I recently stayed on Primrose Hill and this night time panorama of London was taken from the hotel window. Below is a true story from the 1940s:

At the beginning of WW2, my mother, Doreen, was working with the Civil Service in Whitehall, London. She was living in a ladies hostel in the Primrose Hill Road, Hampstead. Below is an extract from her memoirs of an incident from that time.

“One evening we were all in the dining room having a meal, suddenly we heard the unmistakable whistle of a falling bomb and we all dived under the tables. Fortunately it failed to go off, because it landed in the road right outside the dining room window. Even so all the glass fell into the room with the impact and there was a large crater in the road. Soon after that my office was evacuated to Rhyll in North Wales.”

Years later, when my parents were visiting us in Australia, they met a Dutch relative who had been sent as forced labour to Germany to worked on bomb assembly. He told us that every now and then he left out a critical part and that bomb would not explode. This was highly dangerous to himself of course, if he had been caught doing it.
So years later, at this extended family party in Australia, it was decided that thanks to Uncle Albert, the Primrose Hill bomb did not explode, and that my Mum was not injured or worse.