Brilliant_ The Evolution of Artificial Light - Jane Brox [90]
To cut the main power supply, it was argued, would be such a severe burden on the populace that the British government's first plans involved darkening the city by other means. It was imagined that those in charge of public lighting might keep large staffs on standby who were prepared go through the neighborhoods removing bulbs from streetlamps one by one. Within a single district of London, this could take six hours. (Ultimately, almost all streetlights would be darkened for the duration of the war.) Factories and industrial complexes not only would have to screen windows and eliminate external lights, but they also would have to contend with the glow from the fires in clay works and glassworks, the fires in blast furnaces and coke ovens, and the burning slag heaps. Those in the steel industry estimated that it would take three years to screen their furnaces and that the cost of dealing with coke ovens alone would cost £300,000. Shops and stores would have their hours of business restricted and would not be allowed to illuminate their signs or their plate glass windows. Cinemas and theaters would not only have to darken their marquees; they would have to close: large gatherings, officials feared, would offer bombers an effective target. Churches and cathedrals—built for the glory of light—found it almost impossible to obscure their windows, so they planned to hold their evening services in the afternoon.
Railroad officials confronted ways to cut the light in marshaling yards and in the interiors of trains, to eliminate the arcing of electric trains, and to hide signal and train lights. Headlights on ambulances, trucks, and buses were to be masked down to thin horizontal slits. Civilian cars were to have no light at all, and Britons would depend on white paint on curbs and at intersections to guide them as they drove at night. As for pedestrians, there were to be no flashlights; they would not be allowed even a match to see by. To find their way into their own homes after dark, citizens would have to dab some white paint on the doorknob or bell. Without a moon, for all the brilliance of the winter stars—which would become visible over London as they hadn't been for centuries—they wouldn't be able to see their own hands in front of their faces.
Householders would have to cover their windows with black paint, oilcloth, or blinds made of thick black paper, which would have to be sealed to the window frame—not a sliver of light could leak out. The fines for violations would be stiff, the enforcement rigid.
When the first real blackout was ordered in September 1939 and all these measures went into effect, many people slept with their jewelry and money, a flashlight, and a first-aid kit on a chair by the bed. In addition to covering their windows, the more conscientious taped the glass in hopes of protecting it from shattering and made a room for refuge in the basement, with a strong table to hide under, mattresses, blankets, food, water, candles, and books and cards to pass the time.
To those who ventured into the streets during the blackout, the night world was a wilderness. Not only did they bump into newly placed piles of sandbags and barricades, into barbed wire and machine gun emplacements, but they also walked into familiar walls and trees, into canals, off railway platforms, and into each other. Bus conductors couldn't tell the copper coins from the silver. People didn't always know their own roads or recognize their own houses. Familiars passed each other on the street and traveled next to each other