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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: 4-8-41 Yesterday afternoon, Sir Kingsly Wood presented his new budget to the House of Commons. It’s a terror. Income tax has been increased and it will be applied to the small incomes, which hitherto have been exempt from it. Income tax will start on all small per week incomes. This is terrific. This new, taxation of the smaller incomes, will not begin to operate until next January, but from now on people will find fewer goods available in the shops than there were last year.


April 8, 1941
Well, my impulsive shopping yesterday was an act of good judgment. My old subconscious must have had an acute and correct intuition about the coming scarcity of goods. Yesterday afternoon, Sir Kingsly Wood presented his new budget to the House of Commons. It’s a terror. Income tax has been increased and it will be applied to the small incomes, which hitherto have been exempt from it. Income tax will start on all small per week incomes. This is terrific. This new, taxation of the smaller incomes, will not begin to operate until next January, but from now on people will find fewer goods available in the shops than there were last year. The idea is, compulsory saving, because there is going to be nothing to buy. It is some scheme for avoiding inflation. Well, for some time there has been precious little to buy. The wonder is how the small shopkeepers keep going at all. Shop windows are practically empty, and when you get inside the shops, so are their shelves. How there can be much less I’m sure I don’t know. For months there has been no choice in buying; you had to take what the shopkeeper had, or else go without.
April 9, 1941
Ever since the government stated that there would be no Good Friday holiday this year, a great fuss has been made about it. Yesterday the subject was taken up in The Lords. The Marques of Salisbury asked whether the attention of the present government had been called to the anxiety felt by a large section of opinion in the country by the suggested want of observance of Good Friday in the present week. He said that for centuries Good Friday had been set apart as almost the most sacred day in the year, and the practice had been universal that it should have due respect. He recognized that exigencies of the present were such that desirable practices should be intermitted for essential war work. He was sorry that it appeared in the public press that Easter Monday was to be set apart for holiday making in the circumstances.
It did seem strange that as between the two days, the modern Easter Monday shall be selected for the holiday and that all religious observance on Good Friday shall be treated as of less account. He was told that even the stock exchange was to be open on Good Friday.
Lord Moyne replied that the government could not possibly approve of the normal and traditional arrangements for the Easter holidays. It was only intended that the government’s advice should be applied to war services. The government was naturally anxious to get as much interruption for purposes of recreation and rest from the normal hard work of war production as was consistent with output, and which would not mean any slackening of the war effect. It was found that both Good Friday and Easter Monday could not be afforded as holidays. There were good reasons for the government, on industrial grounds, choosing Easter Monday, as they could not afford both days. It was better to get the longest possible break rather than have two breaks; one on Good Friday and one on Sunday with work in between. There was no objection to any class of retail shop closing partially or completely. It was not unpatriotic to close on Good Friday provided that was not in any way going to interfere with war output.
This is very practical. What I want to note is that for as long as I can remember in England, Good Friday has never been observed religiously, except by the few devout Church people. Chapel people never paid the slightest attention to it, and even among the Church people, only the pious. The Easter holidays represented overwhelmingly the first holiday of the New Year, the spring holidays. Everyone who could went away for a long break, and it was a favorite time for weddings for the working classes, just because it gave the longest break in the year. We were Church, but we never bothered to go to church on Good Fridays. Once, when I was a child, staying with Grandma Side at Neasden, Auntie May took me to the Three Hours, but Grandma didn’t bother to go. So, for people to make a fuss about losing the day on religious grounds is hypocritical. After all, everybody can remember the significance of the day if they want to. Nobody is prevented praying at any hour, and it has been pointed out, that even in the factories arrangements can be made for those who wish to go to church.
One factory manager has written to the Times to say: “I have issued the following notice to the factory with which I am concerned: Those who wish to absent themselves for one hour in order to be present at part of the Three Hours Service may do so by arrangement with their foreman and forewomen.”
Of course, but not many will. People don’t want Good Friday to go to church, but to go to Blackpool, or South End, or the football game. Ted says people don’t know what Good Friday means. Of course they don’t. Nor did they forty years ago, so why make a fuss about it now?
Last night’s raids were again concentrated on Coventry. At the first Coventry assault the Germans boasted that it was the very greatest air attack ever yet launched on any city anywhere. Today’s one o’clock news stated that last night’s attack was nearly as heavy as the first attack, and the extent of the casualties is not yet known. Poor Coventry. These last two nights have again been noisy with us. The raiding began around eleven p.m. on Monday, which was the first night alarm London had had for eighteen nights; quite a long spell of comparative peace.
It is a full moon on Friday, so for the rest of this week, and all next, we may expect trouble. The fighting in the Balkans is fierce and serious; the Germans pressing well in, already broken into the Varda Valley, though the Yugoslav’s have entered Sentari. It will take a few days, they say, before we can tell what is really happening in the Balkans. To me, a mere woman, it sounds as though the Germans are the main victors. My God! The Germans! Will the world ever forgive them?
April 10, 1941
I feel sick. I am not ill; it is simply the events. I have just been reading through today’s Times, and it is the news that makes me sick. This devilish war. The Germans are in Salonika. We are in Massawa. Belgrade, though declared an open city, has been destroyed from the air, worse than Rotterdam. It is true: the Germans must be vanquished, but oh, the cost! Last night was a bad night for me, though nothing fell here in Romford. The first alert went soon after eleven p.m.; the first guns were heard just after midnight. Another alert went at two forty a.m. but the guns sounded further off. Ted seemed to be sleeping most of the time, but I lay in the dark uncontrollably trembling, and with a most awful sick feeling at the pit of my stomach. I could neither weep nor pray; I could only endure through my fear. It is horrible. I have had no real sleep since Sunday so I’m awfully tired. Most of the bombing has been in the Midlands. Last night, they say, we brought down ten bombers, making thirteen altogether during the last twenty-four hours. My God! There goes the alarm again. Just 11 a.m.
April 12, 1941
Well, I shan’t go to mass tomorrow, Easter or no Easter. Nothing will induce me to sit through a church service until the war is over. Too many churches get bombed. Moreover, I expect Hitler is saving up something special for Easter Sunday. Monday is to be observed as a holiday, though yesterday was not observed as such.
Mary Bernadette came in at teatime. She has been in town working all day. She came to tell me Mrs. Jude is returning home May Third. She has had enough of Belfast. Belfast has had a bad bombing recently, so what’s the use of evacuating? Hitler bombs anywhere and everywhere. I’m hoping Ted brings me in a good book for the weekend. I am in the mood for reading and nothing else.
Easter Sunday, April 13, 1941
I pray for patience. I resolve my will for patience. To keep serene, to keep serene, that is my first desire, my deepest intention. Not only in my personal conflict with Ted, but in my contact with this awful world, this frightful war. From early childhood when I suffered continually from my mother’s violence and vehemence, for me the fairest and dearest virtue has always been serenity. Serenity. The very word itself is beautiful to me. God, keep me serene!
Easter Monday, April 14, 1941
Here I close up this book with today’s account in the Times of the Pope’s yesterday Easter broadcast. In effect, he has simply said to the axis powers, the German’s, and his own Italians, don’t hurt those you have conquered too much! There is not one word of reproof for the savageries committed daily, not one word against war, not one word. Is the Pope merely a quisling? There have been no big raids during this weekend, but only spasmodic bombings here and there. Rows of small houses have been knocked down, and people killed, but not in the thousands, as expected might happen. Here at home we have had a nice day. We had some young people in: Mary Bernadette and her fiancĂ©, Hugh Storr-Best; and Doris Pell, the little librarian. I had not seen Doris for a couple of years, or perhaps three. She is now twenty-three, but she gave me a disagreeable start to notice how even she was aging. She is no longer the radiant blond child I used to chat with in the library. She has become the tired businesswoman, all her color drained and with definitely a spinsterish air. She is only twenty-three.

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