Victory! VE Day Celebrations on the British Home Front

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Montague Burton's letter to his son, Raymond, serving overseas. It might be noted, concerning the reference to 'figures leaving the world's stage', that this would quite soon apply to Churchill too, though temporarily.

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The unconditional surrender of Germany was public knowledge on 7 May 1945. Sir Montague Burton, writing to his son, perceived a collective sigh of relief at delivery from danger, combined with a strong sense that this had been a victory worth fighting for:

The nightmare is almost over and there is considerable satisfaction that the evil men who have perpetrated the ghastly deeds are receiving, or are likely to receive, punishment to fit their crime. We were here at Branksome in 1940 - just five years ago - when Belgium, Denmark, Holland and Norway were invaded... It seems appropriate that we should be here when the liberation of those countries is announced. Never has so much history been crowded into so few days: in fact, I do not think history has so exciting and sensational a parallel. Three important figures - two who have brought more sorrow than any other two men previously [Hitler and Mussolini] and one who has done probably more than any single individual for the survival of civilisation in the hour of peril [Roosevelt] have been moved from the world's stage within a few weeks.

These were indeed momentous events and Burton was surely not alone in his conviction that he was living in 'unprecedented times'. Certainly, Britain's wartime leaders were conscious of the occasion and were eager to mark the final delivery from danger. King George VI and the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, were determined that 7 May 1945 should be celebrated as Victory Day. A nation that had stood alone, in 1940, in the face of Hitler's seemingly invincible forces, could at last celebrate both its survival and its vital contribution to the defeat of Nazism. But, Churchill and the King were frustrated by the difficulties of co-ordinating the moment of victory with Britain's principal allies, the United States and the Soviet Union. The King's diary indicates his personal disappointment, as well as that of his government, at the delay in proceedings: 'The P.M. wanted to announce it but President Truman and Marshal Stalin want it to be announced tomorrow at 3.0 p.m. as arranged. The time fixed for Unconditional Surrender is Midnight May 8^th. This came to me as a terrible anti-climax, having made my broadcast speech for record purposes with cinema, photography and with no broadcast at 9.0 p.m. today!'² In the moment of victory, Britain's increasingly junior status in the wartime Big Three was, perhaps, becoming clear.

Unaware of the reasons for the delay, a young ATS clerk recorded the mixture of excitement and impatience that pervaded her office:

The war is over - that's obvious - but when is Churchill going to say so? Everyone gives his opinion - 'At nine' - 'not till tomorrow' - 'At midnight'. Normally, the office is clear by 5.55, but tonight every single member of staff stays to hear the 6 p.m. news - and still it is the same.' ³ Without any official word, however, the people had already begun to celebrate. London, in particular, witnessed spontaneous gatherings of revellers and Union flags began to be draped from people's windows. The ATS clerk joined the 'fairly dense' crowds and found that the capital was 'really getting into the Victory mood, without waiting for Mr Churchill .... Trafalgar Sq. is gayer than ever, dancing and singing, the 'Marseillaise' and 'Knees up Mother Brown'. The Palais Glide in the Haymarket, and little bonfires on the pavements fed by newspapers. Then - Piccadilly Circus again. It is dark now, no street lights and few lighted windows. But it is one mass of yelling, laughing, singing, shrieking people; a small sports car is trying to wriggle through, and its folded roof is in shreds. A brilliantly lit bus is bogged down beside Eros, with people swarming all over it, inside and out.⁴

But, although the party had afready started for some, it was the next day, 8 May 1945, which was designated VE Day, with 9 May also declared a public holiday.

VE Day was a day for national rejoicing. The people celebrated victory in the 'People's War'. Yet, as Ernest Bevin observed,⁵ it was also a day that belonged uniquely to one individual - Winston Churchill. His radio broadcast at 3 p.m. brought the nation together. Later, MPs from all sides greeted him with great enthusiasm, when he arrived in the House of Commons. As so often during the War, Churchill captured the mood of the nation. This was a time to be thankful for survival, for freedom from the threat of bombs and for the victory of democracy over tyranny. His address to the Commons concluded with a call to proceed to St Margaret's Church, for a thanksgiving service. Churchill gave specific mention to the wartime plight of the Channel Islands. Izett Croad, on Jersey, recorded the impact of his broadcast, which was relayed via public speakers:

The [Royal] Square was full of people wearing red, white and blue rosettes. There was absolute silence when Mr Churchill began his speech. When he spoke of the 'dear Channel Islands' there was a loud cheer. as he finished, the Union Jack was hoisted .... together with the Jersey flag and I can't tell you how we felt. Then the Bailiff made his speech and told us that a British naval force was on the way, at which the cheers were deafening, that there was no longer any ban on wireless sets (more cheers) and that all prisoners would be free by tomorrow. After which we sang 'God Save The King'.

Emma Le Feuvre, who was also on Jersey, remembers an 'indescribable' feeling of freedom that those of her generation would never forget. For Tony Bougourd, an evacuee from Guernsey, marking VE Day in Lancashire, the day meant, above all, relief that 'our home was free at last. All we wanted was to get back there'. Liberated from German occupation, and at last in receipt of much-needed food and medical supplies, the Channel Islanders had reason indeed to share in Churchill's call for thanksgiving.

The islanders gave vent to a tremendous sense of release. After hearing the King's speech, Izett Croad cracked open a bottie of champagne, which had been kept during 'five long years' of anticipation. Emma Le Feuvre writes, 'flags and cameras, which had been hidden suddenly appeared! All that week we were on duty [with the St John's Ambulance] at the Harbour to welcome the troops who were carried shoulder high amid cheers. Many people fainted through lack of food and excitement.'

As well as thanksgiving, it was also a time for fun. On the mainland, the Board of Trade relaxed wartime restrictions, allowing red, white and blue bunting to be bought off ration for the rest of May. Meanwhile, Churchill's interest in beer supplies had elicited reassurance that London's pubs would not run dry on the big day.⁶ It was just as well, as the capital was definitely in the mood for a party. C. J. Smith writes that if the churches were packed then so too were the pubs.

Huge crowds followed Churchill throughout the day eager to catch a glimpse of him as he criss-crossed Whitehall. He was cheered loudly when he appeared on the balcony of the Ministry of Health, and again later when he joined the Royal Family at Buckingham Palace. The King and Queen appeared at least eight times on the Palace balcony, greeting the enthusiastic crowds, which at one point numbered amongst them their own daughters, enjoying a rare moment of anonymity in the good-natured throng.

As the day progressed, increasing numbers of merry-makers spilled onto the capital's streets. F. M Cooper, a lorry driver for the railways, recalled having to negotiate the packed thoroughfares of the West End:

The noise was deafening with people cheering. All the traffic was at a crawling pace. Suddenly, a crowd of Yanks jumped on the van. I could hardly see through the windscreen. They were everywhere insisting I take them to Pont Street, which was off my round, but the only thing I could do was to take them. When I got there, they wanted me to join their party, but as I shouldn't have been there, I refused. After work... I celebrated by going to Piccadilly Circus and Trafalgar Square where there were thousands of people.

Jean Dunbar, an Australian married to a British officer in the Royal Artillery, was one of those who joined the multitude. Her diary proudly records her participation in the day's events:

Heard Mr Churchill's official announcement of Germany's surrender before going out. We started our official tour at Piccadilly Circus which was a focal point for the crowd. From there we made our way on foot to Leicester Square, Trafalgar Square and down Whitehall arriving abreast of St. Margaret's just in time to see part of the House of Commons procession returning from Thanksgiving service. We went into the Abbey for the end of a short service. Afterwards, we made our way up the Mall to the Palace which was the culmination of our tour. Saw the Royal family, accompanied by Mr Churchill when they appeared on the balcony. Afterwards we saw Mr Churchill quite close as he left the Palace. My last gesture ... was to remove my identity bracelet. A stirring day - I was glad to be in London.

Francis Whitehead, in the Women's Land Army, and her diary for VE Day.

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Elsewhere, there were similar scenes. 'How we celebrated!' wrote Joyce Markwick of the day's events in Ashford, Kent: 'The bells rang and the lights came on - no more creeping about in the blackout! After church service to thank God for deliverance, crowds danced in the High Street until nearly dawn.' In Leeds, Jean Barker witnessed the scene from the top deck of a tram: What a sight, everyone was dancing [around the town hall], soldiers, sailors, airmen, WAACS, ATS and WRENS. Thousands of them all going crazy.'

For the most part, however, events in provincial towns and cities were lower key than those in the capital. There were few organised civic events on the day and the inhabitants lacked the focus of national figureheads, which the London crowds enjoyed. Amy Briggs went into Leeds to attend a service at midday. Her diary records her disappointment: 'no service! Thanks to bungling of notices and broadcasts everyone mixed up and standing about in dismay. Left Hall, didn't know what to do. Badly wanted Sheila [her daughter] to remember V-Day but nothing happened to make any impression on her.' In Manchester, William Whitehead recalled being taken to Piccadilly Gardens. People were singing and cheering but here, too, they 'just appeared to be milling about' and nothing happened to leave a big imprint on the mind of a twelve year old boy.

Endnotes

1. Unless otherwise indicated, all references in this article are to papers held at the Second World War Experience Centre, Leeds.
2. Diary of HM King George VI, cited in Peter Hennessy, NeverAgain: Britain 1 945-1951, Vintage, 1993, p. 57.
3. Dorothy Sheridan [ed], Wartime Women: A Mass Observation Anthology, Mandarin, 1991, p. 230.
4. Sheridan, Wartime Women, p. 231.
5. Hennessy, NeverAgain, p. 61.
6. Hennessy, NeverAgain, p.59.

Article by Ian Whitehead.

This article was first published in the Centre's Journal 'Everyone's War' Issue 11: VE Day Anniversary Issue.

	This page: celebrations in the cities.
	Street celebrations.