Much has changed in British life over this short period of time. More than a million have been called to arms, with some being deployed on the French front, and the greater part training at home. On the street, on the omnibus, on the underground, in the theatre, at the skating-rink – everywhere there are military uniforms. And not only men’s. A great number of women are to be seen in khaki: rugged boots, short skirts and perky caps from which clumps of unruly hair stick out. They are members of the women’s Auxiliary Territorial Service. There are relatively few cars on the roads and in the city: petrol is rationed and the rations are far from generous. Sandbags are piled up high in front of buildings, shops, institutions and monuments. The monument at Piccadilly Circus is shielded by an entire pyramid of sandbags. In parks, gardens and on public squares there are gas-proof shelters, bomb shelters and anti-aircraft batteries. The air is filled with hundreds of balloons, their silver scales sparkling in the sun (on the rare occasions when it shines). Strict black-out is enforced in the evenings. It’s pitch-black, especially in our Kensington Palace Gardens. It’s difficult, dangerous and cheerless to move around after sunset. The theatres and picture-houses are open, but not all of them, and those that are open close early. Social life has come to a stand-still: no grand receptions, no banquets, no diplomatic functions. Even the lord mayor cancelled his annual banquet scheduled for 9 November. Food prices are rising, while the quantity and choice of products shrink. Rationing is being introduced for butter, bacon and sugar. There are complaints of food shortages in certain regions. A series of restrictions has been imposed on the freedom of movement, the press, correspondence, etc.

Yes, there are many changes. But so far the basic patterns of English life have not been disturbed too much. Parliament functions normally, albeit with a few restrictions. The old party system is also functioning, although an electoral truce has been concluded between the parties for the duration of the war. The old government is also working as before, although it has been somewhat ‘freshened up’ with the introduction of Churchill and Eden. Chamberlain is stronger than before: all rumours and discussions of his retirement have subsided. ‘Public liberties’ have not been entirely curtailed in spite of the DSRA [sic – probably Defence of the Realm Act intended]. Even the Daily Worker still comes out regularly. The Communist Party remains legal, and people are not yet being thrown into prison for anti-government speeches in Hyde Park. Workers’ wages have been raised because of the spiralling prices, but these wage hikes, of course, always lag behind increases in costs. The war has begun to inflame patriotic passions, but these have not yet enslaved the people’s minds completely. Sober voices can still be heard, and signs of tolerance can be noted: out of the 13,000 Austro-German refugees who appeared before a specially established tribunal, only 300 to 400 people were interned and the rest were set free (in France all were interned, including such men as Leon Feuchtwanger

Lion Jacob Feuchtwanger, German novelist and playwright.

). On the whole, the customary machinery of British bourgeois power, with its subtle systemic bribing of the working masses, is still in good order, although slight faults are beginning to emerge in individual levers and cogs. London itself has changed little in appearance. It’s the same old London – true, it has furrowed its brow, tightened its belt and put on its work clothes for a dirty job, but it’s still the familiar London. Even the places of amusement are chock-full, regardless of the darkness and the bleakness of the ‘black-out’.

Such is the situation for now. Will it last long?

Hard to say. One thing is certain: the habitual, familiar, age-old mode of life will be eroded more and more with each additional month of war.