Lights Over London

“Madam, you should come below.”

Dickie stood in the doorway, his voice gentle, but firm. Outside, the sky flashed with bursts of light. But this was no celebration—it was war. Bombs were falling across London, and everyone was supposed to be in the safety of the shelters.

Elizabeth didn’t move. She sat in her chair by the large window, a cigarette held in an elegant silver holder. The untouched brandy beside her slowly warmed in its glass. “You know, Dickie,” she said with a faint smile, “I still remember the fireworks from Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee. I sat right here, sixteen years old, just arrived from New York. Archie and his father were out in the crowd somewhere… who knows what mischief they were up to.”

She looked out into the night. The street was strangely quiet, no people—only flashes in the distance and the sound of sirens growing louder. Ash from her cigarette drifted out into the dark like soft gray snow.

Dickie said nothing. He knew there was no use in trying to change her mind. She was stubborn—always had been. Just like her mother-in-law before her.

“I had a cousin on the Titanic, you know,” she said. “Evelyn. One of Archie’s cousins. She spent her whole life trying to get to a place I spent mine trying to leave. She made it to New York… only to die in the ocean.” Elizabeth paused as another burst lit up the sky. “Then the war came. Archie didn’t have to go, you know. He didn’t have to. But he did…”

Her voice drifted off. She didn’t need to say more. They both knew what had happened.

If Dickie were to go into the old study, he’d find the Admiralty telegram sitting on the desk, right next to Archie’s diary. The cable had said only a few words: “Presumed lost with all hands.” Just two months later, the war ended. Only two months too late.

Elizabeth had never entered that study again. And she never let Dickie clean it.

She took another drag from her cigarette, watching the sky. “Funny how life works,” she said. “I didn’t hate New York, but I couldn’t wait to leave it. Evelyn, though—she was so excited to go. Before her farewell party, Archie told me not to say a single bad thing about New York. I wonder… if I had, maybe she would’ve stayed. Maybe she’d be sitting here with me now.”

She looked over at Dickie, her voice soft but clear. “I’m sorry, Dickie. I won’t go below. I just can’t.”

He gave her a small nod. “It’s alright, Ma’am. Just doing my job.”

“Thank you, Dickie. Truly. You’ve been a good friend to a lonely old woman.”

“As I said, Ma’am. Just doing my job. Try to get some sleep.”

“I will.”

She raised her glass, finished the brandy, and as the air raid siren reached its loudest point, she closed her eyes.

Deep below the city, Dickie’s hands were stained with grime from the Underground. The bombings above sounded like distant thunder down there. People huddled in the tunnels, hoping the worst would pass them by.

After the attack, Dickie returned to the street. Number Five stood tall, not a mark on it. Number Seven had broken windows, but still looked strong. But Number Six—Elizabeth’s home—was gone. Just a pile of bricks and dust.

Dickie stood in front of it, heart heavy, until something caught his eye. He bent down and pulled out a small book from the rubble. It was Archie’s diary. Somehow, it had survived. The explosion had almost wiped the dust from its cover. Almost.

He held it close to his chest, unable to speak. The sun started to set behind him, and the sirens began to wail again. War did not stop for mourning.

Without a word, Dickie turned and walked back toward the tunnels. The diary pressed against his heart was all that remained of a house, a story, and the woman who had watched the lights over London one last time.

This story reminds us of the quiet bravery of those who stayed behind—the ones who lived through loss, who held onto memories, and who found meaning in the small things left behind. In the middle of destruction, something as simple as a diary, or a conversation by the window, can become the most powerful symbol of love, memory, and peace.

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Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.