Did Churchill really commission wartime pornography to motivate troops? The facts behind the salacious rumour

You may not have come across this particular wartime rumour before, but it has circulated quietly for decades.

Britain’s wartime narrative tends to present itself as stoic, restrained and morally upright, a story of resolve and quiet decency under pressure. That self-image has become central to how the nation remembers the conflict.

So, the suggestion that something transgressive might have unfolded discreetly behind that façade is dramatically compelling. The isolation of war, the repression, censorship, and at times, stiffening boredom, is fertile ground for storytelling.

The story goes that during the Second World War, the British Navy tolerated (or even quietly facilitated) the circulation of so-called “blue films” among sailors stationed in remote and isolated postings.

It appears in oral histories, enthusiast forums and fragments of naval folklore: half-remembered tales of reels passed hand to hand, framed as pragmatic attempts to relieve boredom and psychological strain during long deployments.

These accounts are never presented as official policy, rarely pinned down to hard evidence, and sit firmly in the territory of urban legend. Yet they have persisted, retold as part of the shadow folklore of life on remote bases during the war.

That space between suggestion and evidence intrigued me as a filmmaker and inspired Think of England, which imagines what might have happened if such a project had been proposed under the pressure of war.

The film doesn’t claim to dramatise real events. Instead, I was interested in exploring the kinds of stories that have been told for years about how morale was managed – and in examining the political and psychological tensions that make a story like this feel plausible.

But beyond the rumour, what do we actually know?

Love and war – AKA sex and death – have always been the perfect bedfellows

We know that there is no archival evidence that Churchill, the Ministry of Information, or any arm of the British government commissioned pornographic films to boost troop morale. Historians who have examined the claim have found no official directive, no production records and no surviving material to support it.

However, there is documented historical context that makes the rumour less outlandish than it might first appear. The British Film Institute archives include wartime propaganda produced under the Ministry of Information that employed nudity and sexual suggestion as part of morale-building efforts.

While far removed from modern definitions of pornography, such material demonstrates that wartime authorities were willing to test moral boundaries in the service of maintaining fighting spirit. In extreme circumstances, the boundaries of the acceptable can shift.

And it is in that shifting territory between fact and folklore, that the myth has endured.

Nothing stresses the moral codes of the day quite like a full-on war. In peacetime, societies draw firm boundaries around what is acceptable; in wartime, those boundaries are tested. War asks the mildest-of-mannered butchers, bakers and candlestick makers to overnight transform themselves into agents of organised violence.

The psychological strain of combat – the proximity to loss, fear and prolonged uncertainty – alters perspective and will inevitably make much of the quaint and prim conventions by which they previously tried so hard to live, now appear trivial when set against existential threat.

Likewise, throwing every resource into the creation of brand new and unspeakably horrific weapons of mass destruction would also suggest that, actually, yes, all really is fair in love and war. (And love and war, lest we forget – AKA sex and death – have always been the perfect bedfellows!)

The Nazis were a few beats ahead of the allies when it came to the use of nudity in propaganda films

As the Second World War began, memories of the previous global conflagration, barely 20 years earlier, were still remarkably fresh. Now was surely the time to revisit any and all lessons learned, and principal among them was this: even with all the industrialisation of modern warfare (planes, tanks, machine guns, etc), still millions upon millions of men had quickly become hopelessly bogged down in hellish trenches and barely moved a mile in 5 years of slaughter

Second time around and both sides reasonably concluded that such a scenario repeating itself was still highly plausible and should absolutely be prepared for.

The crux of the matter was: could any single innovation really make enough of a material difference to the lives of those frightened and homesick young men, sufficient to render them willing and able to continue such an appalling slog just that little bit longer than the foe?

The Nazis, it seemed, were always a step or two ahead in such matters. The development of the drug crystal meth (speed) had catapulted their advancing troops into almost superhuman efforts, with all early attempts at resistance swept aside in a Blitzkrieg. Morally dubious, yes. But unquestionably effective.

They were also, initially at least, more than a few beats ahead of the allies when it came to the use of nudity in propaganda films, perhaps most famously encapsulated in the striking opening sequence to Leni Riefenstahl’s Hitler-commissioned documentary on the 1936 Olympic Games (Olympia), with its totally nude dancers and athletes scandalously sexualising the ideal of Aryan perfection, and with it the implicit suggestion that such delicious rewards would await its deserving and victorious heroes.

There was even a persistent historical rumour that the Nazis conceived a project to make explicit pornographic films on the occupied Channel Islands, forcibly enlisting British citizens as their ‘actors’. It was in fact one of the original inspirations (if ‘inspiration’ is the right word in this context) for Think of England.

However, I can happily/resignedly report that even after much investigative sleuthing I could find no corroborating evidence whatsoever, and can thereby now consign it into that vast, dusty vault that is the Depository of Apocryphal Tales.

Of course, none of the above is to say that explicit pornographic films were not being made, almost industrially, throughout this entire period.

From the earliest days of cinema, so-called “stag films” found eager audiences across continents. Usually short and almost always anonymously made, they were generally as graphic and explicit as anything seen today, albeit shockingly amateurish in both storytelling and production.

While there is no evidence of formal British endorsement, they were undoubtedly shown throughout the Second World War, and particularly in those areas where soldiers tended to gather. True, there is no clear evidence that such films were ever shown officially in army camps and garrisons anywhere, but it is now widely accepted that they were a common treat on navy ships of all flags.

So then, with resources already stretched to breaking point, why would Britain – and specifically the Ministry of Information – bother going to such lengths just to make their own versions of films that already existed so numerously?

Well, for a start, it would clearly be easy and manifestly desirable to saturate these little narratives with the kind of patriotic fervour Britain was so desperately trying to excite throughout all its other propaganda output.

Just imagine the morale-lifting efficacy of watching a uniformed soldier – returning hero – getting absolutely everything he ever dreamed of, and for nothing more than an overwhelming gratitude for his valiant service; and it goes without saying, from a girl otherwise leagues above his station.

Fight like a man and, we promise you, this will be your reward (on earth as it is in heaven).

Better still, the films would not only be of a much higher production quality, but they could also be made specifically just for the army, with its very particular context and circumstances; and then again specifically for the navy; and then again for the air force. Whatever the uniform you happen to wear, “we have the film for you”.

If such a project was actually sanctioned, the one thing you can be absolutely sure of is this: as with all the other new weapons in development (the bouncing bomb was unveiled the very year Think of England is set), it would unquestionably have to be kept top secret, shared only on a need-to-know basis, certainly until properly tested for its positive effect on morale and its attendant fighting spirit...

But we digress. Back to the question: did Britain really make wartime pornography? The official historical record suggests Britain did not commission wartime pornography. But the endurance of the rumour reveals how war unsettles our faith in moral absolutes.

So, can we ever really know for sure? Well, Think of England is an unflinching deep dive into the actual time and place and circumstance of its urgency. Furthermore, watched in its entirety (and properly digested), it will definitively answer that very question once and for all.

However, it would be almost recklessly dangerous for us not to keep it absolutely top secret, at least until we have properly tested its effect on a sufficiently broad demographic and are satisfied it will not lead to catastrophic moral dissipation in the wider society.

Richard Hawkins is the writer and director of dark wartime satire Think of England, which premieres at Glasgow Film Festival on Friday 6 March, followed by a screening at Manchester Film Festival on 22 March.

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