Heavy raid on London

17th April 1941: Graham Greene on the confusing and dangerous business of extricating casualties from collapsing buildings in the dark

A hole in the ground and a pile of debris is all that is left of the building that once stood here in New Bridge Street, London, EC4. Across the rubble, life continues as before, with cars and pedestrians hurrying by.

Children play in the playground of Moorside Road School in South East London. The school has been badly damaged by an air raid, with windows missing, tiles missing from the roof and planks of wood being stored inside the windowless shell of the building

LONDON IN THE SPRING OF 1941: EVERYDAY LIFE IN LONDON, ENGLAND. A crowd of Home Guard members, Army personnel, and civilian women gathers on the steps of St. Martin-in-the-Fields church in Trafalgar Square. Most have probably been visiting the canteen, which is held there for members of the forces. The crypt is also used as a public air raid shelter.

As Belfast came to terms with the raid on the night of the 15th/16th, the Luftwaffe returned to their bases and prepared for the following night. On the 16th/17th, London suffered one of the heaviest attacks since the war began.

Graham Greene, already a noted novelist, was working as an Air Raid Warden in central London. His impressions¹ of the night convey the confusion and random horror as the bombs fell:

This was the worst raid Central London had ever experienced.

The sirens which usually don’t go before ten went at nine. I was drinking with Dorothy Glover, in the Horseshoe. We went out and tried to get dinner. Corner House full, Frascati’s closed. Victor’s closed. At the York Minster the chef was about to go home. Ended in the Czardas in Dean Street. Sitting next the plate-glass windows we felt apprehensive.

By ten it was obvious that this was a real blitz. Bomb bursts - perhaps the ones in Piccadilly - shook the restaurant. Left at ten thirty and walked back to Gower Mews. Wished I had my steel helmet. Changed, and went out with D, who was firewatching. Standing on the roof of a garage we saw the flares come slowly floating down, dribbling their flames: they drift like great yellow peonies.

At midnight reported at the post and went out on the north-side. At a quarter to two nothing had happened in the’district, and I planned to sign off at two thirty. Then the flares came down again right on top of us, as the Pole, Miss S (of Bourne & Hollingsworth) and I stood in Tottenham Court Road at the corner of Alfred Place.

A white southern light: we cast long shadows and the flares came down from west to east across Charlotte Street. Then a few minutes later, without the warning of a whistle, there was a huge detonation.