It has become known as the “war of nerves”. An apt name for a jittery, jangling time in British history, consumed with fear of what may be coming, in which the sheer unpredictability of life became – as the historian Prof Julie Gottlieb writes – a form of psychological warfare. Contemporary reports describe “threats of mysterious weapons, gigantic bluff, and a cat-and-mouse game intended to stampede the civilian population of this island into terror”.

It all sounds uncannily like life under Donald Trump, who this week marched the world uphill to war, only to amble just as inexplicably back down again. But Gottlieb is actually describing the period between the Munich crisis of 1938 and the blitz beginning in earnest in September 1940. Her fascinating study of letters, diaries and newspapers from the period focuses not on the big geopolitical picture but on small domestic details, and what they reveal about the emotional impact of living suspended between peace and war: companies advertising “nerve tonics” for the anxious, reports of women buying hats to lift their spirits and darker accounts of nervous breakdowns. We did not, contrary to popular myth, all Keep Calm and Carry On. Suicide rates, she notes, rose slightly.

How do you live an ordinary life under the shadow of a war? Though for now that shadow has thankfully receded, this peace remains uneasy. If he did use force against Greenland he would be unstoppable, Trump boasted, before conceding that actually: “I won’t use force” – nor the threatened trade tariffs either. Well, not today, anyway. Tomorrow, who knows?

I’ve written before about what this age of US anarchy means for governments, scrabbling to adapt to life without a superpower ally. But it’s less clear how the rest of us – doing the school run,........

© The Guardian