Reflecting on the reports from Syria evokes memories of my childhood, particularly the sight of children being separated from their homes.
The ravaged homes, the cold-hearted caretakers, and the clinical extraction of individuals from their towns and cities. Observing the responses of children to the bombings reveals their near-indifference toward the sounds of explosions. This has become their routine existence.
During my childhood in London, I am sure you are familiar with the Blitz, which occurred in the winter of 1940/1941.
When Hitler failed to conquer the Spitfires and Hurricanes, he resorted to bombing London. This began in the Autumn of 1940, and by Christmas, the bombing had intensified. On New Year’s Eve and the first day of 1941, London’s center was engulfed in flames. The water available was insufficient to extinguish the fires, requiring hoses to be plunged into the Thames to pump out water for firefighting.
Most able-bodied men had already joined the armed services. The London fire brigade consisted of regulars alongside volunteers. Many courageous men and women perished during the London bombings, but even more tragic were the countless firefighters who, after the war, couldn’t bring themselves to share their harrowing experiences.
Another group, known as the heavy brigade, was tasked with dismantling wrecked buildings, searching for survivors, and retrieving the deceased. Surviving a bombing often meant having nothing left but the clothes on your back. You reported to a ministry where you were given vouchers for essentials like clothing and food. If any of your furniture remained intact, it would be taken to warehouses, stacked on the floor, with a white line drawn around your belongings.
Upon searching for new accommodations and returning to the warehouse, you would find your belongings rummaged and rendered useless.
Social Workers were randomly selected, just like everyone else, distinguishing between the compassionate and the apathetic. When we met these social workers the day after a bombing, their first words were often, “your mother’s critical, and your sister’s dead” – a burden that weighed heavily on them as well.
Witnessing the dire circumstances in Syria floods back all these recollections. It’s immensely challenging to provide food, clothing, and shelter for the countless homeless in Syria—particularly with the ongoing threat of falling bombs complicating medical care for the injured.
Back to London and the narratives of the Blitz. Although the Blitz itself lasted a relatively short period (about 8 months… long enough), London endured continuous bombardment for five years. Even in the final month of the war in 1945, a V2 bomb devastated south London, claiming hundreds of innocent lives.
While the Germans could not maintain an extensive aerial bombing campaign against London, they successfully deployed flying bombs throughout the war.
In most London homes, bomb shelters were a standard feature; however, as the war dragged on, the populace began to disregard the sirens, choosing instead to stay warm by the fire and listen to the radio—much like the children in Syria who have grown accustomed to the sounds of conflict.
On weekends, my family and I preferred visiting the local cinema to watch new Hollywood films, often ignoring the blaring air raid sirens.
In 1944, the high street was filled with tanks, armored vehicles, and trucks. Soldiers from various nations could be seen in local pubs, all heading south toward the coast.
Most days, I traversed the school route by climbing over bomb sites, unearthing thrilling discoveries: water tanks, sinks, taps, couches, lamps, tables, and desks… it was an exhilarating time for a young boy.
A period of frustration marked the lives of adults. A commute that typically requires thirty minutes could extend to three hours. The return journey often entailed a lengthy walk in darkness, where any glimpse of light would earn a sharp reprimand: ‘Put that light out.’
We were fortunate to reside near an underground station, where the tube trains operated throughout the war, rarely hindered by bombing incidents.
Both men and women were expected to contribute on the home front. My father worked daily from six in the morning until six in the evening, followed by his night shift manning the large guns in the local park. As a member of the home guard, he would observe the V1s descending on London.
The V2s, however, were invisible—there was no way to stop them.
This situation echoes the plight of those in Syria, who also find themselves powerless against the bombs.
In August 1944, we suffered an attack from a Doodlebug.
This experience allows me to empathize with the people of Syria, feeling both compassion for their struggles and anger towards the Russians and Assad for prioritizing political agendas over humanitarian concerns.
During Christmas, Tiny Tim proclaimed, ‘God bless us all, everyone’—yet, I believe achieving peace in Syria will require more than divine blessings.
by Professor P.T. Brown
