The Second World War gave something of a boost to the short story in the UK: wily magazine editors managed to work the paper rationing system and authors were often able to respond relatively rapidly to current situations and concerns. This means that some stories from this period hinge on details of cultural history that can now seem obscure, but the best authors manage to convey the pressures and anxieties of the moment without getting bogged down in explanation. In Townsend Warner’s story, a young man goes home on leave. During his departure from his army camp, and as we follow him on his journey, we learn how much he’s looking forward to browsing the small library he’s accumulated in his bedroom at his parents’ house. When he arrives in his home town to find that a “Salvage Drive” is in progress, including a “Book Mile” laid along the road, it’s hardly a surprise to the reader that his treasured volumes are among those destined for pulping. And then, before he can go and rescue them, it starts to rain… Exhorted to be part of the war effort, and not affected by bombing, the town’s residents want to do what’s expected of them. But the son, the combatant, wants everything to remain unchanged, not understanding the complexities of what it means to be part of the ‘Home Front’. It’d be easy enough to condemn the mother who gave away her son’s precious books for recycling: but the lack of understanding in this story is multi-directional.
First published in The New Yorker, 1943. Collected in The Museum of Cheats and Other Stories, Chatto & Windus, 1947
