I’ve lived in London for two years, I’ve walked countless times around Westminster with it’s gorgeous abbey, houses of parliament that look like they’re made of match sticks and melted wax. Further along is Downing street, Horse guards parade and then turning right you can wander along through St James’s park to Buckingham Palace.
But, nestled in to the left of all of this is a glass bubble door that leads underground, preserved in time and history.
In some ways it was a man’s war, in other’s it was the women holding it all together.
Clementine Churchill’s private bedroom with a comfy chair, dresser and wash basin. You could almost (almost) forget you were under reinforced concrete. The Churchill’s only really spent a night or two at most down there, preferring the above ground apartments they inhabited.
But, the typists and ladies living below the ground, in tunnels and bunk beds in cramped quarters had to have weekly sunbed treatments, and could go for weeks without popping up into daylight.