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World War ll London Blitz:  Buy On Smashwords
I am the great-granddaughter of Ruby Side Thompson. 
Recently I started re-reading the World War ll journals and felt that they were such an important part of a history that will soon be forgotten if not published and shared with the world. These diary excerpts are not the entirety of what is published in print and kindle.
Ruby grew up during a time when education was just beginning to be encouraged for both upper and middle class women. During the late 1890's Ruby explored many radical political ideas of London, England. She met many famous people including the writers George Bernard Shaw and William Butler Yeats. 
5.0 out of 5 stars A choice pick, not to be overlooked, November 6, 2011 By Midwest Book Review (Oregon, WI USA)

World War ll London Blitz Diary: 4-19-41 There were two alerts in the night, one at one o’clock and another at three o’clock. The all clear came at five a.m. I have sent Mother a will, offering home with us for her and Joan and Annie. All quiet today but the news they give as of Wednesday night’s raid is truly appalling. The Germans are boasting it is the greatest raid ever yet made in history.


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April 19, 1941
There were two alerts in the night, one at one o’clock and another at three o’clock. The all clear came at five a.m. I have sent Mother a will, offering home with us for her and Joan and Annie. All quiet today but the news they give as of Wednesday night’s raid is truly appalling. The Germans are boasting it is the greatest raid ever yet made in history. I should think it was. Many of London’s famous buildings are destroyed, in part, or completely, including: St. Paul’s Cathedral, Chelsea Old Church, the Chelsea Pensioners Hospital, The Temple “Free” Church, with its neighbor Wren’s St. Andrews, Guy’s Hospital, and seven other hospitals. Oh, terrible! In addition, there is news of the sudden death of the Greek Prime Minister, General Koritza. No explanation given. It is barely a week ago that Count Teleki, the Hungarian Prime Minister, committed suicide.
April 20, 1941
Ted is playing mass. I should not be surprised to see Mother or Joan arrive sometime today, for last night London had another very heavy raid. No details have yet been given us, beyond the fact that it was very heavy (which we knew for ourselves) and the casualties are feared to be very heavy. So what has happened in Angel Road? If number six was cracked on Wednesday it probably fell down last night. Here in Romford it was worse than on Wednesday. It began at nine o’clock and from then until midnight was the most terrifying hours of my whole life. The rest of the night was bad, too, but only as bad as Wednesday.
At about ten thirty, I thought a bomb had hit us. The room rocked, and at all four corners smoke and sooty powder streamed in, but no, we weren’t hit, it was a blast from something exploding nearby. I heard glass cracking, but it was next door, number seventy-six.
When Ted returned from early church he said that the worst damage in Romford had been in Pettit’s Lane, Essex Road, and Prince’s Road. No details given yet.
However, we received bad news of the Branneys. They live on Prince’s Road. Mr. Branney has been injured, but Mrs. Branney can’t be found! Apparently, Mr. Branney is unconscious, because nobody knows whether Mrs. Branney was at home, or not. If she was out of town visiting somewhere, she may be quite all right; but if she was at home (which is most likely), she has probably been blown to atoms.
Oh, God help us all! Where is the dreadful war going to end? I pray. I pray without ceasing. In last night’s terror everything personal became insignificant. I was set free from all my annoyances, grievances, worries, and animosities. The worst hurts of my life became as nothing. I forgave everybody everything. I think I can never hate or dislike anybody or anything again. It is indeed a new world and a new life, which begins for me today, for I never expected to live through until morning. Now unto thee, Eternal, Immortal, Invisible, the only God, be glory and honor, thanksgiving and praise now, and forever. Amen.
We heard remarkable news of Mrs. Branney. She has been found, and except for a few bruises, unhurt. She had been upstairs when the bomb fell. The blast carried her out through the wall of the house, across the alley between the houses, and through the wall of the neighboring house, dropping her to the ground floor, practically unhurt. Marvelous, isn’t it! Mr. Branney is in the hospital, but not very seriously injured.
April 22, 1941
I’ve forgotten to say that Ted gave me some money for my birthday. I pinched up courage to ask him for some. So today I raked around in all my finances and made up sufficient to pay my Stone’s bill. I went over to the store this afternoon and paid it. So that’s out of the way. Thank Heaven.
April 23, 1941
I have been writing letters and now am very tired. The Weather is dull and cold. We had very bad news at one o’clock. King George of the Hellenes has left Greece, and gone to Crete. The Greeks in the Epirus have made a separate armistice with the Germans, and laid down their arms at ten this morning. Now what?
The Times reports that Colonel Lindbergh has made a speech in Chicago saying the war is now practically over, and Hitler has won it. So far Hitler has won it. Last week he licked the Yugoslavs, now has licked the Greeks. What next? Shall we retreat into Turkey and into Egypt, and have him lick the Turks and the Egyptians? I expect so. Then what? Oh what madness is war!
April 24, 1941
I am very tired and very melancholy. The war is frightful. We had a quiet night last night. The enemy concentrated on, “a town in the Southwest.” Probably Plymouth again.
I was dreaming about Mrs. Harvey, and the old days in America. I dream of America on most nights. I ought to be there. Ted was writing to Jimmie last night. This struck me so silly. Whilst he was writing, Lord Chatfield on the air was speaking about St. George’s Day and the spirit of England. He was saying, “The women of England had borne a very full share in the sufferings from air attack. Home to most women was the main interest, often the only one. The loss of it was almost annihilating to her…”
Yes… and it struck me as absurd that Ted should be writing to Jimmie. Jimmie was only fifteen and a half when Ted left him to shift for himself. Yes. Annihilation is the word. Ted annihilated the home. He deliberately and of plan broke it up, and for no good reason. Such an action was not inevitably imposed upon us by unfortunate and uncontrollable circumstances; it was imposed upon us merely by the whim of one selfish self-loving man who also persisted in carrying out one of his romantic dreams. Ted wanted to live in England. No other reason. I have never gotten over it. I never shall. Ted not only broke up the home, he broke me. So I live a senseless life. There is no reason for my life, no sense in it. That is why I get so tired. I have nothing to live for. Present time is sort of a hiatus for me, in which I hold onto existence waiting to be able to resume my own life, my own true life. I may wait in vain. This may never come about. The war may destroy me first, or in other ways my time may be cut short. I hope. I hope someday to be a free woman, living where I want to live, living where my heart is.
I looked at Ted last night and he seemed to me a stranger. He often seems that. In spite of our years together, the endless intimacies of marriage, I feel he is nothing to do with me, an outsider, and an alien. More often than not I regard him as a fool. I looked at him last night, pottering, fussing about with his silly files of his correspondence, and making something important which isn’t important, being trivial. Oh, I can’t stand it. I’m so weary of it! There he was, saying the same old things about the radio, complacently considering himself smart but only voicing his own pet prejudices. Ted says the same things over and over, a hundred times, yet each time offered as a new and spontaneous remark. I get so bored. When I am tired, such repetitions make me want to snap or scream. I don’t. I hold composure, but inwardly I become even more and more tired. Oh God, I’m bored!
Last night’s raid was on Plymouth. Poor Gladys! This is a depressing day, cold and senseless, and a wind howling in the chimney, though outside looks still enough. There was no good news at one o’clock. The situation in Greece is terrible. There were further details of our attack on Tripoli, hatefully boastful. An account of an extension for Sea Cadets, to be opened to lads from age fourteen to eighteen. So now we are appealing to children to come in and fight! Last week it was the girls, who had to register, which is conscripting the women, what else? This damn war, this damn fool’s war!
The wireless talks and appeals make me sick. Persuading the people to keep up the fight, that’s all it is, our propaganda. For What? For Glory? For Freedom? For prestige? Or for money? Of course Hitler is a criminal scoundrel; but he’s not the only one. Why did the statesmen of Europe allow him to become so powerful? Why did they not check him at his first aggression? No, there were no statesmen in Europe; only blind bats. The armament makers of course. There is big money in war, for a few. If armaments were never expended, why then they would never be renewed, so dividends would cease. So, I suppose mankind will continue in its orgy of mutual destruction until the money comes to an end. When there is no money in war, war will stop. Until then, mutual destruction, mutual lunacy. Oh my God!
Why should we fight for those that would not fight for themselves? They deserve to lose their countries if they would not stand up for them. Are our boys to continue to die because the Belgians and the French threw down their arms? I can’t see it. Let the Germans have France since the French practically made them a present of it. Why not parley with Hitler? In the end settlements will have to be made; why not make them now before further horrors ensue? Jesus voiced the sense of the matter. He said: Go and make peace with your adversary quickly, whilst he is still in the way.
War is the wickedest sin and the greatest lunacy in the world. No matter who the victors are, can the dead return to life? Can the bereaved sustain their hearts and minds on the glory of their sacrificed men? What good does it do me if England “wins” if I am dead? If my sons are maimed or dead before their time? Oh what fools men are, with their wars and their incitements of wars! Oh God! Will they ever have sense?

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