What the Luftwaffe and the submarines had failed to do, the coal shortage did this week. A large part of British industry shut down and the economic life of the country seemed to be jolting to a halt.
The crisis came almost without warning. For months Fuel Minister Emanuel Shinwell had been making alternately alarming and reassuring statements about the fuel supply. When he rose last week in the House of Commons, it was not to discuss prospects in the dim & distant future, but to state the stunning fact that industry in London and a large part of England and in Wales would have to shut down; that shops, buildings, hotels could have no electric power for five daylight hours a day; that domestic users of electricity could also have none in those hours. Only "essential" services would be supplied.
The blow came during the worst spell of winter within the memory of most Britons. Drifting snow had cut many important rail lines; many roads were blocked. Machinery at some mines was frozen over. The gap between Britain's long-dwindling coal production and consumption had thinned to the point of immediate disaster to Britain's export program and threat to her entire economy.
Dunkirk? This week, as Shinwell's order went into effect, Britain was a nation of confused, angry, alarmed people. Half of Britain's industry—most of her motor factories, machine shops, textile mills—was shut down. About 4,000,000 people were thrown out of work. By candlelight, thousands applied for the dole. Shares on London's stock exchange slumped as traders talked about "an industrial Dunkirk." Many towns were without electricity. Housewives queued up for runs on candles and kerosene. Women & children dragged bags of coal from railroad yards (see cut).
In London, on a grey day that set the mood for gloom, there was brazen disregard of the blackout in many stores and homes. The great grey pile of Buckingham Palace showed a few lights. In about half of the grimy little shops on Soho's back streets the lights were full on for everybody to see. But along majestic Regent Street soft, flickering candlelight illumined windows. Silversmiths and jewelers put their best Georgian candlesticks to use, but most of them took small items off the counters in fear of shoplifters in the semidarkness. Most of London's West End department stores were open, but there were few customers.
Woolworth's fell back on a few gas lamps which had never been removed—but now gas pressure was low, because many Londoners turned up the gas for heat. Dickins & Jones's big store was almost empty. It had one dissatisfied customer, who tried hard in the dark to distinguish between silk and linen materials. She muttered: "Drat this! I thought we'd finished with blackouts." In Fortnum & Mason's flower department a girl clerk said crossly: "I wish people wouldn't be so goodhearted about it all ... then maybe something could be done."
Faint Hearts? The Government's orders had been confusing and many Londoners were unable to figure out whether their lights were supposed to be on or off. Switches could not be pulled on nonessential users of power without pulling them also on essential hospitals, dairies, refrigeration plants and the like.