How the myth of ‘Blitz spirit’ defined and divided London after 7/7
The “Blitz spirit” is one of Britain’s most enduring national myths – the stories we tell ourselves about who we were, and who we still believe we are today. Growing up among football fans, I heard constant nostalgic refrains about England and Germany, wartime bravery and national pride.
Chants about “two world wars and one World Cup” or “ten German bombers in the air” were cultural rituals, flexes of a shared memory that many had never experienced themselves.
Blitz spirit refers to the resilience, unity and stoic determination of civilians during the German bombing raids (the Blitz) of the second world war. It has reemerged time and again, symbolising a collective pride in facing adversity with courage, humour and a “keep calm and carry on” attitude.
After the July 7 bombings in 2005, which killed 52 people and injured more than 700, I noticed how quickly the Blitz spirit reappeared. British newspapers reached into the past and pulled the myth forward.
Get your news from actual experts, straight to your inbox. Sign up to our daily newsletter to receive all The Conversation UK’s latest coverage of news and research, from politics and business to the arts and sciences.
The Independent on July 8 said, “London can take it, and it can do so because its stoicism is laced as it always has been with humour.” The Daily Mail evoked images of “London during the Blitz… with everyone dancing through the bombs”.
Tony Parsons opened his Daily Mirror column with “07/07 war on Britain: We can take it; if these murderous bastards go on for a thousand years, the people of our islands will never be cowed”, alongside an image of St Paul’s Cathedral during the Blitz.
The spirit of working-class wartime London was, ironically, even applied to bankers and City traders who “kept the economy alive” after the attacks. A July 8 Times article claimed: “A Dunkirk spirit spread through London’s financial districts as Canary Wharf and City workers vowed they would not be deterred.”
The use of river transport to evacuate workers reinforced the analogy. The Times described how “bankers and lawyers in London’s riverside Canary Wharf complex experienced their own version of the Dunkirk-style evacuations”, assisted by a “flotilla of leisure vessels and little ships”.
I was fascinated: why this story, and why now? That question became the heart of a book I published in 2015 – one that explored how a myth born in 1940 was reborn in 2005, repurposed for a very different London.
What I found was that the “Blitz spirit” wasn’t a lie, but it was a myth in the academic sense: a simplified, selective story built from the most comforting parts of the past.
Wartime Britain was not uniformly united, stoic and proud. There were deep class divides. Looting occurred. Morale was rock-bottom in many cities and communities. Evacuees weren’t always welcomed with open arms. Government censorship and transnational propaganda masked social unrest.
Understandably, these messy realities were left out of the postwar narrative. But what happens when we bring that myth into the present?
The myth of the ‘Blitz spirit’
Londoners did come together after the 7/7 bombings – there were undoubtedly examples of communities and strangers supporting each other and maintaining a sense of resilience that enabled them to continue their lives undeterred.
But it was not one single unified message. Hate crimes against British Muslim communities in the weeks after the 2005 attacks exposed cracks in the narrative of national unity.
Some used the Blitz spirit to support Tony Blair and George W. Bush, casting them as Churchillian leaders standing firm against a new fascism in the form of global terrorism. For others, the same figures represented a betrayal of British values.
They were evoked instead to shame Blair and Bush. The Express made its feelings clear when it said: “It was throw up time when Blair was compared to Churchill by some commentators. What an insult!”
The Blitz spirit also became a weapon in anti-immigration discourse. Some argued that Britain, unlike in 1940, had become a “soft touch” – compromised by EU human rights laws, welfare handouts and multiculturalism. The underlying message: today’s London could never be as brave or unified as wartime London.
Writing in The Sun, Richard Littlejohn said: “War office memo. Anyone caught fighting on the beaches will be prosecuted for hate crimes.”
An article in the Express condemning human rights laws said: “What a good thing these people weren’t running things when Hitler was doing his worst. Would the second world war have been more easily won if we had spent more time talking about freedom of speech than bombing Nazi Germany?”
Multicultural resilience
And yet, another narrative emerged – one that saw London’s multicultural identity as a strength, not a weakness. Here, the Blitz spirit wasn’t just a historical relic, but a kind of transcendental force. The city’s soul, it was said, remained resilient – passed down across generations, regardless of race, class or religion. For some, this was proof that Britain had evolved and still held fast to its best values.
A letter to the Daily Mirror (July 17) invoked the Blitz spirit through a cross-cultural lens: “Colour, creed and cultures forgotten, black helping white and vice versa… We stood firm in the Blitz and we’ll do so again, going about our business as usual.”
The Sunday Times quoted Michael Portillo, who framed London’s resilience as multicultural continuity: “Fewer than half the names of those killed on the 7th look Anglo-Saxon… Today’s Londoners come in all colours and from every cultural background. Yet they have inherited the city’s historic attitudes of nonchalance, bloody-mindedness and defiance.”
The Blitz spirit, as my research revealed, is not a single story. It is a narrative tool used for many different – often opposing – purposes. It can bring people together, or be used to divide. It can inspire pride, or be weaponised in fear.
National myths don’t just reflect who we were – they shape who we think we are. They’re never neutral. They’re always curated, always contested. If we want to be genuinely proud of our country – and we should – then we also have to be honest about the stories we cling to. We must ask: what’s left out, and who decides?
Darren Kelsey does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.