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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: 7-2-41 Since Germany attacked Russia we have had quieter nights in England.

June 27, 1941
My new room looked so nice and inviting last night that I nearly went up there to sleep, but didn’t. A good thing too, because soon after one a.m., flashes and heavy gunfire awakened me, and this was twenty minutes or so before the alarm was sounded. Ted, of course, who had gone to bed in the front room, had to come down here to his sofa. He fell asleep again at once, but I cannot sleep during a raid. Whilst it was going on I thought of another good reason for the change around upstairs; it has removed a lot of heavy stuff from the room immediately above this one where we sleep. Most people have removed all heavy furniture from upper rooms above the downstairs sleeping apartment, so that there is less to fall upon you if your house receives a direct hit. When the Peel’s house was destroyed Mary Bernadette had an escape from certain death. Had she remained for the night with the Peel’s, as they wanted her to do, she would have been crushed to death because the divan on which she would have been sleeping was buried by the ceiling falling upon it, and a huge wardrobe which was standing on the floor immediately above. So here with us, the room alone contained a bed, two wardrobes, one big desk, and two large trunks, filled with the boys’ books..
July 2, 1941
Last night I slept upstairs in my bed. This is the first time since last August. It was delicious to get between the sheets and stretch out in a real bed. Since Germany attacked Russia we have had quieter nights in England. Ted has been sleeping upstairs for about a month, but I have had to call him down on several occasions, when the guns began. However, we have had quiet nights now for a week, so I decided to try it upstairs myself. It was bliss to sleep in a bed again. Ted came to my bed, too. So, I am happy and serene again, for a while anyhow.
We were surprised this morning by the news of the transference of Sir Archibald Wavell to India. We think this is ominous. It looks as though our government expects the Germans to take the Ukraine, and smash through there and attack us in India. Perhaps. There is continuous and fierce day and night fighting all along the Russian-German border. The accounts of losses and gains, from both sides, are prodigious. We believe neither side, but it does look as though the Germans are penetrating into Russia, and Hitler, as usual, is winning. It is truly awful. What next? Supposing Hitler does beat Russia, then what? He will have won the world, for not even America could then stand up against him. We should be doomed, that’s certain. Meanwhile the carnage continues.
July 5, 1941
Feeling fine. I have been sleeping upstairs in my bed ever since the first, and feel a different woman for it. I have also been out every day, which has done me heaps of good, I am sure. The weather is good too, summery, but not too hot for comfort. I have also had many visitors, who keep me from too much introspection; so that’s good too.
The war continues to get worse and worse. Today the Russians have claimed to kill seven hundred thousand Germans in White Russia alone. The Germans have claimed to have killed five hundred thousand Russians, and taken two hundred thousand Russian prisoners. I don’t know who counts but presumably the losses on both sides are enormous. The Germans continue their advance. The Russians continue their retreat. The R.A.F. is now bombing Germany in daylight every day. The Italians in Abyssinia are nearly finished, but in Libya the fighting continues and also in Syria. The Vichy French do not quit. The Turks continue to sit on the fence. Last night Roosevelt gave a small broadcast “for freedom.”
Our supplies diminish markedly. Myrtle Arch told me this morning that the queues of shoppers in Romford this morning were the worst yet, and there isn’t a potato in town. People quarrel about food, and about the waiting. In Wallis this morning Mrs. Thompson saw a man and woman come almost to violence over a quarter pound of bacon. The man refused to wait another turn. The woman shoved him and abused him. The man swore at her. He said, “I work twelve hours a day seven days a week. I get only three hours of sleep a night, and I’m damned if I am going to wait about hours for my rations. You can wait, you’ve got all day.”
The woman said, “I’ve got my kids waiting for me, and who the hell do you think you are, anyhow? Just because you’re a man! Think the world can’t get on without you, don’t you? Think you’re winning the war, don’t you? Well, let me tell you, the women are in this war just as much as you are, and you can damn well wait for your rations the same as the rest of us.”
Food is scarce and very dear, and rationing severe. There is a great food ramp going on. As soon as prices are coded, food disappears. Someone is making money. There are frequent scandals, and the bureaucrats are smothering us. New ministries are instituted nearly every week, and with every Board of Control, muddle is increased and prices are increased and supplies become extinguished. There is far too much government control, most of it only gumming the works. This wonderful land of liberty is snowed under continuous official forms, and harassed and annoyed by the ever-increasing army of ineffective petty clerks. War! They say, but most of it is just plain stupidity.
This isn’t what I wanted to write about. All this will be in the war books, and let it molder there with all the other items of the greedy and stupid and beastly record.
I sat down to note I was feeling fine, and why. I am.  I’m feeling simply splendid. Of course if Gerry comes and bombs London again tonight I shan’t feel so good. Meanwhile, he is giving us a rest whilst he gives the Russians a deviling, so we’ll take our happy ease whilst we can.

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