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A Chelsea Concerto
Frances Faviell lived in Chelsea before and during the London Blitz, having became a Red Cross volunteer when World War II began. Chelsea was particularly heavily bombed and the author was often in the heart of the action, witnessing or involved in fascinating and horrific events through 1940 and 1941. Her memoir evokes an unforgettable cast, Londoners and refugees alike, caught up together in extraordinary and dangerous times – not forgetting the ‘Green Cat’, a Chinese statuette, standing on the author’s window sill as the home’s talismanic protector.
Frances Faviell’s memoir is powerful in its blend of humour, tenderness and horror, including the most haunting ending of any wartime memoir. A Chelsea Concerto is reprinted now for the first time since 1959, with a new introduction by Virginia Nicholson.
Frances Faviell’s memoir is powerful in its blend of humour, tenderness and horror, including the most haunting ending of any wartime memoir. A Chelsea Concerto is reprinted now for the first time since 1959, with a new introduction by Virginia Nicholson.
252 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1959
84 people are currently reading
546 people want to read
About the author
Frances Faviell
5 books16 followersFrances Faviell (1905-1959) was the pen name of Olivia Faviell Lucas, painter and author. She studied at the Slade School of Art in London under the aegis of Leon Underwood. In 1930 she married a Hungarian academic and travelled with him to India where she lived for some time at the ashram of Rabindranath Tagore, and visiting Nagaland. She then lived in Japan and China until having to flee from Shanghai during the Japanese invasion. She met her second husband Richard Parker in 1939 and married him in 1940.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 61 reviews
April 13, 2024
Oh my word,this book is so powerful!
& with important parallels with events in modern times
I have already read The Dancing Bear which was about Faviell's life in post war Berlin. This memoir is set earlier, but written after The Dancing Bear.
Flaviell is a relentlessly cheerful individual who epitomises the dauntless spirit that many Londoners showed during this terrifying time.
Frances (real first name Olivia) with her second husband Richard & her beloved canine companion, Vicki
As well as her artistic ability, Frances was also a talented linguist & a natural nurse. These latter two abilities were very useful to authorities. She was also very kind & generous & her house was more or less an open home.
& this book recounts real people - some admirable, some not so much. Some of the refugees struggle make very painful reading, especially the slowly going mad Ruth.
But most show the same cheerful stoicism that Frances does;
Sidenote; What a wonderful slogan/campaign the Keep Calm posters were.
& when the Blitz started the British showed a unique ability to carry on;
Playing music in the shelters - amazing!
But there was grim reality too;
& ordinary people do some wonderful things.
The ending was indeed shocking - I don't know how Frances managed to recover from the experience. But she did. Sadly she died aged only 54 in 1959.
& with important parallels with events in modern times
I have already read The Dancing Bear which was about Faviell's life in post war Berlin. This memoir is set earlier, but written after The Dancing Bear.
Flaviell is a relentlessly cheerful individual who epitomises the dauntless spirit that many Londoners showed during this terrifying time.
Frances (real first name Olivia) with her second husband Richard & her beloved canine companion, Vicki
As well as her artistic ability, Frances was also a talented linguist & a natural nurse. These latter two abilities were very useful to authorities. She was also very kind & generous & her house was more or less an open home.
& this book recounts real people - some admirable, some not so much. Some of the refugees struggle make very painful reading, especially the slowly going mad Ruth.
But most show the same cheerful stoicism that Frances does;
Sidenote; What a wonderful slogan/campaign the Keep Calm posters were.
& when the Blitz started the British showed a unique ability to carry on;
Playing music in the shelters - amazing!
But there was grim reality too;
& ordinary people do some wonderful things.
The ending was indeed shocking - I don't know how Frances managed to recover from the experience. But she did. Sadly she died aged only 54 in 1959.
https://wordpress.com/view/carolshess...
June 6, 2021
This is a republished memoir from the Blitz and despite the sometimes distressing subject matter I enjoyed it very much.
The writing has the restrained British style that I enjoy so much in novels of this era. The author has a wry turn of phrase that avoids melodrama but also does not belittle the fears and sorrows of those around her.
However, this is not a genteel memoir for the faint of heart.
The memories are of London at war and while many of the descriptions of people and events are imbued with the ‘Spirit of the Blitz’ there are also no-nonsense descriptions of bombing raids and the aftermath.
Warden, medics and the many volunteers on the home front are portrayed with affection and gratitude for their acts of kindness and bravery but there are also accounts of collapsed buildings, destroyed communities and descriptions of the injured, the dying and the bodies pulled from the debris.
The author worked both in communications and as a nurse. She recounts her experiences at work and at home as she and her friends try to maintain some form of social life, including her wedding which was celebrated modestly, within the constrictions imposed by food and clothes rationing.
Sometimes the raids are handled with an almost party atmosphere as neighbours join together in the street in their efforts to extinguish the fires caused by incendiary bombs, but as the raids become heavier resulting in more severe damage we are told of friends and colleagues who are killed and injured. The author expresses her fears and the depth of her emotions at such loss without becoming maudlin or self-indulgent.
This is an excellent first person account of the Blitz in Chelsea.
I will be buying a copy for my mother who grew up during the London Blitz.
I recommend it to everyone.
Many thanks to Dean Street Press who provided an electronic copy in return for an honest review.
The writing has the restrained British style that I enjoy so much in novels of this era. The author has a wry turn of phrase that avoids melodrama but also does not belittle the fears and sorrows of those around her.
However, this is not a genteel memoir for the faint of heart.
The memories are of London at war and while many of the descriptions of people and events are imbued with the ‘Spirit of the Blitz’ there are also no-nonsense descriptions of bombing raids and the aftermath.
Warden, medics and the many volunteers on the home front are portrayed with affection and gratitude for their acts of kindness and bravery but there are also accounts of collapsed buildings, destroyed communities and descriptions of the injured, the dying and the bodies pulled from the debris.
The author worked both in communications and as a nurse. She recounts her experiences at work and at home as she and her friends try to maintain some form of social life, including her wedding which was celebrated modestly, within the constrictions imposed by food and clothes rationing.
Sometimes the raids are handled with an almost party atmosphere as neighbours join together in the street in their efforts to extinguish the fires caused by incendiary bombs, but as the raids become heavier resulting in more severe damage we are told of friends and colleagues who are killed and injured. The author expresses her fears and the depth of her emotions at such loss without becoming maudlin or self-indulgent.
This is an excellent first person account of the Blitz in Chelsea.
I will be buying a copy for my mother who grew up during the London Blitz.
I recommend it to everyone.
Many thanks to Dean Street Press who provided an electronic copy in return for an honest review.
April 29, 2023
An extraordinary account of the Blitz and It's affects on Chelsea. Everyone should read it
June 17, 2025
Impressive, informative, well-written and gripping memoir of Faviell's time in Chelsea during the WW2 Blitz. Faviell trained in first aid which brought her into direct contact with the victims of the German airforce’s onslaught on London; while her work with European refugees exposed her to a diverse range of characters and perspectives on living through trauma. Faviell was originally an artist, she graduated from the prestigious Slade School of Art in the 1920s, and I think this is one of the reasons why her account is so detailed and carefully-observed, her eye takes in every aspect of her surroundings, as she roams the streets, often accompanied by her pet Dachshund Vicki - dubbed 'Miss Hitler' by the neighbours.
October 15, 2016
You may all remember some exciting news over the summer from Scott at Furrowed Middlebrow. Working in conjunction with Dean Street Press nine titles that Scott has raved about and championed on his marvellous blog are at last being brought back into print. I believe that there will be more coming out in the future.
I was delighted to receive two e-books from the publishers out of the blue – a lovely surprise. I chose to read A Chelsea Concerto first, a deeply personal memoir of the London blitz.
Frances Faviell lived in Chelsea both before and during the Second World War. Her remarkable memoir opens early in the war, before the devastating bombardment that was to follow. She becomes a Red Cross volunteer– attached to a first aid post, and in those early days there are a lot of drills. At this time Chelsea is still the bohemian district that she is so familiar with, home to artists such as Faviell herself. Like the Londoners of the time, we are lulled into a false sense of security – in the long quiet, uncertain days before the first bombs fall, everything feels normal – just with added sandbags and men in khaki.
In time of course the blitz over London began, and Chelsea was particularly targeted, Faviell is fairly uncompromising in her descriptions of the devastation, the dead, injured, traumatised and bereaved which became a huge part of their lives, night after night after night. Chelsea came under heavy bombardment due to its proximity to the Thames and the bridges which served the river. Time and again Frances is called upon to help people in desperate situations.
Full review: https://heavenali.wordpress.com/2016/...
I was delighted to receive two e-books from the publishers out of the blue – a lovely surprise. I chose to read A Chelsea Concerto first, a deeply personal memoir of the London blitz.
Frances Faviell lived in Chelsea both before and during the Second World War. Her remarkable memoir opens early in the war, before the devastating bombardment that was to follow. She becomes a Red Cross volunteer– attached to a first aid post, and in those early days there are a lot of drills. At this time Chelsea is still the bohemian district that she is so familiar with, home to artists such as Faviell herself. Like the Londoners of the time, we are lulled into a false sense of security – in the long quiet, uncertain days before the first bombs fall, everything feels normal – just with added sandbags and men in khaki.
In time of course the blitz over London began, and Chelsea was particularly targeted, Faviell is fairly uncompromising in her descriptions of the devastation, the dead, injured, traumatised and bereaved which became a huge part of their lives, night after night after night. Chelsea came under heavy bombardment due to its proximity to the Thames and the bridges which served the river. Time and again Frances is called upon to help people in desperate situations.
Full review: https://heavenali.wordpress.com/2016/...
May 29, 2020
A compelling piece of reportage without rancour or hysteria. Part memoir, part social history, a wealth of detail of how people continued their daily life during the Battle of Britain in 1940.
From the petty bickering of the European refugees to the training and active service of the First Aid workers and the capable Air Raid Wardens, this book is a slice of life at a critical juncture in history. It’s that part of history you don’t always see: not the heroic battles fought or the decisions made in high places, but rather the Home Front, showing where people slept, what happened when the water or electricity mains were hit, how they helped each other with mundane matters such as food and clothing.
Everyone did their bit volunteering to fire watch, putting out incendiary devices, dealing with the wounded or the homeless. There was a spirit of indomitable courage in the face of adversity which even the enemy commented on.
The casualties are described factually, the obstacles to treatment, the all encompassing dirt and dust of the Blitz – they are all described with a measured prose style. Even when gripped with terror in the worst night of the Blitz, the author still found the strength to think of others and help the wounded.
This is a first rate book and deserves a full five stars.
From the petty bickering of the European refugees to the training and active service of the First Aid workers and the capable Air Raid Wardens, this book is a slice of life at a critical juncture in history. It’s that part of history you don’t always see: not the heroic battles fought or the decisions made in high places, but rather the Home Front, showing where people slept, what happened when the water or electricity mains were hit, how they helped each other with mundane matters such as food and clothing.
Everyone did their bit volunteering to fire watch, putting out incendiary devices, dealing with the wounded or the homeless. There was a spirit of indomitable courage in the face of adversity which even the enemy commented on.
The casualties are described factually, the obstacles to treatment, the all encompassing dirt and dust of the Blitz – they are all described with a measured prose style. Even when gripped with terror in the worst night of the Blitz, the author still found the strength to think of others and help the wounded.
This is a first rate book and deserves a full five stars.
December 19, 2022
Light-hearted and humorous but also poignant and harrowing, A Chelsea Concerto (1959) is Frances Faviell’s (or Olivia Faviell Lucas’) memoir of the London Blitz. At this time, Faviell, who was an artist (having studied at the Slade School of Art) lived in Chelsea and served as a Red Cross volunteer in various capacities, experiencing both the ‘phoney war’ of the early days and the Blitz at its worst.
Beginning with the early days of the war, when volunteers merely received training and were put through drills which were taken lightly (albeit carried out diligently), Faviell takes readers through how things changed as events on the continent started to become more distressing, and eventually the war came to London itself, with the Blitz inflicting daily damage—the bombs at one point becoming so commonplace that she would sleep soundly with them falling in the background but at others inducing numbing fear, and acute distress when faced with those hurt or deceased. As a volunteer, she performed a range of tasks—taking telephone messages, serving as a nurse, working with refugees (because of her knowledge of languages) and much else. In this, she met various people, from refugees to army men and other volunteers, and witnessed the best and the worst of humanity. Amidst all the fear, damage, and horror of the war, daily life too continues—everyday shopping must be done; people must be fed and provided for; homes found for refugees and those whose houses have been damaged; people fall ill and must be treated; weddings take place (including Faviell’s own) and babies are born. With her throughout are her housekeeper Mrs Freeth and dachshund Vikki (or Miss Hitler); the latter often accompanying her, for instance, when children are to be cheered up (her fiancé, Richard is of course also there but many times away for work). Faviell’s memoir is a compelling and wonderfully written account of this very difficult time.
Having read Faviell’s A Dancing Bear (1954), her memoir of her time spent in post-War Berlin where her husband was then posted, a book I found moving and poignant and which was an honest portrayal of things as they were (including the allies/victors not having acted very much better than the ‘enemy’ on some counts), I was keen to pick up more books by her and actually acquired most on Kindle but then didn’t get a chance to pick one up. #DeanStreetDecember proved the perfect opportunity and I’m glad I finally got to reading this account.
What really stood out to me in this book was how Faviell manages to keep her tone fairly light all through, even when writing about the most distressing aspects of the war. This doesn’t mean that she withholds details or tones down the horror or damage in any way—from gaping holes in the ground where buildings had once stood to badly injured people buried under rubble, we are shown it all; yet she puts it across in a way that the reader can feel it and yet bear it. It is only really events towards the end that hit one very hard—images and events that continue to haunt, and I suspect will not leave me for a long time. And preceding them is a strong portent—which unsettles and makes one very apprehensive indeed.
Faviell’s account was also an eye-opener in many ways in terms of the duties that nurses and volunteers had to carry out—from lighter moments like sorting out minor quarrels between refugees and teaching English to downright unpleasant ones like bathing people who had never had a bath in their lives; putting out incendiary fires which is good fun to the very distressing tasks of having to administer first aid to people suffering excruciating pain and even the horrific task of reassembling bodies blown apart that they may again look like some semblance of the people they once were. Despite the anguish it causes personally, Faviell and other volunteers (even after suffering personal loss) carry on, and help every one they can in every way they can—something that inspires only awe and admiration.
With her artist’s eye, Faviell also manages to capture and appreciate the beauty in situations: whether it is the prettiness and charm of older buildings in the initial days, or incendiary fires ‘small and pretty like fireflies coming down’ and making the sky ‘fantastically beautiful’; or even amidst the full horror of the Blitz, the beauty of the ‘brilliant blood red’ sky, ‘the kind of sky in which Turner would have delighted’ contrasting with the feeling it gave rise to in herself, of ‘London’s burning, London’s burning. Fire fire. Fetch water, fetch water or all will be lost’.
Navigating friendliness and distrust, pain and little moments of fun, excitement and fear, A Chelsea Concerto is an honest, evocative and beautifully written memoir giving the reader a sense of what life was like in these times, and leaving one wondering yet again, why humans never learn their lesson and continue down these same paths time and again.
Beginning with the early days of the war, when volunteers merely received training and were put through drills which were taken lightly (albeit carried out diligently), Faviell takes readers through how things changed as events on the continent started to become more distressing, and eventually the war came to London itself, with the Blitz inflicting daily damage—the bombs at one point becoming so commonplace that she would sleep soundly with them falling in the background but at others inducing numbing fear, and acute distress when faced with those hurt or deceased. As a volunteer, she performed a range of tasks—taking telephone messages, serving as a nurse, working with refugees (because of her knowledge of languages) and much else. In this, she met various people, from refugees to army men and other volunteers, and witnessed the best and the worst of humanity. Amidst all the fear, damage, and horror of the war, daily life too continues—everyday shopping must be done; people must be fed and provided for; homes found for refugees and those whose houses have been damaged; people fall ill and must be treated; weddings take place (including Faviell’s own) and babies are born. With her throughout are her housekeeper Mrs Freeth and dachshund Vikki (or Miss Hitler); the latter often accompanying her, for instance, when children are to be cheered up (her fiancé, Richard is of course also there but many times away for work). Faviell’s memoir is a compelling and wonderfully written account of this very difficult time.
Having read Faviell’s A Dancing Bear (1954), her memoir of her time spent in post-War Berlin where her husband was then posted, a book I found moving and poignant and which was an honest portrayal of things as they were (including the allies/victors not having acted very much better than the ‘enemy’ on some counts), I was keen to pick up more books by her and actually acquired most on Kindle but then didn’t get a chance to pick one up. #DeanStreetDecember proved the perfect opportunity and I’m glad I finally got to reading this account.
What really stood out to me in this book was how Faviell manages to keep her tone fairly light all through, even when writing about the most distressing aspects of the war. This doesn’t mean that she withholds details or tones down the horror or damage in any way—from gaping holes in the ground where buildings had once stood to badly injured people buried under rubble, we are shown it all; yet she puts it across in a way that the reader can feel it and yet bear it. It is only really events towards the end that hit one very hard—images and events that continue to haunt, and I suspect will not leave me for a long time. And preceding them is a strong portent—which unsettles and makes one very apprehensive indeed.
Faviell’s account was also an eye-opener in many ways in terms of the duties that nurses and volunteers had to carry out—from lighter moments like sorting out minor quarrels between refugees and teaching English to downright unpleasant ones like bathing people who had never had a bath in their lives; putting out incendiary fires which is good fun to the very distressing tasks of having to administer first aid to people suffering excruciating pain and even the horrific task of reassembling bodies blown apart that they may again look like some semblance of the people they once were. Despite the anguish it causes personally, Faviell and other volunteers (even after suffering personal loss) carry on, and help every one they can in every way they can—something that inspires only awe and admiration.
With her artist’s eye, Faviell also manages to capture and appreciate the beauty in situations: whether it is the prettiness and charm of older buildings in the initial days, or incendiary fires ‘small and pretty like fireflies coming down’ and making the sky ‘fantastically beautiful’; or even amidst the full horror of the Blitz, the beauty of the ‘brilliant blood red’ sky, ‘the kind of sky in which Turner would have delighted’ contrasting with the feeling it gave rise to in herself, of ‘London’s burning, London’s burning. Fire fire. Fetch water, fetch water or all will be lost’.
Navigating friendliness and distrust, pain and little moments of fun, excitement and fear, A Chelsea Concerto is an honest, evocative and beautifully written memoir giving the reader a sense of what life was like in these times, and leaving one wondering yet again, why humans never learn their lesson and continue down these same paths time and again.
March 28, 2017
It’s been estimated that beginning in November,1940 through the spring of 1941 some 40,000 people were killed as a result of 71 major air raids on London. Of all the books I’ve read about the London Blitz, this one is surely the most memorable. It’s a fascinating – and harrowing – account of the author’s experiences as volunteer Red Cross nurse trained to work in a First Aid Post in one of the most heavily bombed areas of London. And because she was fluent in Dutch and Flemish she was also recruited to work extensively with the thousands of refugees that poured in from Belgium after their country was invaded by Germany.
Chelsea was a special target for Germany’s air bombardment because of its proximity to the Royal Hospital, the Battersea Power Station and major bridges over the Thames. We know from the outset that Faviell was herself bombed out of her home and she ends her memoir with an account of what happened that night. It’s definitely one of the most vivid descriptions I’ve ever come across about the horrors of war.
This is not a book for the faint of heart because unlike many other accounts of life on the British home front during WWII, this one is filled with gut-wrenching and unflinchingly graphic descriptions of the horrific scenes that became all too familiar to those who had to endure them: the wail of the sirens, the incessant bombs, the terror of being trapped in the rubble of a demolished building, the dust, the flames, the glass underfoot, the wreckage, the vanished houses and the craters in the road full of debris, the dirt and the stench from unwashed bodies and lack of sanitary conditions in the public shelters, and the unspeakably horrific scenes that awaited the heavy rescue teams as they searched for those who had been buried in the aftermath of a direct hit.
Just as Faviell doesn’t keep anything back when describing the horrors she encountered, she is also quick to tell us how it felt to live through them: “There were were days when I felt I didn’t want to do one more thing for one more refugee or one more bombed-out person, although they compelled my compassion. I didn’t want to enter one more hospital or smell the stench of one more shelter. then I would look out the window and see the wardens and the AFS men and women running to their posts and I would put on my tin hat and scrub my hands in anticipation of more dirt and go with a sigh for the rapidly fading memories of the lovely travels which I enjoyed before Hitler had upset the world.”
While on the surface this book is all about what it was like to live through the London Blitz, it’s really about the tragic inhumanity of war. As Frances Faviell says, “The feeling uppermost in my mind after every big raid was anger- anger at the lengths to which humans could go to inflict injury on one another.. . “
Chelsea was a special target for Germany’s air bombardment because of its proximity to the Royal Hospital, the Battersea Power Station and major bridges over the Thames. We know from the outset that Faviell was herself bombed out of her home and she ends her memoir with an account of what happened that night. It’s definitely one of the most vivid descriptions I’ve ever come across about the horrors of war.
This is not a book for the faint of heart because unlike many other accounts of life on the British home front during WWII, this one is filled with gut-wrenching and unflinchingly graphic descriptions of the horrific scenes that became all too familiar to those who had to endure them: the wail of the sirens, the incessant bombs, the terror of being trapped in the rubble of a demolished building, the dust, the flames, the glass underfoot, the wreckage, the vanished houses and the craters in the road full of debris, the dirt and the stench from unwashed bodies and lack of sanitary conditions in the public shelters, and the unspeakably horrific scenes that awaited the heavy rescue teams as they searched for those who had been buried in the aftermath of a direct hit.
Just as Faviell doesn’t keep anything back when describing the horrors she encountered, she is also quick to tell us how it felt to live through them: “There were were days when I felt I didn’t want to do one more thing for one more refugee or one more bombed-out person, although they compelled my compassion. I didn’t want to enter one more hospital or smell the stench of one more shelter. then I would look out the window and see the wardens and the AFS men and women running to their posts and I would put on my tin hat and scrub my hands in anticipation of more dirt and go with a sigh for the rapidly fading memories of the lovely travels which I enjoyed before Hitler had upset the world.”
While on the surface this book is all about what it was like to live through the London Blitz, it’s really about the tragic inhumanity of war. As Frances Faviell says, “The feeling uppermost in my mind after every big raid was anger- anger at the lengths to which humans could go to inflict injury on one another.. . “
May 25, 2021
Con este libro de Frances Faviell se me ha puesto la piel de gallina. Trata la guerra sin romantizar, sin adornar, sin suavizar. Es cierto que tiene algunos tintes de humor, porque también durante los bombardeos hay motivos de esperanza, pequeñas cosas que hacen sonreír a pesar de todo. “A Chelsea Concerto” es la narración no novelada del ‘Blitz’ o de cualquier otro momento horrible de la historia más rigurosa que he leído o visto nunca. He leído mucho sobre las guerras, la primera, la segunda, la guerra civil, las guerras napoleónicas… nunca de esta manera. Por poner un ejemplo, ni siquiera “Testamento de juventud” de Vera Brittain fue tan crudo. Se pasa mal porque lo que te están contando es lo peor que se puede vivir.
September 1, 2021
This is maybe the best book I've read all year long: it's a glorious memoir. Frances Faviell (a pen name) is a chic painter living in fashionably bohemian Chelsea in 1939 (also a divorcee who once lived in an Indian yogi's ashram long before the Beatles did, although none of this comes up in her memoir, and more the pity) with a dachshund nicknamed Miss Hitler (real name: Vicki, after the dachshund loving monarch) and a dashing fiancé. Preparation for the coming war is humorous; the United Kingdom declares war on Germany, and the Phony War sputters along. And then comes the Blitz - and Frances Faviel is dead center in it all as Chelsea becomes one of the most heavily bombed parts of London. Her volunteer work with refugees from war torn Europe is both funny and sad, and her volunteer work in the First Aid Party (FAP) is harrowing to say the least. Because Frances had gone to art school and studied human anatomy, she was given the work of putting bodies back together after bombings - and that's not even the most harrowing work that Frances has to do. Her descriptions of the Blitz, of people and places, and especially the setting - the smells, the sounds, the terrible blasts and horrible events, completely, totally, exhilaratingly bring that year of terror alive. There is some beautiful writing here as well, as Frances honestly writes about the war and all the feelings war evokes. The Blitz is highly romanticized, but this book isn't. It seemed so real. I most highly recommend it.
April 12, 2017
Amazing memoir of the London Blitz. Frances Faviell should be better known.
April 16, 2024
Marvelous memoir of London during the Blitz.
The author was a First Aid worker in one of the hardest hit areas of London. She had a way of presenting the unvarnished details of the sights, sounds, and smells in such clear, calm, prose such that the reader can grasp the horrors without being beaten over the head with them.
She also wrote of her time in post-war Germany (The Dancing Bear). That one has been added to my TBR mountain.
A big thanks to the Retro Reads book group for bringing this book to my attention. It's a gem.
The author was a First Aid worker in one of the hardest hit areas of London. She had a way of presenting the unvarnished details of the sights, sounds, and smells in such clear, calm, prose such that the reader can grasp the horrors without being beaten over the head with them.
She also wrote of her time in post-war Germany (The Dancing Bear). That one has been added to my TBR mountain.
A big thanks to the Retro Reads book group for bringing this book to my attention. It's a gem.
December 19, 2016
An unforgettable look at what it was like to live and volunteer in Chelsea during the Blitz. I have always had tremendous respect for the British fortitude during WWII, but my respect has increased exponentially since reading this remarkable work.
July 10, 2017
What are the odds that one would read two books in succession on the same theme - Blitz experiences of female painter who studied at the Slade with Prof. Henry Tonks? This one, however, a non-fiction account is the far superior book. The details of the horrors of the blitz far exceed any I have read before - the author, since she had studied anatomy at Tonk's urging, was assigned to reassemble bodies for burial from the piles of arms, legs, heads, trunks, etc, retrieved from bombed buildings. No wonder it was almost 20 years before she was able to recount those experiences, which go far, far beyond the one example above.
The account of the training and organization of the British, too, with their WVS, ARP, FAP, FANY, St John's Ambulance Corps, AFS, etc, certainly illuminates more clearly how the Londoners survived the blitz as well as they did.
Faviell also did a lot of work with refugees and other displaced persons, and had friends who were interned (and worse!) because of their national origins in time of war. If I were a HS or College teacher of English or History, I would assign this book to students because it offers so many opportunities for fruitful discussion of many of the issues of today.
The account of the training and organization of the British, too, with their WVS, ARP, FAP, FANY, St John's Ambulance Corps, AFS, etc, certainly illuminates more clearly how the Londoners survived the blitz as well as they did.
Faviell also did a lot of work with refugees and other displaced persons, and had friends who were interned (and worse!) because of their national origins in time of war. If I were a HS or College teacher of English or History, I would assign this book to students because it offers so many opportunities for fruitful discussion of many of the issues of today.
May 12, 2023
Probably the best account of living through the Blitz that I have read. Faviell recounts her time in Chelsea, working as a volunteer at the First Aid Post and as interpreter for Belgian refugees. The air raid sirens sound and the bombs fall, the author watches the planes involved in dogfights over London and walks through streets where buildings have disappeared, leaving gaps in the street and rubble everywhere.
The writing style is matter of fact, even when describing scenes of unimaginable horror and brutality, and this probably reflects Faviell herself. She comes across as honest and resilient, rolling up her sleeves and getting on with things, as so many Londoners had to do at this time. She has a wide social circle and people are always visiting her studio, and the reader comes to know some of these characters really well through her eyes.
There are moments of comedy and also of celebration among the struggle - a wartime wedding is described with a certain beauty in its simplicity and joy (no Bridezillas here!) - but the lasting impression is one of the physical impact of war and the destruction that the Blitz caused. I can see myself rereading this book, a rare thing for me.
The writing style is matter of fact, even when describing scenes of unimaginable horror and brutality, and this probably reflects Faviell herself. She comes across as honest and resilient, rolling up her sleeves and getting on with things, as so many Londoners had to do at this time. She has a wide social circle and people are always visiting her studio, and the reader comes to know some of these characters really well through her eyes.
There are moments of comedy and also of celebration among the struggle - a wartime wedding is described with a certain beauty in its simplicity and joy (no Bridezillas here!) - but the lasting impression is one of the physical impact of war and the destruction that the Blitz caused. I can see myself rereading this book, a rare thing for me.
January 2, 2023
A fascinating, sometimes harrowing, memoir of the Blitz in Chelsea. Frances Faviell , living and working in Chelsea, saw the horrors of the Blitz close up, and there are some very graphic descriptions of injuries and deaths as well as descriptions of the people she knew and their troubles. Living in a close community where she knew everyone, the shock of sudden loss, of people, homes,possessions is brought vividly home. Not a comfortable memoir, but a very interesting one.
December 3, 2018
My words are going to be all jumbled up. My mind is going every which way after completing this book. Our author is not only an incredible author, more on that later, but an incredible human. Fearless.
This is not a light read. It's not a difficult read. It's just heavy. It's reality. It is World War II. It's not what you read in the history books in grade school or watched on the History channel. This is one person's account of her life in Chelsea during the London blitz. It's everything she witnessed. It is everything she did. It is everything she felt.
The book flowed beautifully. As I mentioned above Frances Faviell is an incredible author. The book was never boring and it was never too complex to read. Even though I could not read it all in one sitting due to its content it's definitely a book that you would be able to read in one sitting.
Aside from the bravery of this individual which totally left me in awe, I was also amazed at her memory. There may have been one or two instances where Frances could not recollect a name. But that was exceedingly rare. I couldn't even tell you which socks I have on right now (Jane Austen or cat most likely). I'm impressed.
This was a most enjoyable read despite its content.
Thank you very much Furrowed Middlebrow for releasing this memoir. I look forward to reading more from Furrowed Middlebrow Books!
This is not a light read. It's not a difficult read. It's just heavy. It's reality. It is World War II. It's not what you read in the history books in grade school or watched on the History channel. This is one person's account of her life in Chelsea during the London blitz. It's everything she witnessed. It is everything she did. It is everything she felt.
The book flowed beautifully. As I mentioned above Frances Faviell is an incredible author. The book was never boring and it was never too complex to read. Even though I could not read it all in one sitting due to its content it's definitely a book that you would be able to read in one sitting.
Aside from the bravery of this individual which totally left me in awe, I was also amazed at her memory. There may have been one or two instances where Frances could not recollect a name. But that was exceedingly rare. I couldn't even tell you which socks I have on right now (Jane Austen or cat most likely). I'm impressed.
This was a most enjoyable read despite its content.
Thank you very much Furrowed Middlebrow for releasing this memoir. I look forward to reading more from Furrowed Middlebrow Books!
August 5, 2017
This book is a masterpiece of reportage on the awful events that befell the community of Chelsea during the Blitz in the Second World War. There is something to make your jaw drop on almost every page. The way the community pulled together and simply got on with things while death and destruction took a terrible toll puts present day problems into true perspective. The author was an artist and in my mind a heroine for the selfless way she put herself in danger completing the most gruesome tasks imaginable.
This is not a book for the squeamish but it is an important record of that time when the spirit of the people saw them through events that would drive most people insane.
I have been to visit some of the places mentioned in the book and can hardly reconcile how they look now to how they are described after the bombs fell.
This is a very memorable book and I will read it time and time again and give thanks to the author, now sadly deceased, for painting a picture in words of such an important and sad time in our national history.
This is not a book for the squeamish but it is an important record of that time when the spirit of the people saw them through events that would drive most people insane.
I have been to visit some of the places mentioned in the book and can hardly reconcile how they look now to how they are described after the bombs fell.
This is a very memorable book and I will read it time and time again and give thanks to the author, now sadly deceased, for painting a picture in words of such an important and sad time in our national history.
January 23, 2022
I finished A Chelsea Concerto by Frances Faviell a little while ago, but I'm having a hard time gathering my thoughts together to write a review. I've read a lot of WWII fiction and some of it has been set during the Blitz, but none of it even comes close to comparing to a memoir written by a woman who lived through it. Not just living through it, but working as a volunteer while living in one of the most heavily bombed areas, Frances provides us with a firsthand look at what so many civilians lived through in London. It's heavy at times, as one would expect considering the almost nightly bombings went on for eight long months, but it's also the story of resilience, bravery, and compassion of so many volunteers who rose to the challenge in order to help their neighbors.
November 8, 2018
First-hand accounts of battlefield gore by women are scarce as hen's teeth, but here is a beaut of a book, written by a VAD nurse during the London Blitz. Not for the faint of heart - she describes waking up after a direct hit on her house to find her young friend's severed arm draped over her chest, and another time when she was lowered headfirst into a charnel house basement where she administered chloroform to a dying man - but the overall attitude of the author is one of fortitude in the face of the unspeakable.
January 31, 2018
A 4.75. Another terrific book rescued from obscurity by the Furrowed Middlebrow blogger and Dean Street Press.
March 28, 2021
Absolutely brilliant honest and graphic account of living through the London blitz
January 30, 2022
Blitz lit. This memoir tells of Faviell's time living in Chelsea, the 3rd most bombed London neighborhood, during the blitz in WWII. She worked as an artist and volunteered as a Red Cross Nurse. I stayed up until midnight finishing this book; it ends with her own experience being bombed out. Highly recommended. Stands up there with my favorite blitz memoir "Few Eggs, No Oranges."
April 13, 2024
Absolutely brilliant from start to finish the memoir actually pulls the reader in to help them understand what horrors people felt from the blitz.
May 15, 2025
A fascinating account of the Blitz, combining excitement, terror, gore and everyday challenges experienced by a woman artist in Chelsea. Not for the faint of heart as some of the descriptions are graphic. Highly recommended.
December 9, 2022
I saved Frances Faviell's "A Chelsea Concerto" for last having read her novels in chronological published order, though if the order was based on events, this story would precede others, except "Thalia" which I think is pre World War II. Frances has not married Richard yet but they are engaged. It is 1939-1940, Frances describes the "phoney war" which includes practice runs that are not taken by all seriously and then the true hard face the evil of war. This is an autobiography of Frances' Chelsea which brings all the reality of war to her readers and is truly a work of history. The heart of England and all they had to endure, which I have read accounts but Frances' story shows how challenging and traumatic life was then. A truly worthy read! Frances' art work graces all her novels and bring her closer to us. Frances' son, John included two photographs one of his father, mother and Vicki. The Green Cat and its purpose being broken makes me wonder how much of a coincidence surrounds that piece of art.
After reading this I can only think that peace when possible should be the goal, sometimes that is impossible but looking to flame the fire when it is unnecessary. Just look at the present day terrible judgment in trying to bring Ukraine into NATO, so much destruction for what? Military use is not to be taken lightly, yet it seems that many leaders treat it so.
➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖
Churchill passage
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The Prime Minister, Mr Churchill, announced that we should defend our island and with the British Commonwealth fight on, unconquerable, to end the curse of Hitler. Then he went on to declare our unification with France. This speech was perfectly timed. We were all depressed and horrified at the events in France. Was no country going to
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 57
succeed in checking the terrible and relentless advance of the Nazi troops? They seemed like that horde of Huns under Attila sweeping through Europe and treading down everything which came in their path. The ponderous, deliberate, quiet voice of Winston Churchill was far more effective than the hysterical ravings which one could listen to on the German radio – whether it was Hitler or Goebbels screaming his threats across the waves of the air. Churchill’s voice was
Highlight (Yellow) and Note | Page 57
slow, but its very deliberation had in it the weight and promise that nothing would deflect him from his determination to end the mad lust of the man in the Reichstag. It carried that complete assurance of conviction which we all wanted to hear,
🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶
🔶
A sad passage about animals and being put down. I would have waited to find out the animals reaction and tried something to help calm them.
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 96
about. I felt distinctly sick, but Vicki took not the slightest notice of the appalling noise – had I not known that she had excellent hearing I would have concluded that she was deaf. Up in the sky, very low indeed, a raider was being chased by a Spitfire and as it was chased it was unloading its bombs at regular intervals above the King’s Road. I ran on to the Town Hall, shouted at by indignant wardens all the time. One caught hold of me as I reached the King’s Road. ‘Why aren’t you
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 96
taking cover?’ he demanded. I pointed to Vicki. ‘Dogs aren’t allowed in shelters,’ I said. ‘The sirens sounded after I left home with her.’ ‘Well get under cover at once!’ he ordered. ‘I’m going on duty,’ I said. ‘I don’t care where you’re going. Get under cover... Look out!!!’ I threw myself down again as another deafening explosion rocked the King’s Road, and another, then another. I was now very frightened and went into the Town Hall and took shelter in the labyrinth of
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 97
its bowels where Control was. Vicki showed not the slightest sign of perturbation at all the noise and I was thankful as many people had had their dogs destroyed, fearing that they would not be able to stand the noise. Mr Broad, the veterinary surgeon, told me that he had done nothing since the Blitz began but destroy people’s pets – cats, dogs, and birds. It was a lamentable task for, as with doctors, his job was to save life not destroy it, and he said that some of the animals
Highlight (Yellow) and Note | Page 97
he had been obliged to put down were beautiful healthy creatures
➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖
Foreword -
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Frances Faviell lived in Chelsea before and during the London Blitz, having became a Red Cross volunteer when World War II began. Chelsea was particularly heavily bombed and the author was often in the heart of the action, witnessing or involved in fascinating and horrific events through 1940 and 1941. Her memoir evokes an unforgettable cast, Londoners and refugees alike, caught up together
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 10
in extraordinary and dangerous times – not forgetting the ‘Green Cat’, a Chinese statuette, standing on the author’s window sill as the home’s talismanic protector. Frances Faviell’s memoir is powerful in its blend of humour, tenderness and horror, including the most haunting ending of any wartime memoir.
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 1
Chelsea has a proud record of her citizens in the days of the Germans’ Blitz on London. They acquitted themselves magnificently in the Battle of the Bombs, emerging at the end of the war with a splendid list of decorations and awards for their gallantry under fire. The little borough was the third most heavily bombed in London. Of
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 1
her war-time population no less than 2,099 were bomb casualties, 534 of these being fatal. This meant roughly that one in every fourteen persons in Chelsea was killed or injured. Her citizens, many of them distinguished in the world of art and letters, many of them ordinary, unpretentious workers at everyday jobs, joined together in a unanimously determined effort and worked magnificently in Civil Defence to battle with the bombs.
➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕
While reading this story I kept thinking of the character of the people of the past to the present. Would they have let the government control them so much as today's world with regard to COVID. Freedom was what they were fighting for instead of control. The people had to deal with many unfavorable things but they worked together and society did not stop and separate, they needed others. Society today is going in the wrong direction and becoming more remote and less human.
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 102
When the sirens wailed in day-light the shops closed – and we could get shut out without having bought anything. The same thing happened at railway stations. Dr Graham Kerr was finding this – and that any taxi driver
Highlight (Yellow) and Note | Page 102
willing to bring her to the FAP needed a large bribe. After all, the public had been enjoined again and again to take shelter – even ordered to. The authorities could not foresee that the raids would become such a daily and nightly occurrence that all these injunctions would break down of themselves. People had to be fed – the housewives had to shop – people had to get somehow to their jobs – life had to go on, bombs or no bombs
➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗
In Frances' introduction
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 2
It seems only yesterday that I too, like these pretty young nurses selling programmes, wore that uniform of the Red Cross. And the ghosts will not recede or leave me in peace. Pushing, jostling, thrusting away their grey forms they blossom before my eyes from the muted cobwebby hues of memory to those of warm, pulsating life. They will not recede; insistent and determined they force me to take up my pen and go back with them to the summer of 1939...
➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 5
WE WERE HAVING a grand-scale Civil Defence exercise in Chelsea. It was June 19th, 1939. We all thought the idea very silly – we’d had one scare the previous year – and now it all seemed childish. We’d filled sand- bags, dug trenches, fitted thousands of gas-masks, only to throw them all away in an excess of relief when Chamberlain returned from Godesburg with a respite from Hitler. The scare of war had largely died away because the public had decided that it should die away. There would be no war – and the forlorn abandoned gas- masks on rubbish heaps, and the bursting sand-bags seeping over pavements and streets, were witnesses to the public’s decision.
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 5
The sirens wailed – the anguished lament of a soul in torment – and we all took up our positions with combined grumbling and that fear of ridicule ingrained in us all. It did seem ridiculous to have to lie flat on
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 7
The Blackshirts sometimes held meetings at the top of Chelsea Manor Street near the coffee-stall. I loved to stop and heckle them. Their manners reminded me of their fellow Brownshirts in Germany. It was safer to be accompanied by a male when attacking them, Mosley’s followers, like Hitler’s, having scant respect for the fair sex. I lay now on the pavement and looked up at the swastika and
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 7
made up my mind to paint it over with white paint. I would go and buy a cheap pot of white paint for the purpose. I wasn’t unusually patriotic but I had seen what the swastika meant and did in Germany.
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 8
Next day we read in the Press that it had been an unqualified success. Every section and service of the ARP had worked perfectly. Chelsea was praised everywhere, and other boroughs had learned from her foresight. The unstinted praise of the much scorned wardens made up somewhat for their frequent unwelcome visits to the homes of residents to obtain lists and particulars of their occupants. We
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 8
resented this intrusion into the privacy of our homes – an Englishman’s home was supposed to be his castle!
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 8
The Green Cat was eighteen inches high, and sat on a lacquer stand. Made of translucent green celadon, he was incredibly beautiful. He was not just a cat – he was CAT. But I could never look at him without remembering my hurried departure from Peking in July 1937 when the Japanese were advancing on the city, and for the first time I had seen refugees. Long struggling lines of weary trudging figures with their babies strapped on their backs and small children clinging to their thighs. I had reached Peking with great difficulty and only with the help of Chinese friends, and had just acquired the Green Cat for which I had exchanged my Leica camera, when we were ordered to leave immediately for the Settlement of Hong Kong. The journey was a nightmare because of the Cat. The little Chinese, Ah Lee, who had sold him to me had warned me that he was the
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Guardian of the Home. As long as he was treated with deference and respect my home would remain safe and prosperous. With great trouble and annoyance to others, I had got him home intact – and he was my most beautiful and treasured possession. Was he going to prove a Guardian of my Home?
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Casualties don’t choose their place of annihilation – the bombs choose them – anywhere – anytime. You must be prepared for anything.’ And later in his lecture he had warned us about filth. ‘Don’t back away from dirt and filth – you’ll
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see plenty. Blood and tissues and spilled guts are not pretty, ladies and gentlemen – and they SMELL. You’ll have to get used to that. If you come upon a casualty with half his stomach laid open and his guts hanging out thrust your hands unhesitatingly into the wound and pack them back, hold your fists there to keep them in position if you have nothing else. The mess and smell may revolt you, but that man needs his guts – keep them in for him until medical help arrives.’ Had I not
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seen all those refugees – many of them bandaged and maimed – those words might not have been imprinted so indelibly, word for word, in my memory.
❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌spoiler alert
The death and destruction was terrible but after learning about Frances' friends and neighbors it became heart breaking. When hearing about Anne, Cecil, Kathleen and Larry's death and losing so much and for what. I loved hearing about Frances' life and all the good she did but having read her other stories, I was not surprised. Carla's and Catherine's stories are heartbreaking but also one of battling life and attempting to conquer. The sad death of artist Whistler during the Normandy invasion.
After reading this I can only think that peace when possible should be the goal, sometimes that is impossible but looking to flame the fire when it is unnecessary. Just look at the present day terrible judgment in trying to bring Ukraine into NATO, so much destruction for what? Military use is not to be taken lightly, yet it seems that many leaders treat it so.
➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖
Churchill passage
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 57
The Prime Minister, Mr Churchill, announced that we should defend our island and with the British Commonwealth fight on, unconquerable, to end the curse of Hitler. Then he went on to declare our unification with France. This speech was perfectly timed. We were all depressed and horrified at the events in France. Was no country going to
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 57
succeed in checking the terrible and relentless advance of the Nazi troops? They seemed like that horde of Huns under Attila sweeping through Europe and treading down everything which came in their path. The ponderous, deliberate, quiet voice of Winston Churchill was far more effective than the hysterical ravings which one could listen to on the German radio – whether it was Hitler or Goebbels screaming his threats across the waves of the air. Churchill’s voice was
Highlight (Yellow) and Note | Page 57
slow, but its very deliberation had in it the weight and promise that nothing would deflect him from his determination to end the mad lust of the man in the Reichstag. It carried that complete assurance of conviction which we all wanted to hear,
🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶
🔶
A sad passage about animals and being put down. I would have waited to find out the animals reaction and tried something to help calm them.
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 96
about. I felt distinctly sick, but Vicki took not the slightest notice of the appalling noise – had I not known that she had excellent hearing I would have concluded that she was deaf. Up in the sky, very low indeed, a raider was being chased by a Spitfire and as it was chased it was unloading its bombs at regular intervals above the King’s Road. I ran on to the Town Hall, shouted at by indignant wardens all the time. One caught hold of me as I reached the King’s Road. ‘Why aren’t you
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 96
taking cover?’ he demanded. I pointed to Vicki. ‘Dogs aren’t allowed in shelters,’ I said. ‘The sirens sounded after I left home with her.’ ‘Well get under cover at once!’ he ordered. ‘I’m going on duty,’ I said. ‘I don’t care where you’re going. Get under cover... Look out!!!’ I threw myself down again as another deafening explosion rocked the King’s Road, and another, then another. I was now very frightened and went into the Town Hall and took shelter in the labyrinth of
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 97
its bowels where Control was. Vicki showed not the slightest sign of perturbation at all the noise and I was thankful as many people had had their dogs destroyed, fearing that they would not be able to stand the noise. Mr Broad, the veterinary surgeon, told me that he had done nothing since the Blitz began but destroy people’s pets – cats, dogs, and birds. It was a lamentable task for, as with doctors, his job was to save life not destroy it, and he said that some of the animals
Highlight (Yellow) and Note | Page 97
he had been obliged to put down were beautiful healthy creatures
➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖
Foreword -
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 7
Frances Faviell lived in Chelsea before and during the London Blitz, having became a Red Cross volunteer when World War II began. Chelsea was particularly heavily bombed and the author was often in the heart of the action, witnessing or involved in fascinating and horrific events through 1940 and 1941. Her memoir evokes an unforgettable cast, Londoners and refugees alike, caught up together
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 10
in extraordinary and dangerous times – not forgetting the ‘Green Cat’, a Chinese statuette, standing on the author’s window sill as the home’s talismanic protector. Frances Faviell’s memoir is powerful in its blend of humour, tenderness and horror, including the most haunting ending of any wartime memoir.
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 1
Chelsea has a proud record of her citizens in the days of the Germans’ Blitz on London. They acquitted themselves magnificently in the Battle of the Bombs, emerging at the end of the war with a splendid list of decorations and awards for their gallantry under fire. The little borough was the third most heavily bombed in London. Of
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 1
her war-time population no less than 2,099 were bomb casualties, 534 of these being fatal. This meant roughly that one in every fourteen persons in Chelsea was killed or injured. Her citizens, many of them distinguished in the world of art and letters, many of them ordinary, unpretentious workers at everyday jobs, joined together in a unanimously determined effort and worked magnificently in Civil Defence to battle with the bombs.
➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕➕
While reading this story I kept thinking of the character of the people of the past to the present. Would they have let the government control them so much as today's world with regard to COVID. Freedom was what they were fighting for instead of control. The people had to deal with many unfavorable things but they worked together and society did not stop and separate, they needed others. Society today is going in the wrong direction and becoming more remote and less human.
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 102
When the sirens wailed in day-light the shops closed – and we could get shut out without having bought anything. The same thing happened at railway stations. Dr Graham Kerr was finding this – and that any taxi driver
Highlight (Yellow) and Note | Page 102
willing to bring her to the FAP needed a large bribe. After all, the public had been enjoined again and again to take shelter – even ordered to. The authorities could not foresee that the raids would become such a daily and nightly occurrence that all these injunctions would break down of themselves. People had to be fed – the housewives had to shop – people had to get somehow to their jobs – life had to go on, bombs or no bombs
➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗➗
In Frances' introduction
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 2
It seems only yesterday that I too, like these pretty young nurses selling programmes, wore that uniform of the Red Cross. And the ghosts will not recede or leave me in peace. Pushing, jostling, thrusting away their grey forms they blossom before my eyes from the muted cobwebby hues of memory to those of warm, pulsating life. They will not recede; insistent and determined they force me to take up my pen and go back with them to the summer of 1939...
➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 5
WE WERE HAVING a grand-scale Civil Defence exercise in Chelsea. It was June 19th, 1939. We all thought the idea very silly – we’d had one scare the previous year – and now it all seemed childish. We’d filled sand- bags, dug trenches, fitted thousands of gas-masks, only to throw them all away in an excess of relief when Chamberlain returned from Godesburg with a respite from Hitler. The scare of war had largely died away because the public had decided that it should die away. There would be no war – and the forlorn abandoned gas- masks on rubbish heaps, and the bursting sand-bags seeping over pavements and streets, were witnesses to the public’s decision.
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 5
The sirens wailed – the anguished lament of a soul in torment – and we all took up our positions with combined grumbling and that fear of ridicule ingrained in us all. It did seem ridiculous to have to lie flat on
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 7
The Blackshirts sometimes held meetings at the top of Chelsea Manor Street near the coffee-stall. I loved to stop and heckle them. Their manners reminded me of their fellow Brownshirts in Germany. It was safer to be accompanied by a male when attacking them, Mosley’s followers, like Hitler’s, having scant respect for the fair sex. I lay now on the pavement and looked up at the swastika and
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 7
made up my mind to paint it over with white paint. I would go and buy a cheap pot of white paint for the purpose. I wasn’t unusually patriotic but I had seen what the swastika meant and did in Germany.
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 8
Next day we read in the Press that it had been an unqualified success. Every section and service of the ARP had worked perfectly. Chelsea was praised everywhere, and other boroughs had learned from her foresight. The unstinted praise of the much scorned wardens made up somewhat for their frequent unwelcome visits to the homes of residents to obtain lists and particulars of their occupants. We
Highlight (Yellow) | Page 8
resented this intrusion into the privacy of our homes – an Englishman’s home was supposed to be his castle!
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The Green Cat was eighteen inches high, and sat on a lacquer stand. Made of translucent green celadon, he was incredibly beautiful. He was not just a cat – he was CAT. But I could never look at him without remembering my hurried departure from Peking in July 1937 when the Japanese were advancing on the city, and for the first time I had seen refugees. Long struggling lines of weary trudging figures with their babies strapped on their backs and small children clinging to their thighs. I had reached Peking with great difficulty and only with the help of Chinese friends, and had just acquired the Green Cat for which I had exchanged my Leica camera, when we were ordered to leave immediately for the Settlement of Hong Kong. The journey was a nightmare because of the Cat. The little Chinese, Ah Lee, who had sold him to me had warned me that he was the
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Guardian of the Home. As long as he was treated with deference and respect my home would remain safe and prosperous. With great trouble and annoyance to others, I had got him home intact – and he was my most beautiful and treasured possession. Was he going to prove a Guardian of my Home?
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Casualties don’t choose their place of annihilation – the bombs choose them – anywhere – anytime. You must be prepared for anything.’ And later in his lecture he had warned us about filth. ‘Don’t back away from dirt and filth – you’ll
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see plenty. Blood and tissues and spilled guts are not pretty, ladies and gentlemen – and they SMELL. You’ll have to get used to that. If you come upon a casualty with half his stomach laid open and his guts hanging out thrust your hands unhesitatingly into the wound and pack them back, hold your fists there to keep them in position if you have nothing else. The mess and smell may revolt you, but that man needs his guts – keep them in for him until medical help arrives.’ Had I not
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seen all those refugees – many of them bandaged and maimed – those words might not have been imprinted so indelibly, word for word, in my memory.
❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌spoiler alert
The death and destruction was terrible but after learning about Frances' friends and neighbors it became heart breaking. When hearing about Anne, Cecil, Kathleen and Larry's death and losing so much and for what. I loved hearing about Frances' life and all the good she did but having read her other stories, I was not surprised. Carla's and Catherine's stories are heartbreaking but also one of battling life and attempting to conquer. The sad death of artist Whistler during the Normandy invasion.
May 3, 2018
Frances Faviell is a Red Cross worker in London during World War 2 and “A Chelsea Concerto” is her memoir of her wartime experiences.
Written in a chronological form, the book begin with practices for a ‘real’ air raid, carries on through the period of the “Phony War” (when many in England felt that the war was just going to peter out), and then the war itself. Story after story is related here as personal lives are abruptly interrupted when war is declared.
There are trains evacuating and re-evacuating children (because, during the Phony war, many of the children were sent back home ... and then evacuated again), and civilians are requested to leave the trains free for departing soldiers. Parents watch their children depart in crowded, confusing train stations for safer country homes, wondering if the separation will be permanent. Soldiers leave for France (and some don't return). Refugees arrive from Belgium, France, and the Lower occupied countries. And then the Blitz begins.
When the refugees begin to arrive in England, Frances, gifted with languages, works as an interpreter and assists in finding them homes, food and clothing. She is invaluable to many of those trying to carry on a normal life in the midst of chaos, suffering, and loss, and yet she retains a sense of modesty and self-abasement through it all.
“I worked for a long gruelling day until relieved by another Flemish-speaking nurse late next evening, and this time the misery and wretchedness of displaced humanity was one of sheer stark horror. And yet I could not look at all the grey tired faces of our own troops without intense wonder and gratitude that they were home – that with the horror of bombing and machine-gunning which had accompanied them – the RAF covering them and fighting for their protection all the way – it was surely nothing short of a miracle that such numbers were safe on their own shores. The troops had learned not to talk – not so the civilians. They poured into our ears tales of Dorniers, Messerschmitts, and Heinkels attacking them...”
The Londoners attempt to carry on normal life and their spirit seems unbroken even in the worst of situations. I found myself caught up more and more in this story, staying up late to read just one more page! However, this is not a light, pleasant read (just in case you are hoping for one...) Even though there are some happy times; parties, weddings, and new close relationships forming, there are no pretensions here, nothing glossed over or hidden in a sugar-coat of optimism.
The author does write about the courage of many but she also reveals the struggles that naturally arise among close quarters. There are arguments, complaints about the food (natural considering the shortages), and even an incident of suspected favoritism (over the size of allotted garden plots). The author, being a translator, is often called upon to settle these battles but when nothing else works, the police are occasionally called in to arbitrate. Both major and minor events are in the lives of those so pressed at such a challenging time in their lives are openly portrayed.
“Mr. Churchill had said that he promised us nothing but ‘blood, tears, toil, and sweat’. The Blitz was certainly bringing the blood, tears, and the toil, and it seemed to be bringing a great deal of dirt to some of us. When I stopped to think of the disgusting and revolting chores which the war was meaning for me I often rebelled violently, and wondered if a Florence Nightingale role really appealed to me – I loved fun, and was considered frivolous by my family. There were days when I felt I didn’t want to do one more thing for one more refugee or one more bombed-out person, although they compelled my compassion...”
The author writes realistically, openly and honestly about not only the incredible difficulties of this time but also the resilience of the human spirit.
“I had seen my friends in the height of the Blitz battling amongst those four things promised by Mr. Churchill, and in my much-travelled life I have never been more thrilled and amazed by their heroism. The quietest and most unexpected people seemed endowed with the courage of lions and the endurance of steel. Tireless and undaunted, they knew no thought of self as they faced fearful odds in the battle to save their fellow-men and their borough from the destruction from the skies.”
Written in a chronological form, the book begin with practices for a ‘real’ air raid, carries on through the period of the “Phony War” (when many in England felt that the war was just going to peter out), and then the war itself. Story after story is related here as personal lives are abruptly interrupted when war is declared.
There are trains evacuating and re-evacuating children (because, during the Phony war, many of the children were sent back home ... and then evacuated again), and civilians are requested to leave the trains free for departing soldiers. Parents watch their children depart in crowded, confusing train stations for safer country homes, wondering if the separation will be permanent. Soldiers leave for France (and some don't return). Refugees arrive from Belgium, France, and the Lower occupied countries. And then the Blitz begins.
When the refugees begin to arrive in England, Frances, gifted with languages, works as an interpreter and assists in finding them homes, food and clothing. She is invaluable to many of those trying to carry on a normal life in the midst of chaos, suffering, and loss, and yet she retains a sense of modesty and self-abasement through it all.
“I worked for a long gruelling day until relieved by another Flemish-speaking nurse late next evening, and this time the misery and wretchedness of displaced humanity was one of sheer stark horror. And yet I could not look at all the grey tired faces of our own troops without intense wonder and gratitude that they were home – that with the horror of bombing and machine-gunning which had accompanied them – the RAF covering them and fighting for their protection all the way – it was surely nothing short of a miracle that such numbers were safe on their own shores. The troops had learned not to talk – not so the civilians. They poured into our ears tales of Dorniers, Messerschmitts, and Heinkels attacking them...”
The Londoners attempt to carry on normal life and their spirit seems unbroken even in the worst of situations. I found myself caught up more and more in this story, staying up late to read just one more page! However, this is not a light, pleasant read (just in case you are hoping for one...) Even though there are some happy times; parties, weddings, and new close relationships forming, there are no pretensions here, nothing glossed over or hidden in a sugar-coat of optimism.
The author does write about the courage of many but she also reveals the struggles that naturally arise among close quarters. There are arguments, complaints about the food (natural considering the shortages), and even an incident of suspected favoritism (over the size of allotted garden plots). The author, being a translator, is often called upon to settle these battles but when nothing else works, the police are occasionally called in to arbitrate. Both major and minor events are in the lives of those so pressed at such a challenging time in their lives are openly portrayed.
“Mr. Churchill had said that he promised us nothing but ‘blood, tears, toil, and sweat’. The Blitz was certainly bringing the blood, tears, and the toil, and it seemed to be bringing a great deal of dirt to some of us. When I stopped to think of the disgusting and revolting chores which the war was meaning for me I often rebelled violently, and wondered if a Florence Nightingale role really appealed to me – I loved fun, and was considered frivolous by my family. There were days when I felt I didn’t want to do one more thing for one more refugee or one more bombed-out person, although they compelled my compassion...”
The author writes realistically, openly and honestly about not only the incredible difficulties of this time but also the resilience of the human spirit.
“I had seen my friends in the height of the Blitz battling amongst those four things promised by Mr. Churchill, and in my much-travelled life I have never been more thrilled and amazed by their heroism. The quietest and most unexpected people seemed endowed with the courage of lions and the endurance of steel. Tireless and undaunted, they knew no thought of self as they faced fearful odds in the battle to save their fellow-men and their borough from the destruction from the skies.”
April 6, 2022
"Concerto" comes from the Italian "concertare", which means to harmonize. This is exactly what the residents of Chelsea, just outside of London, had to do in order to maximize the chances for survival during the blitz of London by the Nazis from 1940-1941, until the American forces joined in. Volunteers were assigned to do such jobs as finding homes and supplies for refugees from France and Belgium, operate first aid stations, piece together blown-to-bits bodies, dig people out of rubble, put out fires, you name it. And they did it with such courage and pluck! The author was assigned to numerous jobs herself, including taking care of bed pans, yet without grumbling.
This book is certainly inspiring--the population of Chelsea and other British communities under siege certainly sound like a different tribe of people than those of today who whine at the least provocation (and that includes myself at times.)
The one thing I found a bit irritating was the heavy use of acronyms all through the book, which were not necessarily explained. Some of the meanings I found by googling them.
This book is certainly inspiring--the population of Chelsea and other British communities under siege certainly sound like a different tribe of people than those of today who whine at the least provocation (and that includes myself at times.)
The one thing I found a bit irritating was the heavy use of acronyms all through the book, which were not necessarily explained. Some of the meanings I found by googling them.
May 24, 2019
For all my fellow Blitz Lit fans out there: have I found a book for you! This thrilling memoir of WWII London is written with such immediacy and attention to detail that I swear I could hear my heartbeat while reading about some of the more harrowing ‘incidents’ (as those nonchalant Brits referred to death and destruction). Faviell, a well-connected professional portrait painter, was in the thick of it - Chelsea being relatively hard hit - and because she volunteered as an assistant nurse, emergency telephonist and interpreter/caretaker for the Belgian refugees in her neighborhood. She is awed by the humor, bravery and know-how of those who endured the nightmarish scenes, but she’s also aware of intermittent despair and loss of empathy in herself as well as others. Her account feels like such a classic of the genre I’m amazed it was only brought back into print in 2016 after its initial publication in 1959. And I’ve already ordered another reissued Faviell memoir. This one is set in the city where she moved with her young family in 1946 - Berlin!
November 28, 2018
An account of living in Chelsea during the London Blitz. Super interesting, although it occasionally dragged and there were tons of characters who came in and out of Faviell's life, so it was sometimes difficult to remember who was who. Which is why I'm glad I read it on my Kindle, so I could always search for a reminder.
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