Civilians in London have been hit hard in the past week. The afternoon and night of September 7 was an astonishing one for me and most other Londoners, particularly those living in the east of the city. The Germans sent over hundreds of planes in the first wave in the afternoon and then overnight, in successive attacks, bombarded the docks on the Thames and the working class districts around them: Bermondsey, Limehouse, Rotherhithe, Beckton, Poplar, Bow, Stepney, Whitechapel and Shoreditch.  I heard the crump of the explosions from my office.  Enormous firestorms raged across the East End and the fire-fighters could do nothing about them. Indeed, many of them were killed trying to tackle blazes that were out of control. Thick smoke shrouded the entire eastern part of the city and the next morning when the sun should have risen over London, there was instead just a vague glow through the terrible murk, a pale orb eclipsed by the smoke from countless smouldering ruins. More than 400 were killed. 1600 were injured. Thousands have been made homeless.

I followed Churchill to the City the following day and interviewed people who had seen what had happened. There were terrible stories and there have been many more since: direct hits on bomb shelters and hospitals; charred bodies being pulled from the remains of buildings and shelters, whole families wiped out in seconds. 400 more civilians were killed the following night. I was not prepared for the reality of how awful it would be, even though the numbers are actually less than what was feared in such a scenario.

The newspapers have been reporting the incorrigible spirit of the people facing up to these attacks with bravery and courage. And it’s true; they have. But there is also real terror as well. I share it. I’ve seen what these bombs can do.

I had planned to go to East Grinstead to write a major piece for the Chronicle on the remarkable work that is going on in the hospital there. But the enemy’s new aerial blitzkrieg on London has changed my plans. I still hope to go soon and write a story that needs to be written. The aircraftmen are needed more than ever to protect the people of this city from the indiscriminate bombs of outrageous fortune and those who are burned and injured defending their country deserve the best treatment there is. I also feel that the work of the doctors and nurses needs to be celebrated and is no less courageous than that of the fighting men.

Since the RAF Benevolent Fund launched an appeal on August 30 I gather that money has been pouring in. This is a good thing. Many of the pilots I saw at East Grinstead will need help in the future. Therefore, the RAFBF needs to be well-financed so that it can help to look after them and give them the independence that they deserve.

I got a letter from Mary Lawrence, the nurse that I met at East Grinstead. She asked me for a recommendation for a play to go and see at the theatre in London. I don’t have the time to go to the theatre, but I’m sure I can find out what’s good and what’s not, though I’m not sure it’s wise to come to London right now. I will write back to her. She seemed like a lovely lady but I think I’m rather too wedded to my writing and my bachelor lifestyle to consider a romantic attachment.

After all, now I’ve finished my novel, I need to work hard on getting it published. If this war ever finishes and someone asks me what I did in it, I’m not quite sure whether I could tell the truth. ‘I wrote a comic novel’, sounds more than inappropriate; it sounds obscene. But I hope that if I can make people laugh then I will have succeeded in doing something useful, for without laughter what hope is there for life?