Remember remember the 3rd of September

I’ve always been a history fanatic. Because of my dad and because I worked in a museum about weapons and armor, I’ve always had a keen interest in military history. But for some reason, World War II didn’t really interest me.

In September of 2001, I was living in London. Obviously, something pretty significant and horrific happened that month. Something that shifted my eyes away from castles and Victoriana to a history of London that still bleeds within the city.

I started noticing bombed out shells of churches that still stood years later. Memorials in the parks all over the city, adorned every November with a poppy wreath. And as I walked through Kensal Green Cemetery one Saturday, a white gravestone stood out beneath the autumn sun. It was for a couple killed by a German bomb.

I’ve heard many jingoistic citizens proudly declare that America won the second world war. Sure, we had the manpower that ultimately turned the tide of war. But what somehow escapes a lot of people is the recognition that Great Britain held their own for two years – or more if you figure it took us some time to train our soldiers after declaring ourselves part of the battle. They were bombed mercilessly by Hitler on their own territory. It wasn’t an isolated event like Pearl Harbor. It was constant and not just against the military. It was on houses and churches and civilians. London would never be the same again.

I remember going to the Imperial War Museum and sitting in their mock bomb shelter. It is kind of cheesy, especially when you are in there with a group of tourists and children. But the first experience I had was terrifying. They crammed a lot of us in this tiny space where we sat on benches squished together. Then the lights went out. The recorded noises began and got gradually louder and louder until the room shook. It was pretend, but still startled my nerves. Imagine if it was real.

This history latched onto my heart, more than any fascination with a jousting helm or – hell – even a verse of Shakespeare. Because it was more real to me than any other piece of history I’ve ever bothered to study. Perhaps that’s because the survivors are still here to remind us or because London hasn’t built over the scars of the Blitz. Or maybe because, as awful as it was, this war was necessary. It fought against an evil empire. A man that wanted to annihilate an entire human race and would attempt to annihilate anyone or any country that stood in his way.

I am awestruck not just by the soldiers but every single citizen of Great Britain who sacrificed something to fight against Germany. They gave up their jobs, their food, their cars, their luxuries, their homes… and many gave up their lives. And they carried on.