A Brief Period of Rejoicing…
V.E. Celebration
Congress Theatre, Eastbourne, 1995
“A lot of us found ourselves unexcited. Rather like a man who, laying down a heavy burden after a long time, finds his shoulders are too numb to notice any relief at first.”
Although people had known for weeks that the war was being won, the beginning of the end was finally ushered in on 29 April when one million German troops in Italy surrendered to Field Marshal Sir Harold Alexander. On 2 May, the Russians announced the capitulation of the German garrison in Berlin. Two days later, the German forces in northwest Germany, Holland and Denmark gave themselves up to Field Marshal Montgomery in a tent south of Hamburg on the desolate Lüneburg Heath. Finally, on Monday 7 May at 2:41 a.m., in a small brick-built schoolhouse in Rheims where General Eisenhower, the Allied Supreme Commander, had his HQ, Army Chief of Staff General Alfred Jodl, representing the German High Command, and Grand Admiral Karl Dönitz, designated head of the German State, signed an act of unconditional surrender.
Churchill had been due to inform the British public officially in a broadcast timed to coincide with similar announcements in America and Russia at 4 p.m. that same afternoon, but in fact the machinery which had been put in place to announce the long-awaited peace simply did not allow for such a speedy ending to the war. Besides, Stalin insisted they all wait for the official ratification from Berlin. In the event, these political delays allowed the country a further day’s holiday in which to celebrate.
“It wasn’t just food that was rationed, shoes were as well. Some of the people who were dancing had to take their shoes off because the soles were so worn out.”
Tuesday 8 May dawned wet. The night before there had been a terrific thunderstorm, reminding many of a similar storm on the night of 2 September 1939 – the last day of peace. But it would have taken more than a few drops of rain to dampen anyone’s spirits. Streets all across the land were made ready for parties. Church bells rang out for the first time in five and a half years, not to warn of invasion, but to welcome the peace. In the Daily Mirror the strip cartoon character Jane lost all her clothes to a bunch of squaddies while in his room in 10 Downing Street the 70-year-old premier Winston Churchill, working on his victory speech, was concerned that the pubs might run out of beer during the course of the day. He was assured by the Ministry of Food that they would not.
“People were going crazy, dancing, singing and kissing on the pavement. It was as if a huge lid had been lifted. Relief was the main emotion…”
Trafalgar Square had been packed since dawn. The country as a whole was one huge party, but its hub was London because the King and the Prime Minister were there. By noon the crowds had swelled to take in Whitehall and The Mall. As Churchill drove past on his way to lunch at Buckingham Palace, the skies over the capital cleared and echoed back the cheers of the enthusiastic multitudes. The lunch itself was rather more low-key. “We congratulated each other on the end of the European war,” the King remembered later. Then Churchill left for the Cabinet Room to make his historic broadcast. The war in Europe would end at one minute past midnight, he told the nation listening in to radios and loudspeakers across the country. “We may allow ourselves a brief period of rejoicing.” Then, reminding the population that hostilities in Japan were still not over, he added, “Advance, Britannia!”, and his voice cracked with emotion. “Long live the cause of freedom! God save the King!”
A roar went up. Strangers shook hands, then hugged and kissed. Whistles blew, confetti showered down. Outside the Palace, an enormous conga line formed around the base of Queen Victoria’s statue. The Royal Family stepped shily onto the sunlit balcony and waved. Their subjects waved back. It was a sight that was to be repeated throughout the day as the crowds grew ever more jubilant and demanding.
“We climbed the statue outside the Palace and sat on Queen Victoria’s lap until 3 a.m., singing and laughing and talking. It took me two weeks to get my voice back.”
The King indulgently allowed his young daughters out to mingle incognito with the crowd and enjoy “the first fun in their lives”. Princess Elizabeth, in the uniform of a mechanic in the Auxiliary Territorial Service, pulled her cap down over her eyes to avoid recognition, but she was reprimanded by a Palace aide who refused to be seen in the company of a fellow officer improperly dressed…
Churchill misplaced his cigars during the day but refused to appear before the public without one. “They would have felt cheated,” he declared.
In Whitehall, Churchill appeared on the balcony of the Ministry of Health, wearing his siren suit and a Homburg hat. The Guards Band struck up ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’. Churchill conducted the crowd in ‘Land of Hope and Glory’. In Piccadilly, where the licensing laws had been suspended, the cheering crowds carried uniformed servicemen shoulder-high through the throng. A brass band played. A sailor from New Zealand climbed onto the roof of a bus and a horde of American servicemen swarmed up after him. They were all pulled down again by the police. The fountains in Trafalgar Square seemed to contain more people than water.
“In Piccadilly Circus, scenes were fantastic. It seemed as though there were tens of thousands of people – civilians and service folk. It was the Coronation, the Jubilee, the liberation of Rome, Brussels and Paris all rolled into one.”
As evening came on, floodlights raked the sky. Two arc lamps crossed their beams and formed a huge V for victory sign over the dome of St Paul’s. Elsewhere in the country, street parties had been going on all day. Celebrations had burst out of buildings and halls too small to contain the numbers or the energy of the revellers. Pianos, which had been dragged bodily out of front parlours, were leading medleys of wartime favourites like ‘Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag’, and everyone smiled. Bomb sites and gutted buildings were plundered for timber and bonfires sprang up. Kids were allowed to stay up late. When the pubs eventually closed, the customers poured out onto the streets. The last things to get chucked on the flames were the beer crates. Thousands of them.
“Sailors climbed to the tops of Piccadilly’s tall lamp posts, cheering wildly, trying to lead the throng in victory songs. Military policemen were the butt of all sorts of good-natured chaff…”
Back in the capital, silence fell as Big Ben announced midnight. Then it began to strike, and the renewed roars of relief and joy only turned to boos when one by one the floodlights began to flicker and go out. A fire engine was jeered as it arrived to douse a bonfire off Oxford Street. As the emotions of the day began to tell on people already worn out by six long years’ deprivation and strain, groups and couples lay down where they could and slept under the stars. A surprisingly large number of people who met as strangers in a mood of euphoria found romance beyond the passion of the moment, and laid the basis for long-lasting relationships. Peace meant confidence to plan for the future once again.
The war in Europe, which had lasted five years, eight months and three days, and cost 55 million lives, was finally over.
From the Newspapers
In Stockholm the air was thick with streamers as secretaries tore up paper and hurled it out of office windows onto the main shopping thoroughfare, Drottningaten.
In Paris evening papers announced the surrender in headlines six inches high.
In Rome the bells of St Peter’s rang out across the city, competing with the celebratory wailing of sirens and the victorious carousing of British and American troops.
In New York liners and tugs the length of the Hudson River hooted their sirens while cars ceaselessly honked their horns. Times Square was a solid mass of humanity.
In San Francisco, the Conference city, VE Day was celebrated, but it was officially announced that the work of the Conference would proceed uninterrupted.