Boost Mobile Advertiser (11:29)

At the first sign, he'd get the

Narrator/Commentator (11:31)

whole family down the shelters right away. So that's more hopeless naivety. From Hilda and Jim, we know that Beryl and Ron, that's their son and their granddaughter who's only a baby, they live in London. So if they indeed got home before the bomb, then that's surely a death sentence. But we know that Ron knew this at the beginning of the film. In the days of tension, before the bomb dropped, we saw Jim on the phone to his son, seeking his advice on the civil defense booklets and how to measure angles. And we heard Ron laughing at his dad down the phone, laughing at his dad's naivety that some doors nailed to the wall might protect him from a thermonuclear explosion. And then we know that Ron starts to sing the famous Tom Lehrer song. We'll all go together when we go. So this tells us that Ron is clear eyes about his eventual fate should the Bomb drop. He knows what the bomb is, what it can do and what it means for people living in a target area like London. And he responds with black humour and a cynical song. As for Ron's London home, we don't know precisely where it is in the capital, but this is the 80s, when young married couples could still hope to set up home in London without being zillionaires. So maybe they have a nice terraced house in one of the areas mentioned in Mick Jackson's documentary, A Guide To Armageddon. I assume you've all seen it. If you haven't, it's on YouTube. So maybe they live in Finsbury Park. Mick Jackson's documentary asks what the bomb would do to the home of a young couple living in Finsbury Park. So let's imagine this is Ron and Beryl's house. Here's a clip.

Boost Mobile Advertiser (13:32)

The immediate effect of even a single weapon are awesome. What can city dwellers do to protect themselves? We shall look firstly at the options open to a couple living in the North London suburb of Finsbury Park. Their street is between three and four miles from St. Paul's mainly Edwardian terraced houses. Joy and Eric live at the southern end. He's a musician. She works for a bank. What could they do for protection? The Home Office published this pamphlet, Protect and survive, in May 1980. Most of the booklet tells you how to shelter from the fallout that may follow an attack. There's little on how to deal with the immediate effects. The remaining advice is how to shield an inner room from fallout and how to build a refuge within that room. These preparations took all day. There was a problem in finding enough heavy materials for the necessary shielding. There was no advice on blast protection. How would they survive at three and a quarter miles? As far as heat is concerned, quite well. Although the paint on the windows will burn, the whitewash keeps 80% of the heat out. There may be fires in unprotected houses nearby, but Joy and Eric should survive at least for 17 seconds.

Narrator/Commentator (15:04)

At least for 17 seconds. So the strong implication is that Ron and Beryl are gone. Maybe they survived for 17 seconds. If they'd stayed with Mum and Dad out in the country, then they might still be alive. They probably would, in fact. But then you have to ask who's better off? Ron and Beryl, who perhaps only had to endure 17 seconds of hell, or Jim and Hilda, who are going out the slow, hideous way. I would rather have been in that Edwardian terrace in Finsbury Park.

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Narrator/Commentator (17:23)

At this point, Hilda, shuffling and struggling, manages to slowly haul herself up off her cushions on the floor. She clutches the arm of the sofa next to her and pulls herself up into a sitting position. Every movement looks like agony. Certainly she looks awful. Shadowed eyes, cheekbones jutting, her hair usually tucked under her neat white cap, is now loose and straggly, and her stockings are all wrinkled and saggy now. She can't help the physical symptoms of radiation sickness, of course, but you just know that an otherwise healthy Hilda would simply never have allowed herself to be up and about without her hair neatly in her cap and her stockings immaculate. Saggy, wrinkled stockings are the classic sign of being, as the old word had it, a slattern. You don't hear that word much anymore, but it means a woman who is untidy, a bit of a slob, bit grubby, the type who, like me, would let the dishes pile up in the sink. Maybe the equivalent these days would be those people who go to Asda in their pajamas. But yes, the saggy, wrinkled stockings and the loose, straggling hair would be inconceivable for Hilda in normal times. As she struggles to sit up, she notices her bare and exposed knees and she sees that her legs are speckled with red sores. So what is causing these sores? Let's turn to the BMA's book, the Medical Effects of Nuclear War. It reminds us that at the extremes of life, sensitivity to radiation is increased. So by extremes of life, I assume they do mean babies and young children and the elderly. And indeed, we see that in threads. When the captions tell us that the very young and very old have disappeared from Britain, they are the ones most susceptible. The book goes on to say that erythema, if I'm pronouncing that properly, erythema may be present. This would seem to be what Hilda is experiencing, that is, bright red patches on the skin, classic sign of radiation sickness. And this may progress. The book tells us if the radiation dose was high enough and if the patient lives long enough for it to occur, to blisters, scaling and ulcers on skin. And back in 2019, I interviewed for the Guardian some of the crew who were making HBO's Chernobyl drama. And one of my interviewees was the head of makeup and prosthetics. And he told me what he'd had to learn about what radiation does to the body so he could try, of course, to recreate it, its horrible effects for the drama. He told me, you melt. The only way you can really describe it is putting salt on a slug. Tissue is breaking down, skin just slips off. It'll just go. One day, you move your arm and the skin will fall off. And he added, it's the worst way to die beyond anything you can imagine. The most horrible way to die. I think it's the worst in line with medieval torture. And of course, what makes it particularly atrocious is that the victims were denied pain relief. He says, in the latter stages of radiation sickness, you cannot inject morphine because the walls of the veins are breaking down. So that's what we're seeing here. Hilda's skin is starting to degrade, swords are starting to appear and soon they will weep and blisters and ulcers will erupt. She is disintegrating from the inside out. But of course, trusty old Jim is on hand to wave her worries away. He rolls up his sleeve. Look, there's Plenty of spots on my legs. Various veins, that's what that is. As a common complaint amongst the middle aged segment of the populace. Oh, that's nothing to worry about. They don't look like veins to me. I don't like the look of it. Oh. Oh, you are a baby. You're a born warrior, you are, you know. Now you just. Just try and look on the bright side, eh, dad?

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Narrator/Commentator (22:27)

I've even got funny blotches on my skin. See, I'm a man. Jim's solution, as ever, is to pop down to the chemist in the morning. That's always his hope. Tomorrow it'll be different. Tomorrow it'll be better. Tomorrow I'll go to the shops tomorrow I'll get what we need. Tomorrow the emergency services will come. Tomorrow help will arrive. And what's heartbreaking here is that Hilda is asking for so little. All she wants from the chemist is some lotion for her sore skin and perhaps some throat lozenges. As they mumble together about throat lozenges, Hilda lies back on her cushions and Jim nudges himself painfully down onto the floor. And he huddles at the foot of Hilda's makeshift bed. Although he's in a bad way, he's opting to curl up and sleep on the floor. Doing so, he looks like a faithful dog guarding his mistress because he's lying curled up at Hilda's feet. But the fact that he's doing this also suggests that maybe he is in such pain deep inside, in his bones, disintegrating from the inside. Remember that he simply cannot get comfortable lying on the sofa, lying anywhere. So yes, why not try the firm surface of the carpet? And as they both lie here, neither are under the blankets. So have they discarded them because they both feel hot and feverish? Certainly we could expect high fever to be present in the latter stages of radiation sickness, coming along with infections, bleeding and bruising and hair loss. All the classic signs of dreadful radiation sickness. All the horrors are now upon them. Or as Shakespeare says, hell is empty and all the devils are here. And then we get a hint and it's very disturbing that Jim knows just how bad things are. Jim is always cheerful and optimistic and chipper, often maddeningly so. But then perhaps that dogged cheerfulness began to look like stubbornness, maybe, or some kind of denial. Either way, he's always been ready to wave Hilda's fears away. It's never as bad as we think, dear. Help is on the way, dear. I'll get to the shops tomorrow, dear. But now he says something which suggests he's finally run out of cheer. He's finally seen reality. Hilda would like throat lozenges from the chemist and some skin lotion. Yes, dear, says Jim, and I wonder if they'll be able to sell us some morphine. Morphine, the drug used to kill the worst of pain. The drug used often end of life care. The serious drug far beyond what he might normally pick up at the chemist for aches and pains, far beyond paracetamol or ibuprofen or a lemcip or an Alka seltzer. Jim is now thinking of morphine. But even then he just can't help himself. Even then the talk of morphine comes limping along with a bit of optimism with it, dragging that bit of optimism along because he's hopeful that he'll get this awesome, powerful drug from the chemist which will, yes dear, surely be open tomorrow. Does he believe this himself? Maybe not. If he's talking of morphine, he must know how dire the situation is. But it's almost automatic with him. He can't help throwing in a dash of optimism. Probably now just for Hilda's benefit. Jim can't possibly believe anymore that the chemist will open tomorrow. This little bit of stubborn optimism flaring up at the end is surely just for Hilda's benefit. God bless poor Jim. So this optimism. Or is it denial? Or is it done for Hilda's benefit? Or maybe it's pride, although Jim doesn't strike me as a proud sort. But maybe he doesn't want to admit that he got it all wrong. His preparations were poor, his analysis of the situation was way off, and he has no idea how to cope. Admitting this, admitting that the chemist will never reopen and never sell them throat lozenges, would be to admit his own foolishness. And yet we know that even if he did break down and say he was wrong, he was stupid, his strongest defender would be Hilda. She would be so keen and loyal and ready to beef up his self esteem that surely she would then take on the mantle of cheerfulness and optimism and denial. She would be the one saying, no, no, no dear, you were right first time. Help is surely on the way. The chemist will surely be open. She would be instantly ready to defend and support him just as he does for her. And we can see that now with Jymn lying curled up at the rug at Hilda's feet, we can see his loyalty there. Because that position suggests, as I said, that he's lying there like a faithful hound, her protector and defender to the end, and she would do the same for him. So they're both lying there on their dusty cushions and Hilda says she's going to have an early night because she feels so bad. And Jim agrees, because that's the solution. Like a cup of tea. That's the solution to so much. An early night will sort it out. A cup of tea will sort it out. But we know that the small pleasure of an early night is denied them because we've already established that they are no longer physically able to climb upstairs. Even if they did, we know the roof up there is shattered, so the bedroom, whatever state it is in, is surely even dirtier and more dangerous than this dusty living room. And if they were somehow able to climb the stairs and crawl into their beds, the bedding would be filthy, perhaps wet too, if the roof is open to the sky. Heavy rainfall, although it doesn't feature in the film, was noted after Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Black rain, as it came to be known. And research at the University of reading in 2020 confirmed that cold War nuclear testing did indeed produce greater rainfall because of the electric charge produced by the explosion. So, yes, their bedroom and the. The lovely, comforting thought of an early night that's denied them. Also, if they want an early night, then they'll need to stay where they are, on the dirty floor, because that is now their bed space. Indeed, you could say that is all they have left now until they die. A constant early night. There is nothing else to be done but lie here. Hilda touches her aching head and then she exclaims in horror, oh, look, my hair's coming out. Oh, don't. Don't worry, dearest. Don't worry, don't worry. Women don't go bald. No, that's a scientific fact. Now, this is one sign of radiation sickness, which Jim can't explain away. He can't say, oh, don't worry, I've got it too, dear, as he did with the sores and the bleeding. Because Jim is already bald, so he can't share in this new horror symptom for Hilda. And it's a particularly distressing thing for a woman to lose her hair. I've had a little taste of it myself. If you saw my video on Patreon about our new nuclear book club, you'll see that my hair abruptly changes, like, three quarters of the way through the video. I did that on purpose as a wee joke to say to the world. Well, not the world to say to the handful of patrons who watch it that, yes, I've started wearing wigs and so you'll see me with different hair in every subsequent video. I just wanted to get it out there and say, yep, it's a thing. I haven't lost my hair, thankfully, but it has got thinner because of an iron deficiency. And so I can maybe understand a tiny bit of the distress Hilda feels at losing her hair. Because yes, for a woman it is unusual, it is unexpected, and so this hair loss seems to affect her even more than the bleeding or the sores, because it's so unnatural for a woman to lose the hair on their head. But even though this horror is unique to Hilda, good old Jim can't help trying to comfort her. Well, yet again, Jim is wrong. And by now I think we can agree that he knows that he's wrong, just as he knows surely the chemist is not going to be open tomorrow to sell them some morphine. So we know, surely that his cheerfulness is just an act now. And he's only putting on this act to cheer Hilda up. And we can't blame the lad. The only thing he has left with which to help Hilda is that cheerful blitz spirit. He can't physically save her anymore. He can't protect her from what's happening. He can't source food or water or medicine. So all he has now is his chipper attitude. But we know that it's all hollow. And we see him delivering his latest attempt at cheerfulness. Women don't go bald, dear. And as he says it, it comes from his face, which is pinched and shadowed and haggard and thin. It's not a jolly face which delivers this line. It's the face of a man who is dying and in pain. And I'm so glad that our four minute segment is up. Thank you for listening.

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Babbel Advertiser (34:33)

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