It seems likely that queuing first instilled itself within our daily lives with the introduction and development of public transport during the early Victorian era. Trains, planes and automobiles often have one big thing in common: queues. And it is a well-known fact that after waiting for what seems like a lifetime for just the one bus, three will arrive all at once. Click here to find out more about this strange “bus bunching” phenomenon and to read Wendy Cope’s Bloody Men poem which likens buses to men.

 

Wartime waiting 

Both world wars increased the amount of time people spent queuing in Britain. People had to queue for food rations and severe shortage of food meant that getting in line and waiting - ration book in hand - was a top priority for every British household (although it tended to be women and children who did the queuing).

The picture above courtesy of Imperial War Museum Collections Online, shows a food queue in Reading during the First World War.

Rationing during the First World War was introduced in 1918 (the last year of the war) and ended in 1921. Queuing became a daily necessity and a way of life. Although the reason wartime food queues existed was a grim one, social conventions held such queues together and people would chat, share their woes and highs, humanise against this strange new order – the food ration queue – that they had to face on a daily basis.

“I spent a lot of time queuing. Coal was in short supply. We had two cwt (abbreviation for hundredweight) per month which lasted two weeks. We also queued at the Gas Works for tickets for coke. I was only too pleased to help out by queuing as I was always cold. We also bought coal bricks and coal eggs which were made from coal dust. I queued for food. We queued for gravy and beef and if you saw somebody in a queue you would tap them on the shoulder to find out what they were queuing for and run home to get some money and then run back to get whatever your mum or dad needed.” (Courtesy of BBC’s WW2 People's War project)

If anything, wartime queues brought people together and were a uniting factor in everyone’s lives. No matter what your social standing, you needed to queue like everyone else if you wanted you and your family to eat that day. Rationing could be seen as a great social equaliser, as it ensured that to an extent the rich ate less and the poor ate more. In the midst of this social change the queue became a great leveller of society and the perfect place to discuss how to best further the darned rations!

 

“Every time you went for your rations you could be up to two or three hours in a queue, and people talked. They would relay their experiences of a raid, or talk about food, and different things you could do with making the rations stretch.” (Courtesy of  BBC’s WW2 People's War project)

The food queue 

The painting to the left was originally titled ‘Squalor’ but it was typical of Nevinson to rename it in order to make it more newsworthy. Nevinson draws a visual contrast between the colourful advertising and the monochrome people in the queue. His use of faceting, inspired by the Italian Futurists, recalls his early war work of soldiers marching, machine-like, into war. Its use in this context could be read as a comment on the inefficiencies of the domestic economy. (Description of painting courtesy of: IWM Collections Online) 

 

The German U-Boat campaigns of the First World War had a severe impact on food availability. Food production increased but certain essential goods (notably sugar and meat) continued to be in short supply. By the end of 1917 people were panic buying, which caused even longer food queues. Sugar rationing was introduced from 31 December 1917, with other commodities being added to the no-go list by July 1918. Tea was never rationed nationally (thank goodness!) but its distribution was controlled by national registration of customers based on 50 grams (2oz) per head from 14 July to 2 December 1918.

World War Two

 

The picture to the left courtesy of Imperial War Museum Collections Online, captures people queuing at a greengrocer in High Road, Wood Green, North London, a familiar WW2 sight.

 

From almost the first few months of WW2 the management of food consumption  (most obviously through the rationing of certain essentials - as with WW1) was introduced. Fish supplies were strongly affected as the Royal Navy requisitioned much of the fishing fleet and the German Navy operating in the North Sea restricted the activity of the remaining east coast fleets. Despite fresh fish being in short supply, and consequently very expensive, being perishable it was (like our beloved tea) never rationed. As a result, fish queues were always long and even air raids could not disperse them!

 

In Dunbar’s painting a long line of women queue outside the shop of H. Hill and Son, a fishmongers and poulterers. The slabs are being washed down in anticipation of a fresh delivery.

Dunbar’s canvas size emphasises the length of the queue (a cat has joined in, rather hopefully) and her observation of detail shows the women's determination and expectations as they carry their large empty baskets and the fishmonger prepares the stall. Dunbar makes clear who is expected to queue - women and older men - and who will have their meals served to them. The passing serviceman on his bicycle and the service women facing us from the canvas both have more urgent business to attend. The only civilians in a hurry are those rushing to join the queue. The shopping queue was not only a symbol of shortages but also part of the difficult process of adapting to the new and daily realities. (Description of painting courtesy of: IWM Collections Online)

“During the war if you saw a queue you joined it. We went to M&S (Marks and Spencers) in Peterborough once and joined a queue. That’s how I got my first pair of nylons. They were really stiff, and quite thick. I remember joining a queue for sausages once. When we cooked them they were so disappointing – all bread and vegetable. But if you didn’t want what you’d queued for you could always find someone who did!" (Courtesy of BBC’s WW2 People's War project)

End of the war

The left-hand picture courtesy of Imperial War Museum Collections Online, was taken during the relief of Guernsey and Sark, Channel Islands in 1945. It shows a general view of the main street of a town in Guernsey, showing people queuing for the stocks of British food which have just arrived following liberation. Several shop fronts can be seen, including Boots the chemist. The street is duly decorated with bunting and Union Flags.

So, it’s fair to say that both world wars and the early development of transport most definitely played integral roles in queuing becoming a national pastime. But whatever the founding reasons for queuing becoming part of our collective psyche, perhaps in truth, deep down, don’t we all despise queuing? Don’t we wish we could push the person who’s dithering around in front of us clean out the way so we can just get on with our day?

Maybe, contrary to popular myth, the British do not actually like queuing, either in public buildings or when contacting call centres. In truth, most of us probably wish that things could be organised efficiently enough to minimise the need for queuing.

And what do we really make of of ‘queuing viewing’? The latest innovation to help us pass the weary minutes is in-queue entertainment, with videos of Mr Bean being seen in London post offices a few years ago. Some might say this is an example of our obsession with queuing having gone one step too far…