The Second World War officially ended in Europe on Tuesday 8 May 1945 – but for our relations on the home front, it wasn’t clear when the war actually finished. Pianist Ruth Dyson took a break from rehearsals at the Mainly Musicians club in Oxford Street in the West End of London, conducted by composer Ralph Vaughan Williams, on the afternoon of Monday 7 May. During lunch the receptionist of the club announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, the war is over.” The place exploded in celebration and Vaughan Williams took the opportunity to show affection to all of the ladies sitting near him, including Ruth. She recalled, “A few minutes later he murmured to me, ‘Who was that nice lady I’ve just kissed?’ ”
Everyone knew that the end of the war was imminent, and was eagerly waiting for the announcement. In fact the official Nazi surrender took place in the early hours of 7 May in Reims, north-east France, at the Supreme Headquarters of the Allied Expeditionary Force. The Soviets had taken Berlin, and it was important for them to also receive the German surrender. In order to accommodate them, the official announcement was not made until the “act of general and unconditional surrender” on 8 May in Karlshorst, Berlin, at 10.43pm local time.
This left the British public rather confused over the situation, with pre-emptive headlines in the morning newspapers of 8 May proclaiming “Tonight May Be VE-Night” and “Victory in Europe to be Declared Today”.
However, there was no doubt among the urban crowds. Spontaneous celebration broke out on the night of 7 May when fires were lit on bomb sites and in the middle of streets in London and Edinburgh. Drivers sounded out three short blares on their horns followed by a longer one: V in Morse code, the audio version of the V for Victory sign.
The official VE Day holiday was on 8 May; the day was all the better for the delay, allowing people time to get ready with the bunting and trestle tables for street parties. The flags used for the coronation of George VI in 1937 were put up again.
The BBC sent outside-broadcast teams to capture comments from such everyday people as miners in South Wales, a dock worker in Belfast and passers-by in Newcastle and Swansea. George Budden, a BBC recording engineer based in Manchester, was touring the country on 8 May recording church bells and public responses to the end of the war. Eager to hear responses from outside the main cities, he drove to Tan Hill on the border between Yorkshire and Cumbria and spoke to Mrs Peacock, landlady of the Tan Hill Inn, only to learn that she did not know Germany had surrendered.
Two out of every seven houses in Britain had been damaged or destroyed by German bombs. In the docklands area of Stepney in the East End of London “they were dancing in the streets under the fluttering pennons and in sight of wrecked houses”, The Times reported. An old man watching the dancers said, “I’ve been bombed out of three houses but wouldn’t live anywhere else than Poplar. We showed ’em we couldn’t be beaten.”
Prime minister Winston Churchill’s arrival at the House of Commons was delayed by crowds thronging Whitehall and Westminster Square. He gave the official announcement of victory, receiving a standing ovation from MPs who then adjourned to St Margaret’s Church, opposite the Palace of Westminster, for a service of thanksgiving.
Some saw scenes that they would never forget. Robin Maxwell-Hyslop was determined not to miss out. The 13 year old left his school in Stowe in Buckinghamshire, and made his way to London. Spivs on the streets were assisting the patriotic celebrations by selling condoms for 2s. He noted they “found a ready market, particularly among servicemen and women. Long before night threw her very incomplete mantle over Green Park, couples were joyously copulating all over the grass.” Maxwell-Hyslop optimistically purchased one but was not to use it, and sold it later to a sailor at cost price before he took the train back to school.
University student Geoffrey Wigoder later recalled, “We talk to everyone and everyone talks to us. We listen and watch the singing and dancing multitudes. Fireworks go up from the top of Admiralty Arch. Bonfires are lit. People everywhere are singing, dancing, courting (especially on the lawns along the Mall).”
Princess Elizabeth appeared on the balcony of Buckingham Palace with her mother, father and Churchill. As she later recalled in an interview with the BBC, “When the excitement of the floodlights being switched on got through to us, my sister and I realised that we couldn’t see what the crowds were enjoying so we asked my parents if we could go out and see for ourselves.”
To blend in with the crowds, the future Elizabeth II put on the uniform she had worn as a driver and mechanic with the Auxiliary Transport Service and went out with a crowd of others including her sister Princess Margaret. She continued, “We cheered the King and Queen on the balcony and then walked miles through the street. I remember lines of unknown people linking arms and walking down Whitehall, all of us just swept along on a tide of happiness and relief.”
The group ended up at the Ritz Hotel in Piccadilly and “we decided to go in the front door of the Ritz and do the conga. The Ritz has always been so stuffy and formal – we rather electrified the stuffy individuals inside.”
Later that night, “after crossing Green Park we stood outside and shouted, ‘We want the King’ and were successful in seeing my parents on the balcony, having cheated slightly because we sent a message into the house to say we were waiting outside. I think it was one of the most memorable nights of my life.”
Hitler was burned in effigy on a bonfire in Wakefield, Yorkshire, at a ceremony organised by the Wakefield Operatic and Dramatic Society whose members were dressed as the Allied leaders.
For some, celebration was more muted. Many people spent time scratching blackout paper from their windows as their personal demonstration that the war had finally ended. The blackout continued in coastal areas, however, because some U-boats might not have received the order to surrender and could still attack.
Sheffield accountant George Taylor wrote in his diary, “I spent the afternoon doing some useful work in the garden, and then, as it started to rain, stayed in during the afternoon. In January 1941 we purchased some tinned chicken, and as we have never been called upon to use it, we promised ourselves a treat on Peace Day, and we did open it today. As with many things, it proved [to be] a disappointment.”
Among joyous news and quiet celebrations on VE Day were sombre reports from a Soviet commission of inquiry, for which more than 3,000 survivors of the ‘death camp’ at Oświęcim, Poland, had been questioned about their experiences. The commission found that between 1941 and the beginning of 1945 more than four million people had perished at the camp, which became better known by its German name of Auschwitz. Today, historians estimate that the figure was at least 1.1 million.
The mood of celebration was muted by a remembrance of those who had died, and apprehension for those who were still in service. The Daily Mail published the civilian death toll of more than 60,000 dead, of whom 26,920 were men, 25,392 were women and 7,736 were children.
The BBC broadcast a comment from Mrs MacDonald of Glasgow who had four sons in uniform. Roy had been at Glasgow University when he volunteered for the Black Watch in 1939; he was killed in Italy. Another son had lost a leg, and was discharged from the Scots Guards. Another was in the Royal Air Force in South-East Asia, and another in the Royal Navy’s Fleet Air Arm. The last two sons would stay at their posts, as the war in the Pacific against Japan continued.
Some people reported emptiness, a loss of their sense of purpose at the end of the war. A Picture Post writer noted the strangeness of VE Day: “You can’t efface six years by putting your head in a paper hat. Peace is something you need time to get used to, like a new house. On the night of VE Day, it still looked wrong, somehow, to see naked lights blazing through the windows… Thinking peace again is going to be as difficult as thinking war back in 1939.”