piccadilly coruscated with almost prewar brilliance. Whitehall glittered along its entire length. Down at the Embankment, the Thames shimmered a reflected radiance. And the lights did not come on only in London.

Up & down their island, Britons laughed and sang to celebrate a sight they had not seen in six long years. Thousands strolled in the bright streets, arm in arm, and singing. Auto parties cruised about to take in the sight. To six-year-old children, who had never seen the sight at all, the lights were like the illumination of a vast Christmas tree.

Only Blackpool, formerly Britain's glittery beach resort, remained a nocturnal ink spot. Someone had forgotten to give the "lights on" order.

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