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In a human sense, for many Britons The Crisis was a nightmare of inequalities and inefficiencies. In one short street in Plymouth, shops showed these signs: "No Potatoes"; "No Logs"; "No Rabbits"; "No Fish"; "No Cigarettes."
Emanuel Shinwell's Fuel Ministry bureaus all over the country took a beating from hundreds of irate Britons whose businesses were squeezed in the hastily applied switchoffs.
Poultry farmers, listed as nonessential, screamed for power or fuel to save thousands of chicks.
In London there was a call from a crematorium. Said the voice: "I have one half-baked and two waiting to go in. Am I a priority for coal?" The Fuel Ministry pondered the question, called back with a decision: he was.
In Hammersmith, at the well-lighted "Palais de Danse," members of the National Coal Board solemnly stood before 2,000 jitterbugs and bobby-soxers and helped select a pretty, blonde "Coal Queen." They planned to wine, dine and publicize her in a campaign to recruit more miners.
Cheers & Boos. The people managed to work their stiff upper lips into smiles over some lighter incidents. Trade delegations arrived in London from Russia and Iceland, took up their negotiations by candlelight. Among the things they wanted was more coal from Britain. An Edinburgh restaurant orchestra, unable to read its scores in the near-darkness, played over & over a tune it knew: Keep the Home Fires Burning.
Amidst the drab suffering of the snow-grey week, Winston Churchill provided a happy and colorful note at Daughter Mary's wedding to Army Captain Christopher Soames in heatless, candlelit St. Margaret's Church in London. A crowd of about 3,000 shivering women and a few men gave him a long cheer and a "Good old Winnie" as he grinned and flashed the V sign. They mildly booed Guest Clement Attlee. Churchill made up for that. After the ceremony he strode to the Prime Minister, seized both his hands, then clapped him on the back, said to him: "We worked well together in the coalition; you come along and sign the register with me." Warmed and pleased, Attlee did.
Hope & Gloom. By week's end The Crisis seemed to have passed its peak of fever. Working around the clock, a force of about 100,000 British troops, German prisoners of war and Polish exile troops had cleared many snow-blocked rail lines. Gales abated and more than 100 coastal colliers fought heavy seas. Along the Thames and the Tyne came the electrifying sight of ice-coated ships unloading at power stations.
How long would Britain be flat on its back, in economic semicoma? This week the Government could give no better answer than "indefinitely." Fuel and factory experts figured that it may take two weeks after a thaw for the country to return to pre-Crisis normal. The effects of this emergency operation would be painfully felt for a long time. Loss of production in 1947, at the best guess, would be 10%. There was little hope that the country's limping export drive (TIME, Feb. 3) could regain much strength this year.