There has been much talk during the current crisis of wartime measures and the “blitz spirit” amid the reports of good deeds and selfless volunteering. What may receive less publicity are the activities of those, as in the second world war, who will use these extraordinary circumstances not so much to help others as to help themselves.

While the traditional picture of wartime Britain is of a nation pulling steadfastly together, in fact the crime rate rose by 57% and everything from black-market racketeering and looting of bombed premises to the forging of ration cards and even murder disguised as enemy action was taking place.

As is happening now in some countries, the outbreak of war in 1939 led to the early release of some criminals from prison. One of them was Billy Hill, a dapper gangster who would later recount his delight at being able to plunder at home as the nation fought Hitler abroad. “That big, wide, handsome and, oh, so profitable black market walked into our ever open arms,” said Hill in his ghosted autobiography, Boss of Britain’s Underworld. “Some day someone should write a treatise on Britain’s wartime black market. It was the most fantastic side of civilian life in wartime.”

The items sought on the black markets then – whisky, candles, sugar, light bulbs and so on – may differ from toilet paper, hand sanitisers and ventilators but the shortages and panic provided the same openings for the canny crook. Despite spells back inside, Hill emerged from the war a wealthy man.

Already we are hearing of thefts and break-ins to chemists and warehouses. Essex police reported last week that they had arrested three people for burglary after a 999 call and found the thieves’ van stuffed with stolen toilet paper. The nickname given the alleged culprits in the media – “the bog roll bandits” –may not have quite the same cachet as the Great Train Robbers but doubtless a film is already being planned. In Hong Kong last month, armed robbers stole 600 toilet rolls from outside a supermarket. Who would have thought that one day the professional criminal would move from payroll to toilet-roll robberies?

And who would have thought that in 2020 the recommended outfit for the responsible citizen would be the criminal’s uniform of choice – a mask and gloves? During the blitz, thieves liked to kit themselves out with an ARP (air raid precautions) warden’s helmet and armband as they helped themselves to goods from bomb-damaged shops. Now Leicestershire police have already issued warnings about people, doubtless with a very convincing self-made ID card, knocking on doors offering instant Covid-19 tests for cash.

Who would have thought that one day the professional criminal would move from payroll to toilet-roll robberies? Duncan Campbell

The Metropolitan police warned last week of fraudsters, purporting to be from research organisations affiliated to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) and the World Health Organization (WHO), who are contacting people by email and asking them to click on to a bogus website. “The emails are often sophisticated and look quite convincing,” say the Met. Another scam is a site that offers advice on free school meals, asking parents to send their financial details to see if they qualify for help.

The government is now promising compensation to those whose jobs are lost or businesses bankrupted. One wartime scam came into play after Luftwaffe raids because the government would pay £500 to those who had lost their homes to the bombs. In those trusting days, one chap, Walter Handy, claimed to have been “bombed out” on 19 occasions. He pushed his luck and was eventually jailed for three years. While the vast majority of those seeking help now are doubtless honest and in need, there may be no shortage of what the wartime BBC described as “spivs and drones” among them.

Rationing has yet to be introduced even for the elusive toilet roll but, at the height of the war, theft of clothing coupons was rife. Even Ivor Novello, composer of the famous first world war song, Keep the Home Fires Burning, was jailed for four weeks in 1944 for the misuse of petrol coupons given to him by a female fan and by the end of the war there had been more than 114,000 prosecutions for black marketeering.

So far today, overall crime figures have dropped. Andy Cooke, the Merseyside chief constable, noted on Wednesday that “there is less violence from pub fights, less burglaries as everyone is at home” but warns that “what you will see are increases in domestic violence, with people cooped up in the same home, and internet crime such as fraud and scams”.

Profiteering from the current crisis is already under way at an international level. Last week, US customs officers seized what appeared to be fake Covid-19 tests at Los Angeles airport in a package that had come from Britain. Jury trials are currently suspended for the foreseeable future but when they return those who have used the virus for their own ends may find that “lockdown” in Wormwood Scrubs or Barlinnie jail is not quite as cosy and public-spirited as the one currently imposed on the nation.

In 1941, at the height of the blitz, one Harry Dobkin strangled his wife, Rachel, and left her body at a London bomb site in the hope that she would be seen as a victim of the Luftwaffe rather than a cunning husband. He didn’t get away with it and was hanged in Wandsworth prison. So far there have been no reports of similar opportunistic attempts but who knows, with the police’s attention elsewhere and few potential witnesses on the street, what quiet gangland revenge plot could now be under way to arrange the “social distancing” of a rival for ever?

