BlitzSpirit: From Wartime Austerity to Today’s Ticketed Events – What Does the Queue Tell Us?
The fog hung thick over London in December 1940, tasting of coal smoke and fear. But even amidst the Blitz, life found a way to… organize itself. Reports from the time don’t dwell on heroism as much as they catalogue a peculiar British habit: queuing. Not for buses, not for rations necessarily, but simply to queue. To be in the queue was reassurance; proof that order – and therefore, a semblance of control – remained. It seems absurd now, to willingly join a long, slow-moving line when not strictly necessary. But this instinct, deeply woven into the national character, speaks to something far more profound than mere politeness.
The Hardware of Hope: Rationing and the Queue
The Second World War solidified queueing as a national pastime. Wartime austerity demanded it. Resources were scarce, and rationing dictated who got what, and when. But the queue wasn’t merely a necessary evil; it became a social glue. Communities formed around these patiently-observed lines. Neighbours chatted, shared information (a rumour of extra oranges, perhaps), and offered each other small comforts. It wasn’t just about bread or petrol. Queues formed for Anderson shelters, for places on evacuation trains, even just to hear news updates broadcast from a shop window.
The government encouraged this orderliness. “Queue Watchers” – volunteers who maintained decorum and prevented pushing – became familiar figures. The BBC actively promoted the virtue of “fair shares” and the indignity of jumping the line. This wasn’t simply about logistics; it was about morale. Queueing, in its slow, deliberate manner, was a demonstration of national unity, a visual representation of ‘we’re all in this together’. It wasn’t glamorous. It was often cold, damp, and frustrating. But refusing to succumb to chaos, even in the face of relentless bombing, was seen as a crucial act of resistance.
Beyond Hardship: The Enduring British Line
Even as rationing ended and prosperity returned, the habit persisted. Consider the annual Boxing Day sales. Or the lines snaking around concert venues hours before doors open. And more recently, the extraordinary queues for the Queen’s lying-in-state, stretching for miles along the Thames. These aren’t born of deprivation. They are, arguably, a modern manifestation of that wartime impulse – a desire for shared experience, a sense of belonging, and a reaffirmation of unspoken rules.
There’s a sociological argument to be made that queueing provides a bizarre form of democratic equality. For a time, everyone is subjected to the same conditions – the discomfort, the boredom, the anticipation. Status and wealth are temporarily irrelevant. It’s a levelling experience. Though, it’s also true that a certain British deference often leaves those who could push to the front politely remaining at the back.
However, it’s important not to romanticize. The modern queue can also become a site of frustration, particularly when the perceived fairness feels compromised—inflated ticket prices, VIP fast-track passes—or when lines are aggressively managed. The impulse towards order can quickly curdle into resentment.
Why It Matters Today
In an age of instant gratification and digital convenience, the queue feels increasingly anachronistic. Yet, its persistence suggests something enduring about the British character. The pandemic, in its own way, brought queueing back into sharp focus. Outside supermarkets, pharmacies, and vaccination centres, lines formed – a visual reminder of collective vulnerability and the need for shared responsibility. Perhaps the instinct isn’t solely about politeness, but about a fundamental need for order, for a sense of collective purpose, and for demonstrating solidarity in the face of uncertainty.
The queues of today, like those of the past, offer a fleeting glimpse into the social fabric of the nation, revealing our anxieties, our hopes, and our surprisingly deep-rooted commitment to, well, waiting our turn. It’s a quiet act of collective resilience, and one that continues to shape our understanding of what it means to be British.
Ultimately, the queue isn’t about getting something; it’s about the experience while waiting. It’s about being part of something larger than yourself.
Sources / Further reading:
* Block, D. (2018). A Companion to the British and American Blitz. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
* Calder, A. (1969). The People’s War: Britain 1939-1945. London: Jonathan Cape.
