Dr Carrot, Potato Pete and Making do and Mending

Today, in 2011 after 66 years of peacetime and with fewer and fewer survivors of the wartime years to tell us about it first-hand, it is easy for us to look back upon those times with a certain amount of bewilderment at the way things were done in wartime London and the manner in which Londoners conducted themselves and to make comparisons with today's capital city.

For example, with an almost complete lack of private motoring, the general public were far more reliant on public transport than today; bus services especially, were hard pressed and could be few and far between, even in central London. Despite all this, Londoners queued patiently for their bus and woe betide anyone who tried to barge their way to the front. Compare this behaviour with the rugby scrums that pass for bus queues today!

In 2011, recycling is back in fashion. Quite rightly, people are being urged to save their waste paper, glass, tin cans and all manner of other refuse for re-use. Despite post war complacency, when society became increasingly 'throw away' in it's outlook, we are becoming all too aware of the finite resources of our planet and the urgent need to recycle and re-use our precious raw materials. In 1941, this need to recycle and re-use was even more urgent but for somewhat different reasons. Then, as now, we were a nation dependent on international trade but in 1941 shipping shortages were becoming acute due to the German U-Boat menace; raw materials could not be relied upon to be imported in sufficient amounts for use other than in war production, so 'Make-do and Mend' became one of the catch phrases of the day. Waste of anything could not and would not be tolerated. Everything, but everything was re-used, whether it be waste paper, glass, timber, rags, metals and even waste food which was 'recycled' for use in feeding pigs. Today, the recycling message hasn't hit home with everyone yet, although things are improving. Once again, we have a long way to catch up with our counterparts of 70 years ago.

Which brings us to rationing. We will explore rationing, not just of food but of petrol, clothing and much else, in a future blog entry but rationing was brought in during wartime as a means for providing fairness in ensuring that what supplies were available could go around to all who needed them. The coupon system worked surprisingly well and although there were cheats who tried to buck the system, the vast majority of the populace saw the common sense and fairness of the system and patiently waited their turn in the queues for food. Some foodstuffs, like eggs, became incredibly rare whilst others, such as bananas and lemons became almost non-existent. What rationing did encourage however, was the need to become as self-sufficient in food as possible. Everyone with a garden or with access to an allotment grew vegetables. Every scrap of land was converted to food growing - even prestigious open spaces such as Hyde Park had large areas given over to food production and the upshot of this campaign to 'Dig for Victory' was that by the end of the war, this country had halved the figure of 55 million tons of food that had previously been imported annually prior to the outbreak of war.

As can be imagined, 70 years ago, there was nothing like the variety of foods available that we are accustomed to today. Foods were seasonal and people were encouraged to make the best of what was available. Lord Woolton was appointed the Minister of Food and in a series of brilliant campaigns, encouraged the British people to use what they had and even had a vegetable based pie named after him. Characters such as 'Potato Pete' and 'Dr Carrot' made frequent appearances in various advertising campaigns extolling the values of these and other vegetables, which could be grown cheaply and easily.

As mentioned previously, there was a 'Black Market' and certain goods could always be purchased 'under the counter' if one had sufficient money or knew someone 'in the know.' Even 70 years on, this writer finds it hard to hide his disdain for people who cheated the system and not only did this but were proud of it. When one thinks of the huge dangers that British and Allied merchant seamen faced in bringing their cargoes through U-Boat infested waters, it is doubly hard not to feel utter contempt for those who cheated the system. The novelist and former Royal Navy officer Nicholas Monsarrat perhaps described it best:

"Petrol-wanglers, like traitors, merit a special hell. Probably enough has been written about the hazards of bringing an oil tanker across the Atlantic, and the fate of the ones who don't make it, to establish the background and impress it on the dullest mind. None of it has been exaggerated: tankers are dynamite, and their crews are heroes of a special quality.

What then, is one to make of people who licence their private cars as taxis, in order to get extra petrol coupons; who obtain additional petrol to go to church on Sunday and then don't go: who drive hundreds of miles to a race meeting already served by special trains: who treat petrol as if could be got from a tap? What sort of men are they? Stupid? Incurably selfish? Traitorous? Do they feel clever when they've got their extra whack? Does it give them a sense of power to know that men, foolishly valorous, have fought and perished in hundreds, just to keep their cars ticking over sweetly? Once again, ten such men are not worth the skin of one of the man who dies for them."

Even 68 years after these words were written, it is hard to disagree with them, especially when one knows that the author saw the sacrifices made by the merchant seamen and their naval escorts first-hand.

Some readers of these writings over the past year or so might think that this writer harbours a secret desire to have lived in the London of 70 years ago. Perhaps surprisingly, this is not so; I am happy to live in the present day and enjoy our rebuilt, vibrant city and to enjoy a rationing free life but perhaps if we could adopt some of the values and courtesies of those Londoners of 70 years ago and combine them with the fruits of their victory that we enjoy today, then maybe London would be a more pleasant place in which to live.

Published Sources:

Backs to the Wall - Leonard Mosley, Weidenfeld & Nicolson 1971
East Coast Corvette - Nicholas Monsarrat, Cassell 1943
London at War 1939-45 - Philip Ziegler, Sinclair Stevenson 1995
London Transport at War - Charles Graves, Almark Publishing 1974

An Unlikely Hero

As we have discovered already in previous entries to this blog, heroism and heroes come in all shapes and sizes. Just occasionally, somebody emerges that fits the image of the classic, square jawed 'Boys Own' hero but more often than not, heroes look just like ordinary people - for that is the what heroism essentially is all about - ordinary people performing extraordinary deeds.

Stanley Barlow (pictured above) was just such a man. In May 1941, he was a 35 year old newly qualified accountant who was Post Warden of Air Raid Warden's Post D2 in the Borough of St Marylebone in London. This post was located in the basement of the Royal Institute of British Architects' Building in Weymouth Street, just off Portland Place. Barlow had already demonstrated considerable moral courage, when he had taken on a Nigerian law student by the name of 'Sam' Ekpenyon at a time when the attitude of some Londoners towards black people were very different to the accepted norm of today. Sam was the son of a Nigerian chieftain whose story is one worth telling in it's own right and we shall hear more of him later.

To return to Stanley Barlow, it is fair to say that both amongst his subordinate wardens and in his working life, he was respected rather than liked and indeed, his wardens had nicknamed him 'The Fuhrer' behind his back. This would not particularly have bothered Barlow as he wanted results rather than popularity. What his wardens did not know and which possibly would have changed their attitude towards him, was that Barlow beneath his seemingly calm exterior, was a nervous wreck. He had supervised rescue work in New Cavendish Street on 'The Wednesday', April 16th 1941 and as a result of the grisly scenes he had encountered, even the banging of a shutter in the wind on an otherwise silent night had sent him rushing for cover and digging his fingernails into his palms to stop him from screaming out. Today, it is clear that Barlow was suffering from Post Traumatic Stress but in 1941, people were expected to pull themselves together and get on with it, which is just what he did.

In the early evening of 10th May 1941, Barlow was on duty and was engaged in checking the members of a new shift on duty; Sam Ekpenyon was one, Winnie Dorow, a young Jewish tailoress, Annie Hill, who worked at a clothes wholesaler, Charlie Lee, a mechanic, Joan Watson, a hairdresser and full time wardens Jim Grey and Eileen Sloane, as well as many others. The differing backgrounds and occupations of the wardens was reflected right across London and indeed the whole country. It was the task of people like Stanley Barlow to mould these diverse groups of people into effective teams.

When an air raid was not in progress or an alert hadn't been sounded, the wardens had to settle down and play the waiting game. Some would play darts and others card games but there were other mundane tasks to complete as well. For Barlow on this night, it meant checking one of the local shelters where some bunks had been damaged and also to check out a report by a local woman that her Austrian maid had been sending smoke signals to the Germans!

There was also the task of performing the nightly census; this basically meant checking the neighbourhood to see who was sleeping where and to know which properties were occupied in the event of a raid and whether the Rescue Squads would be required to attend in the event of a direct hit on a building in the area. Barlow himself led by example - even on a non-raid night, he would be out on his rounds on and off until dawn, He would check and double check each street, road and mews in his area and being an accountant, he would keep notes and knew exactly who was in which building; something which would stand him in good stead later that night.

Fate would decree that this night would not be a non-raid night; at 11 p.m., the sirens sounded the alert. A big raid was building and had been tracked for some time as the bomber force built up and crossed the Channel coast. The Knickebein guidance beams were fixed on London, so there was no doubt as to where the raid was heading. There was also a full moon - the so called 'Bomber's Moon', so as the sirens wailed most Londoners stoically headed for the shelters and braced themselves for another night in which they and their city would face the worst that Hitler could throw at them.

For Stanley Barlow and his wardens, along with countless other Civil Defence workers across London, taking shelter was not an option; in fact this was where all the training paid off and where all the hours of waiting for something to happen became worthwhile. At the sound of the sirens, Barlow hurried back to Wardens Post D2 and passed two of his wardens, Charlie Lee and Winnie Dorow leaving the Bay Moulton pub in Great Portland Street; he had promised to meet them for a quick one but had forgotten all about it. As he returned to the post, he called out to them that he would make good tomorrow.

In the meantime, the night of May 10th/11th 1941 was proving to be a big raid. The trend recently had been for the raids to get heavier and less localised and tonight was no exception. This raid was affecting the whole of London, already the docks had been hit yet again and the area around the Elephant & Castle was starting to be deluged with incendiary bombs, the intensity of which had never been seen before. It was soon to reach Wardens Post D2.

It was 12.25 a.m. on the morning of May 11th and despite the rumble of bombs and anti-aircraft gunfire towards the east, St Marylebone itself was still untroubled by bombs. Barlow had sent his wardens out on another patrol and Sam Ekpenyon was performing his usual 'lucky charm' act by looking in on shelterers in his area - some of them reckoned his dark skin lucky and wouldn't settle down for sleep until he had looked in on them. Barlow himself was about to set off on his own rounds to check on the Shelter Marshalls when at 12.36 the whole Wardens Post shook as if by an earthquake. Seconds later, Warden Johnnie Noble came sprinting into the Post to impart the terrible news that Great Titchfield Street, the Bay Moulton pub and the Rest Centre next door to it had been hit. Barlow ran to the scene to find it looking like a battlefield and thought of Wardens Lee and Dorow who he had last seen leaving the pub for the Rest Centre. Barlow felt that they must have had no chance so was pleasantly surprised to find Charlie Lee at a First Aid Post receiving treatment. His pleasure was short lived as he also spotted Winnie Dorow lying still in the street, almost as if sleeping. Barlow knew better and gently placed a blanket over her.

As he walked back to Post D2, Barlow began to experience his old fears - would his nerves allow him to get through the night, or would he crack? Barlow drove himself on and soon after 1 a.m. went out on another patrol with Annie Hill, who was one of the few who knew of Barlow's fears and admired this man who fought his fear. As they left the Wardens Post and rounded the corner into Hallam Street, Barlow saw what he thought was a light shining at the top of the tower of the Central Synagogue which straddled the block between Hallam Street and Great Portland Street. Perhaps a careless individual had left a light burning - there would be hell to pay for them if this were the case but as he drew closer, he realised that the roof was on fire and that the incendiary bombs had ignited a gas pipe. Barlow knew from his meticulous notes that fourteen people would be sheltering in the basement and leaving Hill to deal with a shocked and hysterical woman that they had encountered, ran alone to the synagogue.

Across the road in Yalding House, a tenement block with a basement shelter, Sam Ekpenyon had also seen the fire in the Synagogue and sent a report back to Post D2. He had stayed put and as the shelterers felt the blast from another nearby bomb and began to bolt towards the exit, this giant of a man blocked their way and refused to let them out. His calm, assured presence did the trick and the shelterers not only stayed put but began to join in community singing led by Ekpenyon himself.

Meanwhile, Barlow reached the entrance to the synagogue basement only to find it blocked by a huge fall of rubble. Using his tin hat as a makeshift shovel, he clawed away at the rubble to eventually break through and crawl into the basement. He found the shelterers, amongst them Mr and Mrs Roth, the caretakers and began to lead them out through an alternative exit that led into Great Portland Street. He led the men out first, as they were coherent and responded to his instructions. Mrs Roth was almost paralysed with fear and he had decided to return for her and lead her out alone so as not to hold up the rest of the group. As he got the men out, he went straight back into the now blazing building, found Mrs Roth again and began to lead her out. Just as they were nearing the exit, a large part of the roof fell in on them. By this time another warden saw all this happen and felt sure that Barlow must have perished. Nonetheless, this un-named warden sprinted back to Post D2 and called for help.

Inside the synagogue, Barlow was very much alive and shortly after the warden had rushed off to report his probable demise, Barlow had in fact broken through into the street, somewhat singed but still with Mrs Roth firmly in his grasp. He found another warden, Arthur Fayers and sent the party off in Fayers' charge to another shelter for medical attention. Incredibly, Barlow himself went back into the burning building to see if anyone else remained inside. Now though, shortly after re-entering the building for the third time at 1.45 a.m., the whole of the roof fell in on him. Amazingly, he survived this too and scrambled out through a side exit further down the road. Barlow saw rescue workers milling about the entrance but it didn't occur to him that they were in fact, looking for him. Meanwhile, he noticed that 143-149 Great Portland Street, a car showroom, was also ablaze and his memory told him that there were fire watchers stationed here.

He charged down the stairs into the basement and found that the three men were in a badly shocked state and had also been cut by flying glass. To make matters worse, the cars stored here were on fire and Barlow had to lead the first two men through this deadly obstacle course to get the men safely out into the street. Once again Barlow returned inside and eventually led the third man to safety, although by this time Barlow felt a strange sensation in his ankles. It later transpired that his rubber boots had begun to melt and fused his woollen socks into a sticky mess. This party of stunned and terrified survivors were ushered to a nearby First Aid Post. Back in the street again, Barlow saw yet another building, Hallam House on fire and once again instantly knew how many people were inside. This time there were fifteen; fortunately thirteen of them had managed to escape by themselves but Barlow went inside the rubble strewn building and using his tin hat once again to scrape a way through, managed to free the remaining two survivors inside twenty minutes.

For the next two hours, Barlow organised a bucket chain of wardens and fire watchers to keep the walls of the buildings adjoining the blazing synagogue cool. His energy was amazing - this quiet man had performed extraordinary deeds; even more extraordinary considering that some of his colleagues thought that he was dead!

Back at Wardens Post D2, Eileen Sloane, who had been left in charge by Barlow, was in despair. Some four hours previously she had received a report that he was buried inside the synagogue and had heard nothing since. The next thing she was aware of was the image of Barlow, who was covered from head to foot in white dust. Sloane was one of Barlow's few close friends and their friendship had been the talk of the post. Upon seeing him, she broke down and cried.

At 5.52 a.m. on Sunday 11th May 1941, the 'All Clear' had sounded. London was a city licking it's wounds, which were grievous indeed. This raid had been the heaviest of the entire Blitz but mercifully, although Londoners were not to know this right now, it was also to prove the last as Hitler, despite the entreaties of his Luftwaffe commanders, decided to turn his attentions eastwards, towards Russia and the promise of lebensraum for the German volk. Despite this, Goering and Sperrle wanted to continue to attack London. Two thirds of the Luftwaffe was to remain in the western theatre but Hitler was having none of it. Unwittingly, and not for the first or the last time, the incompetent 'military genius' that was Adolf Hitler had done his enemies a huge favour.

If he were to have known the havoc wrought in London, he may have had second thoughts. Fourteen hospitals had been hit, fifty percent of London's telephone circuits were broken, twenty Fire and Ambulance Stations were out of action, the Port of London was down to a quarter of it's capacity, 605 water mains were broken, 71 key war production factories were knocked out, 8,000 roads were rendered impassable with rubble and every main line railway station was out of action as were all through rail routes across the capital. In addition, some 155,000 people were without water, gas or electricity on this grim Sunday morning. This was destruction on a scale that London had never seen before, or thankfully, since. The value of the damaged caused was £ 20,000,000 at 1941 values but even this staggering sum cannot cover the human cost. A series of raids on this level would have had serious repercussions indeed and Churchill ordered the emergency services to draw up plans accordingly. The general opinion was that two more raids of this intensity would leave London at a standstill.

It never happened. Apart from conquering his own demons, Stanley Barlow deservedly was awarded the George Medal for his incredible acts of bravery on this night of nights. Amongst the public, the attitudes of Londoners towards their German counterparts hardened noticeably after this raid. When the RAF began plastering German cities later in 1941 and early in 1942, the general feeling was one of wreaking revenge - a revenge which was to be terrible in it's intensity.

Today, thanks to a remarkable find of home movie footage donated to Westminster City Council's archives, we can see Stanley Barlow, Sam Ekpenyon and the other wardens of Post D2 in colour footage. Check out this link http://westendatwar.org.uk/page_id__124_path__0p27p.aspx to see this evocative footage.

Published Sources:

The City that Wouldn't Die - Richard Collier, Collins 1959
Westminster at War - William Sansom, Faber & Faber 1947

Doodlebugs, Buzz Bombs and Robots

13th June 1944: The Allies had been ashore in Normandy for six days; the invasion of Europe was under way and the Germans were being inexorably pushed back yard by yard out of the territory they had invaded some four years previously and although the Allies were not to know it at the time, the European war had less than a year to run its course.

London at this time was a city licking its wounds. The great raids of 1940/41 were now but a memory but large swathes of the capital were still in ruins and would remain in this state for many years to come – in some cases until the 1960s and 70s and although the raids of the ‘Baby Blitz’ had been nowhere near as intense, they too had rendered large areas of the city uninhabitable. So the news of the invasion had been greeted with cautious optimism by Londoners, perhaps the end was in sight and perhaps there would be no more bombs.

It was not to be; at 04:25 the Grove Road railway bridge at Bow, in London’s East End was struck by a large explosion. The bridge and the railway track were badly damaged, several houses were badly damaged and six people were killed. Moments before the explosion, eyewitnesses had heard what vaguely sounded like a crashing aircraft and had found remnants of what looked like a small aeroplane amongst the wreckage but could find no trace of a pilot. There was no pilot, for what had caused the explosion had been the first of Hitler’s Vergeltungswaffe or Vengeance Weapons. Officially known as the Fieseler Fi103, these weapons were effectively the first form of cruise missile and were launched from fixed ramp sites in the Pas de Calais area of France and had been developed by the Luftwaffe at the Peenemunde site where the second of the Vengeance Weapons, the terrifying V-2 rocket was also under development. Thanks to the bravery of agents on the ground and also the actions of the RAF’s reconnaissance pilots, the site had been bombed by the RAF and the programme set back by six months or so but the bomb that fell on Grove Road was amongst five launched that night; in fact the first one had landed in Kent shortly before the one that fell in Bow but after this first wave of attacks, nothing happened for two more days, as if these first bombs were finding the range.

The Civil Defence records for these first incidents describe them as ‘PAC’ or Pilotless Aircraft, soon afterwards the description changes to ‘FLY’ for Fly-Bomb and this is what the majority of Londoners called them – Flying Bomb, although the media soon christened them ‘Buzz Bombs’ or ‘Doodlebugs’, whilst some ruder citizens called them Farting Furies due to the distinctive rasping sound made by the pulse jet engine.

The V-1 was a sophisticated piece of engineering, which was powered by a pulse jet engine capable of giving a speed of 400 mph and was guided by a gyrocompass autopilot system and designed to ensure that the engine would cut out when it reached its target – usually London – by an odometer which was powered by a small anemometer in the nose. Londoners would soon learn to rush for cover when the engine cut out and the brief eerie silence which followed was the only chance people on the ground had to avoid death at the hands of the 850 kg Amatol warhead in the ‘Robots’, which was another popular name in the media for the new weapons.

Despite what in 1944, was the futuristic nature of the V-1, they could be defended against. The capital’s anti-aircraft guns were quickly redeployed from the parks and open spaces in and around London to the south coast of England and the Thames Estuary, so as to intercept them as they crossed the coast. The new proximity shells and the radar guidance of the guns were extremely effective in bringing down the robots – on average, one shell in every hundred fired brought down a buzz bomb. The defences were arranged in layers; for any V-1s that evaded the guns, the next layer was the balloon barrage, which had also been moved from London. These large balloons were tethered with thick steel cables which could tear the wings from a low flying aircraft but in the case of the V-1s were largely ineffective; the leading edges of the wings of the doodlebugs had been fitted with cable cutters and fewer than three hundred were thought to have been brought down this way. The next line of defence was the aircraft of RAF Fighter Command. The later marks of Spitfire, the new Hawker Tempest and the even newer Gloster Meteor jet fighters were more than capable of keeping up with the V-1s, although it took considerable nerve to fly behind a flying bomb with a near one tonne warhead and then to pump cannon shells into it for the resulting explosion could quite easily take the attacker with it as well. Some pilots preferred to fly alongside the V-1 and disrupt the air flow beneath the wings by placing the wing of the fighter beneath the wing of the robot without touching it, thus throwing the gyro stabilizer into confusion and causing the weapon to pancake into the ground. This manoeuvre also required considerable skill and courage but the ‘anti-diver’ patrols, combined with the anti-aircraft guns and balloons, as well as the false information about the fall of the missiles fed to Germany by double agents, most notably Juan Pujol, aka Garbo, all managed to ensure that about 7,500 of the almost 10,000 launched at London never reached their target.

Despite all these counter measure, bombs still got through and the worst incident was to occur on the first weekend of the attacks. It was Sunday June 18th and the regular service in the Guards Chapel in Birdcage Walk was under way and at 11:20 Colonel Edward Hay was reading the lesson at the lectern when at that instant, the chapel was obliterated in a massive explosion. A V-1 had struck with a direct hit and Hay, along with 121 others was killed instantly. The Guards Chapel was in ruins; in places the rubble was ten feet thick and it took two days to dig out all of the victims; 141 others were seriously injured but miraculously, the Bishop of Maidstone who had been conducting the service was totally unhurt. The portico of the ruined chapel which had sheltered the bishop and which was the only part of the building to survive, forms part of today’s rebuilt Guards Chapel which contains a Book of Remembrance for those lost in the disaster. Another shocking incident in Central London came a few days later on the 30th June, when Adastral House, home of the Air Ministry in the Aldwych suffered a V-1 strike; 48 people were killed, mainly office workers and the photograph of the immediate aftermath, shown above, shows an ominous mushroom cloud rising above Fleet Street as Londoners hurry about their business.

Incident after incident followed with depressing regularity and it became imperative for the invading armies in France to overrun the Pas de Calais in order to bring the attacks to an end. By the end of September 1944, this had been achieved and the last of the regular V-1 attacks was over. Over 6,000 civilians had been killed in London alone with a further 17,000 injured. Although the fixed launch sites had been overrun, V-1s were still launched from converted Heinkel 111 bombers, mainly at Antwerp, which was hit by a further 2,448 missiles between October 1944 and March 1945. The V-1s had finished with London but worse, much worse was to come in the form of the V-2 rockets, the first of which was to fall in Chiswick on 8th September 1944.

Although these rockets were to fall on England until late March 1945, the final enemy activity of the Second World War on British soil occurred from an air launched V-1, which fell harmlessly in open countryside in Datchworth, Hertfordshire on 29th March 1945, barely six weeks before the end of the war in Europe.

Published Sources:

The Doodlebugs - Norman Longmate, Hutchinson 1981
War Diaries 1939-45 Field Marshal Lord Alanbrooke - ed Alex Danchev & Daniel Todman, Wiedenfeld & Nicolson 2001
Westminster in War - William Sansom, Faber & Faber 1957

For God & Country

This week we have a guest blogger in the shape of Dave O’Malley from Vintage Wings of Canada, which is an aviation museum and charitable organisation based at Gatineau Ottawa Airport, Quebec dedicated to the preservation, restoration and maintenance of classic aircraft from the early history of powered flight. Dave also produces an excellent blog called 'Vintage News' at www.vintagewings.ca and when in Canada, a visit to this wonderful museum is a must.

No one has ever accused me of being a religious man. Not in the last four decades anyway. Perhaps it was all those years as an altar boy trudging to church through ice pellets and snow squalls at 5 a.m. during a black-as-night Canadian winter morning, my heavy boots squeaking on the hard snow. Perhaps it was the hundreds of masses I served in an overheated church where I knelt, rang hand bells, yawned and teetered on the edge of sleep while Monsignor Costello droned on in Latin for the benefit of one lonely lady and the Organ Master.

On two occasions in those days, I was stopped in the frozen, black, suburban void of Elmvale Acres two hours before sun-up by the single cherry-red light of a prowling police cruiser. What, in God's name, I was asked, was a freckle faced 12-year old kid in duffel coat, ear muffs and Second World War flight boots doing in a world that belonged to sidewalk sanders, milkmen and officers of the law?

One day about 40 years ago, much to the silent displeasure of my father, I stopped going to church alltogether, and I have never entered a church since that day with the intention of praying or finding solace and contemplation. I have never since that day felt a spirit dwelling in any church that I have visited for weddings or funerals. Perhaps there was a spirit, but I have not been able to feel it.

That all changed last fall when visiting London on Vintage Wings of Canada business. One of the places I was hoping to visit on my down time was a small (by Westminster standards) church buried deep in one of the most historic sectors of London. The Church of St Clement Danes first came to my attention while watching a video on the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight. During that documentary, the Flight was honoured with their unit crest being carved in slate and embedded in the floor of this unique and beautiful church. I had never before heard of this practice, this place of worship, this glorious tradition. I made it an imperative to visit while in London.

The site of St. Clement Danes on the Strand has been a place of worship for more than 1,200 years and the church structure that stands on it now has been here for 330 years. The main structure was designed by none other than Christopher Wren, the best known and highest acclaimed architect in British history. After the Great London Fire of 1666, Wren was tasked with the rebuilding no less than 51 razed churches in the City of London alone. One was St. Clement Danes, while one was his the crowning masterpiece of his life's work - St. Paul's Cathedral. Having a university degree in architecture, I was doubly excited to behold one of his buildings for the first time.

While a religious edifice of some kind has endured here since 600 years before Columbus discovered the New World, in all that time none of the buildings found here were ever draped in the glory, honour, sadness and history now found contained within its present four walls. But to get to that glory, first St. Clement Danes had to face its own trial by Satan's fire and a scourging by the whips of blasted metal from the angels of darkness.

On the night of the 10th of May, 1941 and into the morning of the 11th, the St. Clement Danes on the Strand was ravaged by direct hits from incendiary bombs and viciously lashed by huge chunks of shrapnel from near misses of high explosive aerial bombs. Satan's dark angels in the form of Hitler's Heinkels dropped load after load on central London in what was to be for all intents and purposes the last night of the Blitz.

On this night, which was to be the last major attack on London, the Luftwaffe amassed 550 bombers. When the sun came up on the 11th of May, St. Clement Danes was a smoking shell and many other important buildings were destroyed or seriously damaged including The Houses of Parliament, the British Museum and St. James Palace. The death toll that night was 1,364 Londoners killed and 1,616 seriously injured. After the "All Clear", the steady and determined British set to work to clear the rubble, bury their dead and get back to the business of defeating the Evil Empire.

After the war, the ruin that was Wren's beautiful and elegant work was left until its future could be secured. Because the church was burned but still standing as a result of the German attacks, it came to symbolize, along with the pilots of the Battle of Britain, the strength of the British resolve in the face of dire circumstance. And because it was damaged as the result of a to-the-death aerial war that was eventually won by the Royal Air Force, the church was handed over to them in 1953. Following an appeal for funding that secured £ 250,000 and reached around the world to the airmen and air forces of the Commonwealth, the church was restored to its original Christopher Wren beauty.

In 1958, St. Clement Danes was consecrated as the Central Church of the Royal Air Force and opened by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Today the church stands as a living and growing spiritual tribute to the sacrifices of the airmen of the Commonwealth during the Second World War and to the continuing sacrifices of the RAF to this very day.

Every inch of the walls, floor and ceiling is a memorial of some kind to airmen. Above the balcony hang a number of stood down unit colour standards. Below each lower window is a glass case above which stands an eagle and in which sits a book of remembrance - one airman to a page. The 8th and 9th US Air Forces stationed in the United Kingdom during the war years are included with a shrine. The whole ground floor is a sweeping plain of white stone patterned by a seeming endless galaxy of 1,000 insets of Welsh slate in the shape of RAF unit badges. A special stone and brass mosaic at the entrance has the crest of the RAF surrounded by eight crests of the Commonwealth air forces (some of which no longer exist), while another in the left aisle has the Polish eagle surrounded by the armorial symbols of the sixteen Polish squadrons of the RAF during the Second World War.

Gift tributes found throughout the church include: the altar from the Netherlands, the lectern from the Royal Australian Air Force, a chair from Douglas Bader to the memory of his first wife - Thelma who died in 1971, a chair honouring surgeon Sir Archibald McIndoe and The Guinea Pig Club, and a processional cross from the Air Training Corps. The organ on the balcony at the rear was a gift from the US Air Force. The basement crypt has been made into a quiet and secluded chapel, with an altar from the Netherlands Air Force, a baptismal font from the Norwegians, and a candelabrum from the Belgian Air Force

The carillon bells were hung in 1957 with a big bass bell nick-named “Boom” in commemoration of Marshal of the Royal Air Force Hugh Trenchard, GCB OM GCVO DSO who organised the RAF from its inception. “Boom” Trenchard had just died the year before the bells were hung.

I suppose that part of my problem with the spirituality of churches stems from inside myself. If unable to open a door inwards I could hardly expect to access whatever lay behind the doors of these buildings. There was of course this one very powerful exception. Walking down the Strand from Trafalgar, the knowledge of where I was and of what happened there 70 years ago was like a crowbar to the jamb of that inner door. The closer I got to the church, the more that door was forced open and as I walked through the doors of St. Clement Danes, some huge wind of release threw that heavy gate solidly back. This church was clearly different and so was my openness.

Somewhat soiled and grey on the outside and pockmarked by shrapnel, the interior is a sunlit sanctuary that begs for silence, encourages contemplation and awards the visitor with spiritual warmth. There is a spirit of triumph and yet there is a lesson on human failure here too - how they blend so well is a mystery. Gold leaf, carvings, military colours, holy names and an ocean of squadron crests speak to glory, history and accomplishment, while the totality of the sacrifice of airmen and women during the wars of the 20th century hangs like smoke in the air. The place is a strange mixture of uplifting, soaring euphoria and heavy, crushing sadness. These equal and opposite emotional effects serve to keep the visitor solidly and powerfully centred within the walls and vaulted ceilings of St. Clement Danes

When we left the sanctuary and silence of that beautiful church, we came out to a sunny day and a bustling, lively city. London is a proud and in my opinion, a very happy city. She has endured much over the centuries, and suffered most during Second World War. But she is as alive today as she has ever been, thanks in part to the Royal Air Force. It is fitting then that a church so wounded in the conflagration would rise from the ashes of one of London's worst, yet defining, moments and become the vessel into which much of the sadness was poured. I have seen and heard how people who suffer great personal loss need closure - a part of that lost person, a memorial, a place to grieve, to come to terms with the reality of the loss so that life may resume and the sun can shine. St Clement Danes represents closure for a city, a nation, a commonwealth and its alliances and for those who visit an individual. The rebirth of St. Clement Danes represents a moment of spectacular creativity by the Royal Air Force, one for which I offer thanks from Vintage Wings of Canada.

I'm not going back to church on a regular basis anytime soon to be perfectly honest, but I thank the RAF of all people, for a glimpse at what faith must be like. Me... I will put my faith in the strength of our heroes, armed forces, first responders, hard workers, volunteers, givers, team players and history makers - so many of whom hold faith in a God I have yet to find.

As a footnote to Dave's excellent and thought provoking article, perhaps we should mention the Reverend William Pennington-Beckford, who was appointed as Rector of the church in 1910. It is fair to say that Beckford loved this church and amongst his many duties, he oversaw the annual ceremony of the presentation of oranges and lemons to local schoolchildren, for St Clement Danes is the 'Oranges and Lemons' church of the famous nursery rhyme. In the photograph below, he can be seen in the centre background watching the ceremony.

On the night of 10th/11th May 1941, Beckford, by now an elderly man but still the rector of St Clement Danes, stood watching in tears as his beloved church was bombed and burnt to the ground. Within a month, he was dead; some said he died from a broken heart.

"Oranges and Lemons" say the Bells of St Clement's
"You owe me five farthings" say the Bells of St Martin's
"When will you pay me?" say the Bells of Old Bailey
"When I grow rich" say the Bells of Shoreditch
"When will that be?" say the Bells of Stepney
"I do not know" say the Great Bells of Bow
"Here comes a candle to light you to Bed
Here comes a chopper to chop off your head
Chip chop chip chop - the Last Man's Dead."

Escape to Victory (2)

Lancastria sinking in St Nazaire Harbour (IWM image)

In our previous blog article, we began to examine the evacuations of the British Expeditionary Force and perhaps more belatedly, their French allies from the French Channel ports. Because of the sheer magnitude and the huge number of troops returned to these shores, the main evacuation at Dunkirk, known at the time as Operation Dynamo, has rightly secured it's place in British history as one of the turning points of the war, which enabled the British to secure the nucleus of it's Army, around which a new and much larger force would be formed and which would return to France as part of the great army of liberation some four years later.

Operation Dynamo was completed on June 4th, when the final French elements were brought across to Dover. However, approximately 20,000 British soldiers remained in the Abbeville-Rouen-Le Havre triangle, facing the Germans across the River Somme. This included the bulk of the 51st Highland Division, which had been undertaking a tour of duty on the Maginot Line. The Germans were advancing at such a rapid pace, there was no option but to order an evacuation from Le Havre and the operation, code named 'Cycle' was put into effect on June 9th. On this night, no British troops were evacuated but the French were able to complete their own evacuation. One of the ships involved was HMS Wellington, which today is moored on the Victoria Embankment in London as the headquarters ship and livery hall of the Honourable Company of Master Mariners. The following day - June 10th, destroyers were sent to investigate the possibility of evacuating troops from the coast between Le Havre and Dieppe but at 1530 these vessels came under fire from shore batteries, which revealed that the Germans had broken through to the coast, thus cutting off the escape route of 51st Highland Division to Le Havre.

It was therefore decided to concentrate the shipping required on the small fishing port of St Valery en Caux and began to arrive accordingly in the early hours of June 11th. Unfortunately, the bulk of the Highlanders had been delayed in their withdrawal and the only troops evacuated that night were some forty stretcher cases, some walking wounded and a handful of able bodied British and French troops. It was reported to the Royal Navy beach party that the majority of the Division would be ready for evacuation on the night of 12th June but shortly afterwards, the port came within range of German artillery and due to this, combined with patchy fog descending on the beaches, meant that the evacuation was far from smooth and many ships were hit by German artillery fire. By 0830 on the 13th, it became clear that further evacuation was impossible; the beaches were under intense fire from east and west and an hour later, the evacuation fleet was withdrawn to sea. No further troops had reached the beach and some 8,000 men of the 51st Highland Division under the command of Major General Victor Fortune surrendered. Unlike Dunkirk, this evacuation had fallen foul of the weather and the speed of the German advance. However, Operation Cycle had not been a complete failure and including the evacuations from Le Havre, some 14,500 British and 900 French troops were evacuated to Britain.

Despite these evacuations, British forces elsewhere in France were still being reinforced and a Second British Expeditionary Force was formed, under the command of General Alan Brooke, himself only recently returned to Britain from Dunkirk. This force was designed to show solidarity with Britain's French allies but as Brooke himself reported to Churchill, it was impossible to make a corpse have feelings and it was quickly concluded following a three way telephone conversation between the Chief of the Imperial General Staff, Sir John Dill, Brooke and Churchill, that Franch collapse was imminent and that all remaining British personnel should be withdrawn as soon as possible.

Therefore on June 15th, preparations were made for the evacuation of some 140,000 troops from Cherbourg, Granville, St Malo, Brest, St Nazaire, Nantes and La Pallice. Unlike at Dunkirk, it was possible on this occasion to salvage a certain amount of equipment in the shape of equipment, stores and vehicles. The operation started on the same day with the withdrawal of British troops from Nantes and continued over the coming days at the ports mentioned above. It was whilst British personnel were being evacuated from St Nazaire a couple of days later that disaster struck.

By 2200 on June 16th, some 17,000 men had already safely embarked in four large liners, the Georgic, Duchess of York and the Polish Batory and Sobieski. These vessels were immediately replaced in the port by the Orient Line's Oronsay and the Cunarder Lancastria. Troops were being ferried out by French tugs, smaller British merchant ships and the destroyers HMS Havelock and Beagle. The Lancastria was not one of the glamorous Cunarders like the Queen Mary but was one of the workhorses of the fleet, having been built in 1922 for use on the North Atlantic run and also for Mediterranean cruises, which suited her rather plodding 17 knots rather well.

The Lancastria was at anchor and had been loaded with British soldiers, airmen and civilian evacuees since early in the morning but because of the sheer numbers of people being loaded on board, the crew's discipline had lapsed somewhat in as far as the exact numbers boarding were not being recorded in the latter stages of the embarkation. Some witnesses recalled hearing the Chief Officer Harry Grattidge reporting to the Master, Capt Rudolph Sharp that over 6,700 passengers were on board, which combined with the ship's crew of 330 would have put the total number on board at around the 7,000 mark. However, with the lack of an accurate count, the number of passengers on board could possibly have been much higher - indeed many people were witnessed boarding without anyone to count them on board the vessel and as a result, some sources stated that as many as 11,000 people were on board, although there would have to have been a major discrepancy in the counting process for this latter figure to be correct.

At around 1200, the first air raid of the day started but the Lancastria had almost completed loading by this time. Despite repeated advice from the Senior Naval Officer, Captain Barry Stevens, in HMS Havelock to get underway, Captain Sharp was reluctant to sail without an escort, preferring to wait for the Oronsay to complete loading and to sail as an escorted convoy in case of U-Boat attack. The Oronsay was hit and damaged during this raid at 1350 but despite this warning, Captain Sharp still refused to sail or even to weigh anchor and manoeuvre slowly thus making a more difficult target for the bombers.

A second raid started at 1545 and Lancastria (pictured above in her death throes) was soon struck by four bombs which ripped through the ship's side and caused her to sink inside 30 minutes. Many of those lost were trapped in horrendous conditions inside the vessel's holds, whilst many others perished in the oil polluted waters, either choked by the oil itself or strafed by attacking aircraft. Over 2,400 oil soaked survivors were picked up by other vessels in the port, but because of the uncertainty as to exactly how many were aboard in the first place, the precise death toll is unknown. The number of known fatalities was put at 1,738 but assuming there were 7,000 on board and given the known number of survivors picked up, the death toll could possibly have been as high as 4,600. Whatever the exact figure, this remains the worst disaster in British maritime history but one which is strangely overlooked. Perhaps this was because the tragedy occurred relatively early in the war and was soon to be overtaken by many other tragic events over the next five years. Captain Sharp himself survived this incident, only to perish when a subsequent command, the Laconia was torpedoed in the Atlantic in 1942, with major loss of life and not without more than a tinge of tragedy.

In spite of this disaster, Operation Aerial, as this part of the evacuation had been codenamed, saw the return of a further 139,812 British troops as well as 46,515 Allied servicemen, which as well the French included 24,000 Poles and nearly 5,000 Czechs. These forces would face four long years before returning to France but in the meantime, the French airfields which had fallen into German hands would soon bring the British people into the range of the Luftwaffe.

Published Sources:

BEF Ships before, at and after Dunkirk - John de S Winser, World Ship Society 1999
Dunkirk, Fight to the Last Man - Hugh Sebag Montefiore, Viking 2006
Epitaph for Forgotten Thousands - Nicholas Monsarrat, Daily Telegraph 1970

Escape to Victory (1)

The title of this week's blog doesn't refer to the cheesy 1981 movie starring Michael Caine, Sylvester Stallone, Pele and sundry Ipswich Town footballers of the day, which quite possibly ranks as one of the worst war films of all time. Neither does it relate to those brave men who escaped Nazi Prisoner of War camps to return to Great Britain, but covers the great evacuations of May and June 1940, which enabled the British Army to escape home from France and thus become the nucleus of those forces which would return in 1944 to liberate Europe from Nazi tyranny.

Even those with only a passing interest in the history of the Second World War are probably aware of Dunkirk, the French Channel port through which nearly 200,000 British and 110,000 French troops were evacuated between May 27th and June 4th 1940 but what is not so well known is that although Dunkirk saw by far the largest number of Allied troops evacuated from the clutches of the advancing Germans, it was by no means the only evacuation from the French coast and was just one of a series that saw over half a million mainly British and French servicemen evacuated to Britain, as well as significant numbers of Poles and Czechs who had made their way to France in order to continue the war.

The first of these remarkable mass withdrawals came at the channel port of Boulogne. This port did not originally contain a British garrison but was one of the primary ports used to maintain supplies to the British Expeditionary Force or BEF as it was known, which had been sent to France on the outbreak of war in 1939 to stand alongside the French Army, in what was widely seen as being a repeat of the static warfare seen during 1914-18. By the spring of 1940, this force was some 300,000 strong but although numerically strong, many of the units were still woefully undertrained and poorly equipped despite the best efforts of rising stars of the British Army such as Generals Alan Brooke, Bernard Montgomery and Harold Alexander.

On May 10th, the long awaited German offensive against the Low Countries and France began and despite the early success of the BEF in holding the Germans in their sector, it soon became apparent that the French Army was a shadow of it's former self during the Great War and the British were soon hard pressed to stem the relentless German advance. The French Army was in disarray and coupled with the imminent collapse of the Belgians, the BEF was dangerously exposed and a withdrawal to the coast soon became the only option open to the British if they were going to stand any chance of not losing their Army.

To return to Boulogne, by May 21st the Germans had reached the French coast near Abbeville and became clear that the British were in a race against time to reach and hold their section of the Channel coast before the Germans could complete an encircling operation and cut off the BEF from any chance of escape. It was originally intended to evacuate the BEF from all of the northern Channel ports of Boulogne, Calais and Dunkirk but the speed of events would ensure that Dunkirk and it's adjacent beaches would be the centre of the withdrawal.

Although Boulogne did not contain a British garrison, it did contain a 1,500 strong contingent of No. 5 Group Auxiliary Pioneer Corps, who had been engaged on dock labour work unloading the various cargo ships supplying the BEF. These men were largely unarmed and not trained in combat but were commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Donald Dean VC, who had won this highest award for bravery with the Royal West Kent Regiment in the Great War. Dean was a determined commander and although many of the Pioneers in Boulogne were later reported to have been ill-disciplined and disorderly, the men under Dean's command were made of different stuff. Despite having no anti-tank guns, they improvised road blocks with abandoned lorries and petrol bombs and thus managed to hold off the German tanks long enough to enable them to withdraw to the inner harbour to join up with the Brigade of Guards who had been sent across the Channel to stiffen the port's defences whilst the port was evacuated. The 20th Guards Brigade, comprising the 2nd Irish Guards and 2nd Welsh Guards had originally been sent in the hope of not only holding the town but also of linking up with the British garrison at the neighbouring port of Calais

This idea very quickly proved to be wishful thinking in the extreme and shortly after first light on the 23rd May, the Germans completed their encirclement of the port when they captured the Fort de la Creche. The Germans then mounted an attack on the main defences of Boulogne but although heavily pressed, the Irish and Welsh Guards held firm, supported by makeshift platoons of the Pioneers who had been armed with rifles taken from the wounded and from those who had already managed to embark for England.

The evacuation was now in full swing and as always, it was the Royal Navy that came to the rescue with a succession of destroyers entering the port whilst under heavy fire from the German armour, which was now well within firing range of the harbour. During the late afternoon, whilst HM Ships Keith and Vimy were alongside the Gare Maritime embarking a mass of troops and evacuees, they also came under air attack from Stuka dive bombers. By a miracle and also the intervention of the RAF, no hits were registered on the British destroyers but another hazard was about to manifest itself. Due to the state of the tide, the bridges of the British vessels were exposed above the level of the quayside and as the air raid was clearing, Captain David Simson of the Keith fell dead, hit by a German sniper located in an adjacent hotel that overlooked the harbour. The enemy was moving ever closer and shortly afterwards, Lieutenant Commander Donald, commanding officer of the Vimy was also hit, as were several others - both officers and men of the destroyers and also their passengers. The destroyers then left port under the command of their First Lieutenants and on their passage back to Dover performed the melancholy task of burying their dead at sea.

The Navy was undeterred and as these destroyers left, their place was taken by HMS Whitshed (pictured) and HMS Vimiera which began the task of embarking the Irish Guards and Brigade HQ whilst at the same time disembarking a demolition party from the Royal Engineers tasked with the destruction of the port's facilities so as to deny their use to the Germans. Following the embarkation of these men, it was the turn of the Welsh Guards to leave and two further destroyers, Venomous and Wild Swan moved into the port to fulfil this task. A third destroyer, the Venetia was also ordered in but as she entered the harbour was struck hard by German artillery. It was clear that the Germans wanted to sink her in the harbour entrance, thus blocking the port and bottling up the remaining destroyers inside. By skilled ship handling though, she was able to manouvre full astern out of the harbour and on fire aft, managed to escape back to England.

The Germans were now getting ever closer and as enemy columns were seen moving through the town, the destroyers deployed their 4.7 inch (120mm) main armament against the Panzers with absolutely devastating effect. It was probably the first effective anti-tank fire that the Germans had encountered; at least one tank was seen to somersault through the air following a near miss from a 4.7 inch shell and two tanks were obliterated by direct hits from HMS Whitshed. According to one eye witness who saw the destruction of the tanks:

"The shout of triumph that went up from the embarked troops was more suitable for the football ground than the field of battle and order had to be restored by megaphone, also at point blank range!"

Soon after 2100, Venomous and Wild Swan slipped their moorings and left the harbour. Even so, British troops still remained within Boulogne - many Welsh Guardsmen including almost three companies who had become separated from the main body of the Guards Brigade during the fighting and about 800 Pioneers remained along with the Sappers of the Demolition Parties as well as some wounded men being cared for by the Padre and Medical Officer of the Pioneers. So, at about 2230 the destroyer HMS Windsor entered the harbour and took off 600 men including most of the Pioneers and Demolition Parties and at 0140 the following morning, HMS Vimiera, making her second trip entered the port and embarked an incredible 1,400 men in just over an hour - the last to embark was the redoubtable Lieutenant Colonel Dean, who only just made it; he had been knocked out by a nearby explosion but had recovered just in time to make it onboard. He had wanted to return to the port to bring more men who were taking cover underneath railway wagons but had been dissuaded from doing so by Lieutenant Commander Roger Hicks in command of Vimiera, whose ship was jammed full and who understandably wanted to sail before daybreak.

Vimiera then returned to England in a dangerously overloaded condition. Sadly, the three companies of Welsh Guards - just over 300 men - began to arrive just after Vimiera sailed but even then could still have been saved had a further destroyer, HMS Wessex not been diverted to Calais at the last moment. No further vessels were sent to Boulogne and these fine soldiers mostly all became prisoners of war for five long years. Despite this, some 4,300 men had been evacuated from Boulogne, although the garrison along the coast at Calais was to be largely sacrificed to the Prisoner of War camps in an attempt to buy time for the main evacuation at Dunkirk.

As mentioned earlier, Operation 'Dynamo' as the embarkation at Dunkirk was officially titled, is well known but in the next part of this article, we shall take a look at the post-Dunkirk evacuations which brought a further 140,000 British and 46,500 Allied servicemen back to these shores but which also brought Britain's worst disaster at sea.

Published Sources:

B.E.F. Ships before, at and after Dunkirk - John de S Winser, World Ship Society 1999 Dunkirk: Fight to the Last Man - Hugh Sebag-Montefiore, Viking 2006
Dunkirk: Retreat to Victory - Major General Julian Thompson, Sidgwick & Jackson 2008
V and W Class Destroyers 1917-45 - Anthony Preston, Macdonald & Son 1971
With Ensigns Flying - David A Thomas - William Kimber 1958

When the lights came on again; VE Day, London 1945

‘When the lights go on again’ was one of the many evocative wartime songs by Vera Lynn and although released in 1943 when the end of the war seemed a long way off, by May 1945 the lights really were coming on again. The wartime blackout had been relaxed slightly in the autumn of 1944 and had become known as a ‘dim-out’ but this was nowhere near the full level of lighting that older Londoners were accustomed to. In May 1945 though, Britain had been at war for getting on for six years and some children had never known anything but dark nights and the fear of German bombs penetrating the darkness.

By early 1945 it was plain that the Germans were finished and despite the onslaught of V-2 rockets that fell on London until the end of March, it was only a matter of time before the war would be over and to paraphrase the words of the song, the boys would be home again.

However, as with all things connected to war, the end of the European War was shrouded in chaos and uncertainty. On 7th May, everyone knew that Hitler and Goebbels were both dead and that a group of high ranking Germans had surrendered to Field Marshal Montgomery on Luneburg Heath. It was common knowledge that Berlin had fallen to the Russians and that at some point the unconditional surrender demanded by the Allies was about to be signed at General Eisenhower’s headquarters in Rheims but despite all of this, there was no formal announcement as to what was happening for the simple reason that the situation in Europe was ever changing.

In the meantime, the crowds began to converge on London in preparation for the end of the war and the extra paid holiday that had been promised by the Government to mark the end of the war with Germany. The pubs were doing a roaring trade and seemed to have suddenly found extra supplies of booze from somewhere. Everywhere, there was the anticipation of a mass celebration but the British, being then as now a basically reserved nation of people, were reluctant to start partying prematurely.

On the 8th May, it was officially over. Winston Churchill had broadcast to that effect and by that afternoon vast crowds – Londoners and Foreign servicemen and women alike – were flowing into Whitehall, where it had been announced that Churchill would speak at 3 o’clock. Right on time, he appeared on the balcony of the Ministry of Works and told the crowds that hostilities would cease at midnight that night. This naturally was greeted by cheers and when he spoke the words “The German war is therefore at an end” the crowd erupted. His voice cracking with emotion, Churchill ended his speech with the words “Advance Britannia! Long live the cause of freedom! God save the King!” The buglers of the Scots Guards the sounded the ceremonial ‘Cease Fire’ and then the band struck up the National Anthem, which was sung with great reverence by everyone present, young and old, civilians and soldiers alike, many of whom would have been doubtless thinking of absent friends who had not lived to see this day of final victory.

After this moment of reflection, there were of course wild celebrations to be seen, not only in London but in New York, Paris, Brussels and every major city and town in the Free World. Despite these celebrations, there were many who chose not to be with the crowds and preferred to be on their own or just with their families. Many of these people had lost loved ones during the Blitz or on service overseas with the services and whilst they were still glad to see the end of hostilities, they were naturally in a more sombre mood on this special day. It must also be remembered that many thousands of servicemen were still serving overseas, not only in Europe but also fighting the Japanese and the relatives of these men were also not inclined to go overboard with their celebrations.

For the children though, there were the street parties as in the example shown above in Woolwich. Hurriedly organised affairs, they were widespread across the country and as in the case of the pubs, food still strictly rationed seemed to suddenly appear as if by magic and ensured that these street parties were memorable affairs for all concerned.

For those adults still celebrating, London was ablaze with floodlighting, switched on to illuminate buildings rather than German bombers and for those in the suburbs where there was no floodlighting, some huge bonfires were lit on the many bomb sites and these bonfires gave the National Fire Service one of their busiest nights since the Blitz. Many of the large fires got out of hand and as senior fire officer Cyril Demarne recalled, the Fire Brigade soon discovered (or re-discovered) that the public could be very fickle. Only a few weeks ago, the firemen were being cheered as heroes for fighting the fires lit by the German bombs and rockets; now they were being booed as party poopers for dousing the bonfires that were threatening to get out of hand.

Peace had returned to London and although the Japanese war was to continue until August 1945, the people of the capital could at last begin to think about rebuilding their city and their lives.

Published Sources:

Backs to the Wall - Leonard Mosley, Weidenfeld & Nicolson 1974
London at War 1939-45 - Philip Ziegler, Sinclair Stevenson 1995
The London Blitz: A Fireman's Tale - Cyril Demarne OBE, After The Battle 1991