Original subtitles

(choir singing)

(dramatic music)

In the tense year of 1938, the optimistic yet naive

British Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, made a fateful

decision by signing a treaty with the German Chancellor, Adolf Hitler.

Chamberlain, driven by a fervent desire for lasting

peace, believed that this act would usher in an era of tranquillity.

However, destiny had other plans.

This morning, I had another talk with the German Chancellor, Herr Hitler.

And here is the paper which bears his name upon it as well as mine.

Hello!

Despite his negotiations, war in Europe seemed imminent and irreversible.

Gas masks swiftly became essential for both adults and children.

Although prominent figures like Gracie Fields vigorously promoted

a cheerful atmosphere, the street ambience remained ominous.

War loomed on the horizon, certain, unavoidable and widely acknowledged.

By the summer of 1939, the Civil Defence

Service had enlisted over a million recruits.

Mr Churchill claims that public opinion is growing

in favour of compulsory national service.

And in his view, it's increasingly probable that we shall have it before long.

And he ends with stirring words.

Those that volunteer today are the devoted vanguard

of the British nation, arming in the defence

of the freedom and the progress of mankind.

On the Horse Guards Parade, Sir John Anderson

and Mr Herbert Morrison unite in sending off a new drive for ARP recruits.

Two of the GPO's mobile post office vans

have been converted into travelling recruiting offices.

So obviously it's less important that you should

write a love letter to your girlfriend than

if you should join up to protect her

and all the other girlfriends from the dangers

that threaten Britain in a warlike world.

Excuse me, speaking personally, what do you think about conscription?

Well, personally, I think it's a very good

thing for this country at the present state of world affairs.

It's a wise move on the government's part,

but I'm very doubtful of it.

Conscription is a drastic measure, but conditions in

Europe today call for drastic measures.

Well, I think it's a fine thing.

I've done my bit and I think my sons will be only too willing to do their bit.

Well, I don't mind joining up.

I could do a new Sunday suit and a pair of daisy roots out of it.

That summer stretched endlessly, a deceptive tranquillity cloaking

the brewing chaos.

Friends exchanged laughter and light-hearted banter on

the sun-drenched beaches, blissfully unaware that war

loomed ominously on the horizon.

The delicate thread of peace snapped abruptly on

the fateful day Poland was engulfed in darkness.

I am speaking to you in the cabinet room at 10 Downing Street.

This morning, the British ambassador in Berlin handed

the German government a final note, stating that

unless we heard from them by 11 o 'clock that they were prepared at once to

withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us.

I have to tell you now that no

such undertaking has been received and that consequently

this country is at war with Germany.

This is going to be a stern and a bitter war and we can't afford to lose it.

We will need to think of the cruel

and tragic fate of other countries to realise

what would become of us if we did.

Nor can we afford to make a draw of it and be compelled to fight another

in a few years' time.

Civilisation couldn't survive either a German victory or a third world war.

Let's make sure this time of bringing a

lasting settlement and permanent peace back to the world.

The looming threat of German bombers invading British

airspace marked a profound turning point.

As the mass evacuation of children to the

serene refuge of the countryside transformed from mere

possibility into an urgent reality, the exodus had begun.

Tearful mothers bid farewell to their children, many

of whom had never ventured away from home,

especially not in such harrowing conditions.

Yet, in wartime Britain, extraordinary circumstances swiftly became

the fabric of daily existence.

Some of us have been inclined to forget about our gas masks.

It's important that we should be prepared against gas.

You all have a gas mask and you ought to carry it and also to practise

wearing it.

Put it on for 10 to 15 minutes,

one day a week.

It may be a little irksome at first,

but you'll soon get used to it.

Don't forget, by the way, to wipe the

inside dry after you've taken your mask off.

Here in the Ministry of Home Security, we try to set an example by wearing our

mask once a week for a few minutes.

And this is what happens.

Gas mask on five minutes, please.

(dramatic music)

Yes, masks on, five minutes please!

Stick your chin in, madame.

(typewriters clacking)

Do you find that you can work quite well in your mask?

Yes, quite easily.

And it's quite comfortable, is it?

Yes, you'll soon get used to it.

That's good. Now don't forget to wipe your mask after you've used it.

Dry the inside.

(typewriters clacking)

The German people must realise that the responsibility

for the prolongation of this war and all the suffering that it may bring in the

coming year is theirs,

as well as that of the tyrants who stand over them.

As war raged on, Britain fought back, not just with weapons, but with wit.

Satirical cartoons mocked Hitler, while defiant songs filled

the air, turning fear into laughter.

In humour and harmony, the nation's spirit stood unbroken.

Your rice is 90 to 1, 1, 1

You've no idea how you'd run, run, run

It's such a shame you've begun, begun So

cut your laws and pawn your iron cloth

Oh, run, I don't run, I don't run,

run, run Following on the government's

desire that children already evacuated should remain where

they are, the Minister of Health, Mr Walter

Elliott, is having quite a busy time.

Are you frightened of the cows now?

Still a little frightened of the cows, are you?

And have you seen any of the new flowers?

Are there any daffodils out yet?

Yes, sir.

Have you seen any snowdrops?

Yes, sir.

Where do you come from in London?

Stepney.

Well, I want to just say thank you, Mrs Harley.

It's very good of you and the other ladies here who've put up with the...

who've had the girls out from London.

I can't tell you how much we're indebted to you.

That's quite all right.

Very pleased to have you.

Well, it's all the more credit to you for, as I say, helping us at this time.

While war raged, the land girls laboured in

the fields, nourishing a nation and serving as

the cornerstone of Britain's home front.

Down on the farm, the land girls are doing their bit and a bit more, and

you should see their calves.

If you happen to be a calf in Ayrshire these days, you've got all the luck.

These little pigs went to market, and after

the grooming, the milking by special method.

As you can see, a business is pressing.

As war raged, Britain held firm, its fields

tilled, its spirit unshaken, and the Grand National thundering on.

War has changed many things, but not the Grand National.

It's the same old Aintree, the same panic, the same rising murmur of the crowd.

True, there are hundreds of men and women

in uniform, but the spirit behind it all is the same, the British love of sport

and fair play, the admiration of fine horses, the thrill of a gamble.

The Grand National of 1940 is a symbol of our national life, a freedom to enjoy

ourselves in the way we love best, a freedom that we are fighting to preserve.

So come roaming with our cameras to catch

the mounting excitement before the start of the

greatest steeplechase in the world.

In the stands, there are the army, the navy, the air force, and all the best

people, while 30 of the best jumpers in the world parade to the start.

They're all lined up, hearts are slowing down, and it's a perfect start.

First to show their noses are Rockwilla and

Royal Daniele, and the whole of the field

goes over the first jump without a single fall.

Over the second jump, it's Royal Daniele and Gold Arrow.

This is where McMuffet comes up for the

superb duel with Royal Daniele that lasts almost three quarters of the race.

At the canal turn, Royal Daniele and McMuffet

hold their partnership, and still the jumps seem

to have no terrors for the runners of 1940.

And now they're thundering round the bend and away for the second time.

McMuffet, Royal Daniele, and the third horse is Gold Arrow.

At Beechers, there's a spot of bother.

Already behind Royal Daniele and McMuffet, there's one riderless horse.

And now on the right of the picture,

another jockey goes down, but his horse jumps up and gallops on.

The other horse without a rider is up with the leaders.

At the canal turn, you'll see him cross over right in front of Royal Daniele.

It takes Royal Daniele back at least two

lengths, and maybe it costs him the race.

Round the turn to the stands, McMuffet looks the winner.

But at the last jump at one, Royal Daniele falls, and Bogscar comes up to take

the lead in the final dash.

Bogscar is leading McMuffet by four lengths, with

the riderless horse still out in front.

So Bogscar wins the national for 1940.

And most people seem to think that

Bogscar's odds of 25 to 1 are very nice too.

Bogscar was ridden by Sergeant M.A. Jones of the RAF.

No wonder he grew wings.

Britain's spirit endured, not only in the Grand

National, but on the football pitch too.

First Lord of the Admiralty, Mr. A.V.

Alexander, greets the teams.

Blackburn Rovers in the quartered shirts and West

Ham United with the light sleeves on the left.

You'd hardly know it was wartime except for

the late kick-off and the mighty cheer that goes up when they see some of

the wounded boys of the B.E.F.

The kick-off is at half past six.

West Ham are expected to win, and they hardly disappoint their fans.

Right from the start, they seem to have

that little extra brilliance, which puts them just

on top of the hard-working, energetic Blackburn Rovers.

But right from the start, it's a grand game.

But always there's the threat of one of

those West Ham drives breaking through, and after

35 minutes, one does to put West Ham one up.

In the second half, Blackburn get in some

superb spells of attacking, and once or twice,

they come very near to getting an equalizing goal.

But West Ham hold their advantage, and the first cup final of this war comes to

the usual roaring end with Mr. Alexander presenting the cup to West Ham United.

As sport thrived, so did the need to

train firemen, Britain's vital defenders during the Blitz.

Come on, Steve, you know they have their own way of going to blazes at the

zoo, and the men of the firefighting unit show just how they get down to the job.

And before you have time to say hippopotamus,

they're getting a cooler on the map in Turin.

Hey, free drinks, and the penguins simply jump for joy.

But the fellow who gets off best is used to taking plenty of water with him.

As firemen fought the flames, entertainers stepped onto

the stage, bringing hope and laughter to the troops on Britain's home front.

Arthur Askey and Stinker Murdoch, Jack Hilton and

Gracie Fields, what a program!

Am I standing in a hole, or are you on horseback?

(dramatic music)

Well, if you're going back to old jokes, you want, what about this?

Ladies and gentlemen...

Once again, bandwagon brazenly presents Chestnut Corner.

(dramatic music)

Now, listen to me.

Where do the motorhorns come from?

- China. - What part of China?

Hong Kong.

Who was that lady I saw you with last night?

That wasn't a lady, that was my nephew.

He walks that way.

As stars lifted spirits, bombs rained down, testing Britain's resilience.

Britain gets another foretaste of aerial attack.

This time, Nazi bombs are dropped on a north-east coast town.

But fortunately, again, there are very few casualties.

Eight civilians are wounded.

The first bomb casualties in England.

One little girl slept right through the raid

and woke up afterwards to find her bed littered with pieces of a bomb.

Here she is.

The Germans have made another of their typical

attacks on unfortified positions, a poultry farm in Sussex.

But you have to admit that this one was a Nazi bomber in difficulties with our

fighters and anti-aircraft guns.

So, in order to make a quicker getaway, he dropped his bombs and they landed on

the chicken farm.

And now, Pathé Gazette presents an exclusive interview

with some of the survivors.

When you hear the sirens or anti-aircraft

guns, you must get under cover at once.

You must not stand staring up at the sky.

That's the most dangerous thing to do.

Take cover at once.

But there's no need to rush.

If you take things quietly, you'll prevent panic in others.

If you're within five minutes of your home, go home.

But keep away from the windows.

Never forget to carry your gas mask.

Always remember to see that your blackout is as black as soot.

The Browns at home.

Suddenly, the alarm.

Enemy aircraft are here.

But the Browns are prepared to tackle the worst.

An incendiary bomb hits the house.

It burns very violently for the first minute,

but after that it can be tackled.

Brown goes to ascertain the damage and sends

to Smith next door for the pump they share.

There is no panic.

Miss Smith arrives.

Brown decides to operate the pump away from the heat and smoke.

Note how Miss Smith keeps as near the floor as possible and plays a jet of

water on the heart of the fire to get it under control.

Brown Jr. calls the fire brigade just in case.

Three or four families can club together to share the cost of the pump.

Now the spray has done its work.

The bomb is almost out.

Miss Smith finishes off the job.

By being thus equipped to deal with the

emergency, these people have saved their houses and perhaps their lives.

You can do the same.

And it's up to you.

In the darkest days of war, every scrap mattered.

As the call went out, ordinary men and

women cleared their kitchens, donating pots, pans and

anything metal, all to fuel the fight above.

It's the charge of the light brigade, but

this time Mr. and Mrs. John Citizen are

charging into centres all over England with their

light metal aluminium, which is so urgently required

for aeroplane construction.

The boys and girls of the village of

Cough Dock are pioneers in national service for the younger generation.

The Youth Committee of the East Suffolk Education

Authority intend to enrol boys and girls between the ages of 14 and 20 for the

valuable work of collecting scrap metal.

This experimental service squad are on their metal

with a house-to-house canvas for scrap.

And from these early efforts may grow a vast team embracing the whole country.

So once again, youth takes a march.

(dramatic music)

The name of the new force which is now to

be raised will be the Local Defence Volunteers.

In order to volunteer, what you have to do is to give in your name at

your local police station.

And the answer was the Home Guard.

The Home Guard, a band of volunteers, emerged

to safeguard Britain's shores, demonstrating that courage isn't

forged in battle, but in the hearts of those who refuse to surrender.

In the Local Defence Volunteers, now renamed the

Home Guard, the country has a new and

powerful shield against invasion of a million and

a half men who are all volunteers and a great many of them old soldiers.

Their orders, and this is something on which

there has not always been clear understanding, are first of all to observe.

You are a new corps, a corps with its traditions to make.

But you have already got your motto, and your motto is Kill the Bosh.

Their duty is to keep contact and shoot if and when they are sure of a kill.

That is the second task of the Home Guard, to shoot when they are sure of

a kill.

You may have the luck to come in contact with the enemy.

If you do, one of your duties is to shoot when you see a sitter and

shoot to kill.

What?

Who goes there?

And to the challenge comes the answer, the King.

His Majesty then produces his identity card for

inspection by the vigilant Home Guardsmen.

This is the human story of the King's

arrival at Woodford, Essex,

when he inspects 2,000 men of the Local Defence Volunteers.

Over 80% of these volunteers are ex-servicemen

and therefore well able to give a good account of themselves.

This enthusiastic citizen army comes under the command

of Lieutenant General Sir Alan Brooke, the new CNC of the Home Forces.

Perhaps one of the most important responsibilities of

the Commander-in-Chief will be that of

coastal defence, pictures of which we now show you for the first time.

From concrete and steel emplacements, the guns of

Britain point a warning to the European gangsters.

These pictures give only a small idea of

how the Coastal Defence Force will deal with an invader.

We leave it to the guns to tell

their story in more eloquent language than words.

(dramatic music)

Thus, in the words of Lord Halifax, we

shall continue to stand foursquare against the forces of evil.

Hitler's propaganda campaign of releasing leaflets on British

soil was meant to spread fear.

Still, Britain saw them differently, turning paper intended

to sow terror into a symbol of defiance and ingenuity.

Hitler makes a contribution to our waste paper

campaign by giving us our first leaflet raid.

Someone has apparently misled him into believing that

we hadn't heard about his last Reichstag speech,

whereas we all heard it broadcast and read it in our papers.

However, there are no complaints.

We can do with all the paper we can get, even though it is made in Germany.

There are various uses to which Hitler's leaflets may be put.

For example, shaving paper.

After German bombers had been over this London

district, we endeavoured to find out how the

raid had affected the morale of the people.

We wish Hitler could see and hear the

following interview with a woman whose home had been demolished.

Miss Jiggins?

Yes, sir?

Where were you when the bomb came down?

In bed.

Where do you think I was?

And, er... What happened?

And, er, what happened to you?

Blew me out.

Blew you out of bed?

Must have blew me out.

I don't remember no more.

You managed to get out of the house all right?

Yes.

Er, has it, er, hurt you at all?

Do you feel any effects of it?

No, only a bit shook.

But I had to find my own way out and I was trapped every time and

wherever I went.

And how do you feel now?

Far a bit being shaken.

I feel all right.

Fine.

That's good.

The statement made by Mrs Jiggins is typical

of the people in this locality and all over the country.

The morale of the people here are wonderful.

Well, I can tell you something.

One of the air raid wardens said to

me when I stood over there in my nightdress, and no shoes on me feet, he

said to me, he says, come along, mother.

He said, I'll take you down to the town hall.

And I said, what?

I said, I don't think it matters, boy.

I said, it's my home and I'm going to stick it.

He said, that's the spirit, that's what I like to hear.

Early in the enemy's intensified air attacks on

London, bombs were dropped on the Dockland area.

These caused a big fire which, as night

fell, illuminated a wide section of London.

In consequence, Nazi airmen, without a shadow of

doubt, could have picked out other targets of military importance.

But the Royal Air Force and our brown

defences were inflicting heavy losses on the attacking

air armadas, as many as 99 enemy raiders being brought down in one day.

In their rage at these blows at their

air might, the Nazis threw off all pretense

of confining themselves to military targets and the

following pictures show that bombs have been scattered

over London without any distinction of military objectives.

In the East End, much damage has been done to business premises and homes.

And the morning after this occurred, the German

communique said that they attacked targets of military importance.

Military importance!

Look at it!

In a West London district, some houses and a block of flats were struck.

Targets of military importance, my foot!

(dramatic music)

A bus was blown over like a kid's toy by a bomb which burst across the road.

(dramatic music)

A tram, too.

Is a London tram car of military importance?

(dramatic music)

Any war the Huns has ever fought has been aimed cheaply at the civilian.

The coward always attacks the weak.

A bright thought in the midst of scenes of devastation.

What London goes through in the darkness of

night is comparable only to the punishment being

meted out by us on the war factories

and truly military objectives of our despicable enemy.

The King goes among his people to sympathise with them in their trials.

He has a word of encouragement for all,

including the ARP workers who have worked so

magnificently in the cause of humanity.

While Hitler and Goering are battering their heads

against the indestructible wall of British civilisation, tenacity

and courage, we are proud to present faithful

pictures of how, despite the Nazi methods of

warfare, Britons will never bend the knee to force.

Whatever has happened or may happen, we shall come through smiling.

By this further deliberate attack on the lives

of our King and Queen, when five bombs fell on and around the palace, the home

of our beloved sovereign and his consort is again damaged.

One bomb crashed through the Queen's drawing room

while others fell in the quadrangle.

Within a few yards from where the King

and Queen were sheltering, the Royal Chapel was struck.

Tearing through the roof, the bomb completely wrecked

the altar and hurled 20 tonnes of debris into the basement.

We thank God that their Majesties were unhurt.

But swift vengeance strikes at the black-hearted raider.

A few seconds later, a Nazi plane was

seen to break in pieces, crashing within a short distance of Buckingham Palace.

Thus ended the murderous attack on what the

twisted Nazi mind called a military objective.

May this planned attempt at assassination recoil a

hundredfold on the beast of Berlin.

Amidst the ruins of the Blitz, the King

and Queen walked with their people, a beacon of hope in the darkness.

The King visits the Air Ministry.

A call at the Ministry of Home Security follows.

Both visits precede a tour by the King and Queen of bombed areas in London.

To Fulham, their Majesties bring a cheery word

and the Queen especially a friendly smile.

At intervals, the Royal Party halts to have

a word with ARP workers, demolition squads and

firemen who've done such splendid work at so great a risk.

And the Queen smiles again as she insists on shaking the hand of a worker who

apologises for its griminess.

Having had their own home bombed, their Majesties

speak with understanding and sympathy to those of

their subjects who have also fallen victims to Nazi savagery.

(dramatic music)

History's greatest drama is being performed in the London Theatre of War.

The theme is the struggle against the forces

of evil, opening as the symphony of gunfire crashes into its overture.

(dramatic music)

Like a scene from Dante's Inferno, the first

act tells of destruction wrought by a devilish

foe which tries also to destroy the soul and wreck the morale of a nation by

savage barbarism.

A quest foredoomed to failure because they're ignorant

of the spirit of the chief characters in the drama, the British people.

So in their blind fury, they bomb churches,

hospitals and the homes and property of civilians.

(dramatic music)

But as the drama unfolds, the tension relaxes

and we learn of instances of escape and courage.

People laugh and jest as another day reveals the price the enemy has paid.

Over the land are strewn the remains of

claims which came to conquer and ended like this.

(dramatic music)

Meanwhile, London carries on with unshakable mean.

Windows may be broken, but the spirit remains intact.

Now comes the twist from drama to light relief.

Londoners were kept on their toes all night,

so in the morning they cuss the devil and all his works and walk.

But if you want to pop off early for lunch, you can always go through the

window, but the cafe is moved to new premises.

Dear sir, please note our new address, hoping this finds you as it leaves us.

Amid the chaos of air raids and destruction,

one figure stood unwavering on the streets of London.

In the heart of the city, he became

the voice of courage, reminding Britain that even

in the face of ruin, they would never surrender.

The Prime Minister is thorough in everything he does.

With Mrs Churchill, he makes a tour of

London docks and expresses himself forcefully on all he sees.

Mr Churchill is pleased with the Home Guard and says so.

And when in the course of his tour a ferryboat load of well-wishers passes, he

acknowledges their cheers with a sign we all know so well.

(dramatic music)

We've become quite used to seeing scenes like

these nowadays, but nevertheless, after Hitler's wreckers have

been at work on our homes, you'll find

plenty of Churchill's builders immediately setting about the

job of patching up and rebuilding.

Mornings after the raids before sees bungers up

of bombholes, their bombhole bunger-uppers, on the

job, filling in those empty window frames which are so draughty these days.

And while I think of it, as Bert

knows how to repair splinter holes, he'd better take a look at Bill's pants.

(dramatic music)

We don't in any way minimise the tragedy

of our suffering towns and cities, but the

citizens are a valiant people, and one day,

as Mr Churchill said, we will rebuild them more to our credit than some of them

were before.

(dramatic music)

And in the midst of our tribulation, we are finding our way to a new social

order.

East Ender and West Ender are brother-sufferers,

gone are the barriers of class distinction.

The poor man eats a table with any

other homeless victim of Hitler's total warfare.

In mansions and West End apartments, hotel chefs

and volunteer workers are seeing that everyone is fed and cared for.

(dramatic music)

Sleeping space where once were squash courts, ballrooms and our bedrooms.

In this palatial building, hundreds of people can

now find food, recreation and rest.

This is the London which is indestructible.

Thousands of you in this country have had

to leave your homes and be separated from your fathers and mothers.

My sister Margaret Rose and I feel so much for you, as we know from experience

what it means to be away from those we love most of all.

To you living in new surroundings, we send a message of true sympathy.

And at the same time, we would like to thank the kind people who have welcomed

you to their homes in the country.

All of us children who are still at

home, think continually of our friends and relations

who have gone overseas, who have travelled thousands

of miles to find a wartime home and

are kindly welcomed in Canada, Australia, New Zealand,

South Africa and the United States of America.

My sister and I feel we know quite a lot about these countries.

Our father and mother have so often talked

to us of their visits to different parts of the world.

So it is not difficult for us to picture the sort of life you are all

leading and to think of all the new

sights you must be seeing and the adventures you must be having.

I want, on behalf of all the children at home, to send you our love and

best wishes to you and to your kind hosts as well.

My sister is by my side and we are both going to say goodnight to you.

Come on, Margaret.

Goodnight, children.

Goodnight and good luck to you all.

(dramatic music)

Through the wreckage of this bombed house, Patrick

King burrowed his way to rescue the blind occupier Miss Wilson.

He is the first civilian to be awarded the George Medal.

The decoration is also awarded to 19-year

-old Sonia Straw who helped to save the lives of a dozen people.

Wren's masterpiece received a direct hit when a

bomb smashed through the east end of the

cathedral and demolished the high altar.

The Mother Church of the Empire was twice made a target.

And these are the men who saved St Paul's Cathedral.

Sapper George Wiley, first to find the bomb,

and Lieutenant Robert Davies, commander of the Bomb

Disposal Squad, by their high courage win the coveted George Cross.

(dramatic music)

In days gone by, we wouldn't have thought

of lighting more than two cigarettes with one

match, but with matches costing 12 times as

much as in 1914, it's a different story.

Mind your fingers.

Cigarettes, too, are expensive, so we mugs, er,

males, have additional opportunities for courtly gestures, fag

-rolling for the fair sex, while the necessity

for shaving at odd times and places gives a city man a bright idea.

The price of gas was this high, so it behoves us to invent for economy.

One girl has found a way of enjoying fags to the last puff.

No good following her for her dog ends.

And when it comes to silk stockings, the

best solution is borrow Brother Bill's golf hose

and forget your ladder worries.

(dramatic music)

Another girl, afraid she might forget to remove

her spectacles in a blitz, protects herself from glass splinters.

Although it's not one of the little things,

we pass scenes such as this with scarcely a glance.

Hat styles have changed.

Men have set the fashion for the ladies

who seldom think of the freakish models they had wished on them before the war.

Even the kiddies like to be in the fashion.

(dramatic music)

Identity discs, some on the wrist, and if the ankle is slim, and if it isn't.

Oh, well, well.

The contents of a man's pocket nowadays show

many of the little things we have got used to.

Whistle, ration card, petrol coupons.

Identity cards.

Amidst the chaos of war, there was a

place where soldiers could escape, if only for a night.

Under the glow of chandeliers and the hum

of lively music, servicemen found solace and strength in one another's company.

Here, joy and camaraderie flourished.

A reminder that even in the darkest times,

there was room for celebration.

Roy has a special request to make.

He asks the bandleader to play their favourite

tune, the melody that means so much to Pat and him.

(dramatic music)

The other night, Smiths, Brown and Jones lost their homes.

Early in the morning, the Smiths came out of their shelter to look at what had

once been Ivy Dean.

Their home these days is next door to the chickens.

Well, Dad has to go to work as usual, so out comes the rent book and

other treasures, while the old man spends a

few minutes seeing if the gramophone he got last Christmas still works.

Mother is in the remains of the kitchen,

so Dad goes to fix up that chin of his.

This will be something to tell the chaps about in the office.

Among the towns visited by the King and Queen when they make a six-hour tour

of Merseyside are Birkenhead and Wallasey.

Wherever their majesties go, they meet the same high courage.

The predominant sounds during this visit were cheering

crowds, wailing sirens and cries of, We can

take it, your majesties, we can take it.

It's part of general conversation these days to

hear the other fellow in a voice simply

bursting with excitement saying, Blimey, come and see

my place, there's nothing left.

Now, Hitler can't win a war against people like that.

(dramatic music)

From the lively streets of wartime Liverpool where

the King and Queen uplifted spirits to the

hush solemnity of Chamberlain's funeral, the nation moved

from moments of joy to reverence, united in both resilience and remembrance.

To Westminster Abbey come representatives of all phases

of public life to pay homage to the

ashes of Neville Chamberlain, the man of peace.

The Duke of Gloucester represents His Majesty.

Mr Churchill, who succeeded Mr Chamberlain as Prime

Minister, joins his Cabinet colleagues in mourning the

loss of the man who saw peace to the limit of human endurance.

So a true Britain passes.

A man of peace has found peace which must come to us all.

(dramatic music)

As Britain mourned and marched on, the war demanded more than just soldiers.

It called upon those at home.

Women stepped forward, trading aprons for uniforms and

factory floors for battlefields of industry, proving that

victory was not only won abroad but built with tireless hands at home.

And what would you like to do?

Well, I'd like to help to build Spitfires.

My boy's in the RAS.

Well, and I feel I'm helping him.

And you, Miss Clark?

Well, I think the sooner we all pull together in this thing, the sooner it will

be over.

I myself would like to go in the

services, because it's the uniform that appeals.

Now, Miss Sturge, would you like to go for munitions as well?

Yes, I would.

I would like to make one big bomb so as to polish off that bare man.

And what would you like to do?

I'd like to join the ATS.

Why the ATS?

Well, there's plenty of variety, and I should

be doing my bit to help my country.

Who knows?

I might be the Sergeant Major.

Many women went beyond the home front, joining

the Auxiliary Territorial Service.

In vital roles, from driving to decoding, they

became an essential force in Britain's war effort.

At an experimental gunnery station, the intricate job

of plotting shell bursts is done by selected ATS women.

Through special graft frames and glass tables, they

record the bursts as shells are tested on the range.

Stand by.

Start.

Lock in.

Fire!

Now watch the explosion in the sand dunes.

Most of the officers hold science degrees, while

other ranks have to be up to matriculation standard.

(dramatic music)

Up!

(dramatic music)

3-0, 2-0.

2-1.

The Brains Trust of the ATS ably apply their talents in a war of science.

(dramatic music)

I'm the girl that makes the thing That

drills the hole that holds the string That

drives the rod that turns the knob That works the thing-a-me-bob I'm the

girl that makes the thing That holds the

oil that oils the spring That drives the

shank that moves the crank That works the thing-a-me-bob It's the tingly sort

of job Making a thing for a thing -a-me-bob Especially when you don't know

what it's for But it's the girl that makes the thing that drills the hole that

holds the ring that works the thingamabob that makes the engine roar.

And it's the girl that makes the thing that holds the oil that oils the spring

that works the thingamabob that's going to win the war.

Taking a driving course at a training centre

is Princess Elizabeth, 2nd Subleton, ATS.

She has been learning to drive and maintain all types of motor vehicles.

When the training centre was visited by the

King and Queen and Princess Margaret, they found

Princess Elizabeth in overalls working on the engine of a Red Cross lorry.

Setting a strong example, Princess Elizabeth's involvement in

the ATS demonstrated that no one was above

the call to serve, proving that service to Britain knew no rank.

After watching other girls at work, the King

returned and jokingly asked the Princess, haven't you got it mended yet?

(dramatic music)

The Princess Elizabeth, Honorary 2nd Subleton, ATS, is

now a competent mechanic and proud of the fact.

Today we present dramatic pictures of the war on the home front.

Pictures of men labouring night and day producing the shells for our artillery.

And if you think they've got a cushy job at home, you'd better think again.

They work in the smoke and roar of

great factories, which until recently were producing motor

car parts or textile machines.

And their job is hard and nerve-wracking, it has to be seen to be believed.

Obviously technical description is impossible, but I can

say this much, that already our production of

shells has passed all records set in the peak years of the last war.

(dramatic music)

And today production is achieving a greater standard

of accuracy than ever before.

Every shell goes through a whole series of

tests to give still more attacking power to

the guns that are blasting away for our freedom.

The factories stood as the ominous engines of

war, their very existence attracting the relentless gaze of bombers.

Women across the nation resolutely stepped into the

roles vacated by the men dispatched to fight on distant shores.

And here for your edification is the bit that hurts.

Something tells me it must be lunchtime.

The factory canteen caters for hungry appetites and

the serving hatches do a roaring trade.

Over the tables they can't hear themselves talk for chatter.

But they'll go back refreshed and ready for deeds not worth.

The materials are cut to pattern by ingenious electric shears.

To avoid dullness and any tendency to look

alike, some of the utility frocks can be

made in 10 different materials and 12 different colours.

120 variations in all.

The austere authorities allow the utility dressmakers 50

models a year.

And as a result of careful production, they can all be made at less cost than

before the war.

Machining the material is simplified by the ban on pleats.

There must be no more than two box or four knife.

Yes, and no more than 160 inches of pin tacking, ladies.

(dramatic music)

Making the button holes.

Buttons are limited to five.

(dramatic music)

Reinforcing the seams for hardware.

(dramatic music)

It's a pressing business, this question of utility

clothing, especially just now when the moths in

the wardrobe are showing their ribs.

But they won't get such a luxurious meal in future.

But besides that little matter of pleats, pockets are limited to two.

A buyer inspects the range.

You can see the great variety of materials in the finished dresses.

Just a few of the many possible.

And here are some of these utility features.

A rip proof seam.

Reinforced shoulders.

Long button holes and so on.

In spite of restrictions, these dresses are most becoming.

As you watch these mannequins, no doubt you'll

be impressed with the distinctiveness of each model.

You might have expected that mass production look.

But designers and makers between them have met

the demand for economy without sacrificing anything to style and fashion.

No braver deed on any of the war fronts has been recorded than that which won

the V.C. for flight lieutenant J.B.

Nicholson.

With multiple wounds and his plane ablaze, he

power dived and shot down his opponent before bailing out.

Well Nick, what are we going to do when we get out on the moon tomorrow?

I'm going straight up north to see my

son, get him christened and you're going to be his godfather.

Well we'd better hurry up and drink up quickly.

I guess you're right.

And now a few words from the proudest wife in the world.

Daddy's coming home darling.

We're terribly proud of him, aren't we?

I can hardly wait for my husband to come home.

We've had so many messages and congratulations.

So many telegrams.

Everyone's been most kind to us.

Here's a very amusing one.

Heartiest congratulations.

Delighted to see your ugly mug on all front pages.

Such a good reason.

(dramatic music)

The martyred city of Coventry.

Amid the wholesale wreckage of a noble city,

crushed by the force of hundreds of tons of bombs, the steeple of her one time

beautiful 14th century cathedral looks down on a

scene of indescribable desolation.

Words are hopelessly inadequate to describe the horror

and indignation felt all over the civilized world at this wanton devastation.

A thousand citizens of Coventry were killed or

maimed by the Nazi disciples of slaughter, who

kill mostly for the joy of killing and

destroy mostly for the joy of destroying.

These are scenes of the butchery at Coventry.

(dramatic music)

Even amid destruction, death and despair, the spirit

of Britain remained steadfast, unbroken, resolute and determined to persevere.

Hastening to be with his people of Coventry

in their hour of adversity, the king was

an inspiration to the stricken but courageous inhabitants.

They came through the ordeal magnificently.

This is their greatest hour.

The courage of Coventry is an example to the whole world.

The cities of Great Britain salute their brothers

in this hour of tribulation, but not defeat.

On the highest prominence of the cemetery of

Coventry, 172 murdered people are laid to rest.

As family mourners file to the one great

grave and bow their heads in prayer, bestial

raiders drone overhead in this hour of their deepest sorrow.

But none of them raise their eyes to this grim reminder of the unholy massacre.

This is no place where evil may intrude.

Coventry mourns.

How shall we rank thee upon glory's page,

but by the name of martyr?

This tragic scene once more brings home to

us the necessity for exterminating the perpetrators.

It is a clarion call to the youth of Britain to join the noble band of

flying men who will avenge this awful catastrophe.

An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

(dramatic music)

These are not Hollywood sound effects.

This is the music they play every night in London, the symphony of war.

(dramatic music)

As the haunting wail of air raid sirens

filled the night, families hurried to their shelters,

seeking refuge from the danger above.

There she goes, that objectionable young person whose voice we know so well.

And there go the Smiths to spend another

night in their family shelter, listening to the all too familiar concert.

Chilly, uncomfortable, everybody getting temperamental.

(dramatic music)

That one was a bit near, but there's no need for anyone to be so uncomfortable.

You'll find in your letterbox a small official

booklet which tells you how you can make your shelter much more comfortable.

Don't have any oil stove or brazier in your shelter.

This little device will give you all the warmth needful.

Just two flower pots and a candle.

Dress warmly before you go to the shelter.

Don't risk getting chilled.

Take your money with you and any important papers.

A cup of tea and a biscuit just before turning in and now to spend a

comfortable night undisturbed by the blitzkrieg.

(dramatic music)

Ha ha, that sound wakes you all right.

Nearly getting up time.

Oh, hang it, the clock has stopped.

Never mind, thanks to taking the little precautions

advised by the Ministry of Home Security, the

Smiths have passed a comfortable night and are

ready to carry on with the day's work in true British style.

(dramatic music)

Now read this booklet carefully.

It's quite simple instructions.

Your health and comfort under difficult conditions will be assured.

And perhaps like father, you may turn over for an extra half hour snooze.

(dramatic music)

At 71 stations in the London Underground system,

tube trains are bringing refreshments to platform shelterers.

Over 120 canteens are being installed.

There may be a blitz going on hundreds of feet overhead, but down below tens of

thousands of shelterers are going to make short

work of a quarter of a million cups of tea and cocoa to say nothing of

buns, cake, apples and chocolate.

(dramatic music)

The girl attendants have certainly got that bedside manner.

Well, the hot tea and buns have done the trick.

Boy, oh boy, has he been waiting for that.

Now then, Grandma, wake up or you'll have night starvation.

(dramatic music)

And with the exception of one midnight reveller

who doesn't mind burning the candle at both

ends, London's underground folk turn in for the night well fed.

It's a good idea on the part of someone, but Lord Horder has a better one.

He insists that precautions should be taken now

to prevent the spreading of infectious disease among shelterers.

Donuts if you like, but disinfection certainly.

Despite the devastation of war, the Christmas spirit remained unbroken.

Once upon a Christmas, a very good man

would come down the chimneys laden with toys,

but this year he walks among the ruins of many homes.

The work of an evil being whom no one loves.

Hello, there goes the alert.

You see, the kiddies have organised their own spotting system.

Into action go window watchers and chimney spotters

because Santa Claus has arrived.

Soon the whole district is alive with excited boys and girls.

But here he is, the old darling, and his toys aren't rational.

They knew mum and dad were wrong when

they said there mightn't be a Father Christmas this year.

At last, something to play with.

Good old Santa Claus.

Cool mum, now we can have a Christmas tree with lights on and everything.

We mustn't forget the blackout though.

It'll be a nice Christmas if it doesn't raid.

Amid holiday cheer, war raged on.

The festive spirit couldn't shield Britain from the horrors of the Blitz.

Three minutes before these pictures were taken, this

was a block of London working class flats with shops at ground level.

What the Nazis expect to gain from this

senseless indiscriminate bombing is beyond normal understanding.

But as we have said before, we can take it.

And we can rely upon our RAF to give the Nazis the hell they deserve.

Mrs Barker's home has been bombed by the Huns, but it'll take more than that to

move her.

How's it going Mrs Barker, how's the roof?

Is the rain coming through?

It came through the other day.

All right now?

It's all right now.

Yes, and how's the cooking?

Cook all right?

Yes, I guess.

Have you got the water on all right now?

- Yes, it looks good. - That's right, that's good.

Well Mrs Barker, you can be evacuated if you like.

I don't wish to be.

Why, is it good to look after your family?

- Yes. - Who have you got in your family?

It's my husband and daughter.

I also have sons serving in the army.

And another one waiting to be called out for the Navy.

Yes, and you've got to stay and look after them.

Oh yes.

Somebody must top and look after the chickens,

and the birds, and the cats.

Yes, even as Hitler and Göring, murderers as

they are, come night after night and bomb

us, I'm determined to stop in my house.

I've been here 27 years, and still am determined to defy them and stop here.

As long as we've got a roof over our heads.

That's the spirit of the people.

In April 1941, Plymouth faced a devastating assault

that etched itself into history.

The historic town centre was largely destroyed, leaving a scene of despair.

Once again, it was the innocent civilians, the

heartbroken townspeople, who bore the brunt of this

calamity, enduring immense suffering.

The bombing killed over a thousand, and left

30,000 homeless, destroying more than 18,000 homes.

Government observers were shocked by the unprecedented devastation.

As 50,000 people fled Plymouth for the

moors, bomb-damaged cities nationwide rose from the ashes.

Amidst the rubble of war-torn Britain in

the summer of 1941, a tantalising thought ignited

hope within the hearts of its citizens.

What if, just what if, the ominous shadow of German bombers vanished forever?

Would the dream of peace finally become a glorious reality?

In a twist of fate, Hitler had rescinded

his invasion plans, redirecting the might of his

air force to the unforgiving front lines of the conflict in Russia.

Even before the war ended, the task of rebuilding Britain had commenced.

Bombed-out streets and shattered homes required urgent

repairs, while industries laboured tirelessly to restore supply lines.

With resilience and determination, the nation prepared to

rise from the rubble, ready to forge a future beyond the war.

At last, when the resounding victory echoed from

the battlegrounds and the Allied forces emerged triumphant,

a wave of euphoria swept across Britain as

citizens revelled in the sweetness of newfound freedom.

Yet, amidst the jubilant celebrations, there was a

solemn moment of reflection, a collective tribute to

the valiant souls who dared to stand firm,

paying the ultimate sacrifice for the noble cause of humanity.

May I repeat again the words I used at that momentous hour.

Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.

(dramatic music)

(choir singing)