FROM THE ARCHIVES:Warfare is an unlikely spectator sport but there were people in Ireland as well as Britain who treated it as such, according to this editorial during the second World War. – JOE JOYCE
An interesting sidelight on modern psychology is provided by the report that citizens of an English southeast coast town involved in an air raid attempt the other day regarded the battle in the sky between defenders and attackers as “a giant fireworks display”.
Everybody appears to have been so interested in the unusual experience that it never occurred to anyone to be afraid, and the danger from shrapnel was ignored. A similar attitude has been displayed during raids in northern Scotland, where one man, who was watching the fight, was killed instantly.
This overwhelming curiosity, which causes minor military engagements to be regarded by the civilian population as “free shows”, that must be seen whatever the risk, was very noticeable in Dublin during the street fighting of two decades ago.
Windows were grandstands until the bullets chipped the wall a few inches away, when they were hurriedly vacated – but only for a couple of minutes. Men, women and children mustered at street corners to peer down thoroughfares which had been swept clear of life and movement by rifle and machine-gun fire, retreating hurriedly when the whistling wasps struck close, but returning the next moment for another peep. Those who lived through those wild days in the Irish capital still are wondering why the non-combatant casualties were not 50 times as great as reported; the more cynical ascribe it to “fools’ luck”.
There was a fine, light-hearted irresponsibility about our street fighting in the Civil War, and the manner in which it erupted in the most unexpected areas without any warning added zest to life. Volleys, fired almost at his elbow, frequently gave Seán Citizen the first hint that he was in the “Front Line” at the moment. The tendency to regard the whole affair as a free show persisted until it grew beyond a joke for the ordinary man in the street, and, finally, the general feeling was one of stoical indifference, spiced with irritation.
The indifference with which our ARP effort was viewed by the majority of the people probably was a heritage of those bygone days, but the ridicule poured upon our communal air raid shelters was due to other causes. In the case of the Beresford Place shelter, it seemed to many persons a typically Hibernian achievement to construct a refuge, which could be demolished by a direct hit, beside the Custom House where the railway bridge crosses the river – just the sort of place where invading airmen would drop a few souvenirs! We are glad to say that the prospect that the shelter will ever be required is still remote.
In the event of an air raid, however, we trust that our warning signals will work better than those at the English coast town already mentioned. No warning was sounded during the “fireworks” which so delighted the unsophisticated inhabitants.
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