BlitzSpirit: Did the pandemic truly revive the spirit of 1940, or was it a comforting illusion?
The photo felt almost eerily familiar. A street, quiet. Empty. A doctor or nurse, visor fogged, walking home late at night. Not London in 1941, but a small town in Hampshire in April 2020. Throughout the COVID-19 pandemic, comparisons to the Blitz were everywhere. News anchors invoked it. Politicians used it. Social media was awash with the phrase, a call to collective resilience dusted off for a new crisis. But was it a genuine resurgence of that famous ‘Blitz Spirit’, or something else entirely – a neat, nostalgic framing for a very different kind of war?
Remembering the Real Blitz
The Blitz, of course, wasn’t a single event. From September 1940 to May 1941, German bombing raids rained down on British cities, aiming to shatter morale and cripple infrastructure. London bore the brunt, but Coventry, Liverpool, Belfast, and countless other towns and cities suffered devastating attacks. Over 40,000 civilians were killed, and millions were left homeless.
Yet, amid the destruction, something remarkable did happen. Communities pulled together. Neighbours helped neighbours, sharing Anderson shelters, offering cups of tea, and simply providing a comforting presence. Makeshift hospitals sprang up in underground stations. ARP wardens – ordinary people volunteering to protect their communities – became symbols of quiet heroism. The BBC played a pivotal role, broadcasting vital information but also using humour to boost spirits.
However, it wasn’t a utopia of unified resolve. There was fear, panic, and looting. Class divisions persisted. Evacuations caused immense disruption and emotional trauma. The ‘Blitz Spirit’ wasn’t born in the bombing, but despite it; a conscious effort to maintain social order and hope in the face of unimaginable horror. Critically, it was a collective response to a visible enemy and a defined threat.
A Pandemic is Not a War
The initial comparisons to the Blitz in March 2020 were understandable. Both involved widespread fear, disruption to daily life, and a feeling of national crisis. We saw similar acts of kindness – communities rallying to support vulnerable neighbours, the NHS facing an overwhelming tide, and a nascent sense of collective purpose. ‘Clap for Carers’ became a weekly ritual, echoing the shared experience of anxiety and gratitude. Mutual aid groups sprung up rapidly, mirroring the wartime community spirit.
But the differences are crucial. COVID-19 was an invisible enemy. The threat wasn’t falling from the sky; it was amongst us, spreading silently. This fostered a different kind of fear – one often tinged with suspicion and paranoia. Lockdowns, while necessary, bred isolation and loneliness, unlike the communal shelter experience of the Blitz. The enemy wasn’t a foreign power, but a virus, demanding individual behavioural change, not collective resistance against an external force.
Furthermore, the ‘Blitz Spirit’ narrative frequently glossed over the complexities of wartime Britain. It overlooked the rationing, the restrictions on freedom, the sheer exhaustion and grief. The pandemic, in many ways, also highlighted existing inequalities. Those with pre-existing health conditions, poorer housing, or insecure employment bore the brunt of the crisis. The rhetoric of ‘all being in it together’ rang hollow for many.
A Selective Memory?
Why the rush to invoke the Blitz? Part of the answer lies in a deeply ingrained British cultural need for a comforting narrative of national resilience. The ‘Blitz Spirit’ is a potent myth, offering a readily available shorthand for facing adversity. It allows us to look back at a perceived ‘golden age’ of unity and purpose.
But there’s a danger in selectively remembering history. The romanticised version of the Blitz can downplay the hardship, the divisions, and the enduring psychological impact of the bombing. Using it as a benchmark can also create an unrealistic expectation of collective behaviour, potentially masking societal fractures and adding pressure to individuals already struggling. The invocation offered politicians a way to command national unity, naturally, but it’s worth questioning whether this was at the expense of acknowledging the new and complex challenges presented by the pandemic.
Why It Matters Today
The lessons of both the Blitz and the pandemic aren’t about replicating a specific ‘spirit’, but about learning from how communities function under pressure. Genuine resilience isn’t about stoicism or stiff upper lips. It’s about acknowledging fear, seeking help, and supporting each other. The surge in mutual aid during lockdowns proved that the impulse to help neighbours is still strong; and demonstrates that communities can organize quickly and effectively when given the space to do so. Strengthening local support networks—and investing in public services—is perhaps a more honest tribute to the ‘spirit’ of 1940 than simply invoking the phrase.
Perhaps the pandemic has reminded us that the true legacy of the Blitz isn’t a single, monolithic emotion, but the messy, complicated, and ultimately hopeful story of people helping people in the face of overwhelming odds. It’s a story worth remembering—and building upon—today.
Sources / further reading:
* Imperial War Museums: [https://www.iwm.org.uk/history/the-blitz](https://www.iwm.org.uk/history/the-blitz)
* The National Archives: [https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/resources/the-blitz](https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/resources/the-blitz)
* BBC History: [https://www.bbc.co.uk/history/ww2/blitz/](https://www.bbc.co.uk/history/ww2/blitz/)