Light relief at one helluva party after long blackout
THE EXPLOSION of joy had not yet erupted. But there, in the heart of London, darkness was strangely absent on one street. A stream of light illuminated almost an entire block. Some happy soul had raised a blackout shade for the first time in nearly six years, without fear of inviting an Air Raid Wardens’ citation or German bombs.
The date was May 7, 1945, and the marvellous lighted scene foretelling the end of Europe’s deadliest period has stayed with me all these years. I was 20 and an American B-24 bomber radio gunner on a three-day pass from my air base outside of Norwich.
On an underground train to Piccadilly Circus, I saw a newspaper headline: “Unconditional Surrender Imminent.” The lighted street seemed to confirm the headline. And by 3pm the next day, it was official.
Standing on the Health Ministry balcony above Whitehall, a beaming Winston Churchill flashed his famous “V” sign – no symbolic promise this time.
The hostilities with Nazi Germany were over. Cheers grew into one helluva party. People poured into the streets, shouting, dancing, embracing. They mounted double-decker buses and climbed telegraph poles, waved flags, even started bonfires.
I was dragged into dancing the Hokey Cokey around a statue of Queen Victoria with overjoyed strangers as sirens blared, car horns honked and church bells pealed.
Like many, I was drawn to Buckingham Palace and, while standing amidst a mass of humanity, watched as several people suddenly appeared on the balcony and were greeted by wild applause. From where I was they were just a blur.
The next day newspapers carried photos of those on the balcony: King George VI and Queen Elizabeth, their princess daughters, Elizabeth and Margaret, and
Winston Churchill. That night, floodlights illuminated the Palace and the Houses of Parliament for the first time since the start of hostilities in 1939. The celebration lasted for two days.
Bus and train service in and out of London were halted, and tens of thousands of people who had flocked to the city to witness and participate in these historic moments jammed hotels and parks. US military personnel passes were extended for two days because of a mass transit breakdown. Great, except that the hotels were full and my money had run out. I wasn’t alone and joined many others spending a damp, chilly night trying to keep warm near one of the bonfires in St James’s Park.
A thin, dark-haired girl I met also was left out in the cold – unable to return to her suburban home because trains weren’t running. Doreen Jordan told me her mother had come to London to celebrate the end of World War One and met and married a Yank. She couldn’t wait for the end of rationing, she said, especially for the day when nylon stockings would be available in England.
‘I was dragged into doing the Hokey Cokey around a statue of Queen Victoria with strangers’
BACK IN the States several months later I answered her prayers, and mailed her three pairs. The anticipated thank-you note never arrived.
The years have passed but not memories of those tumultuous days. Today on the 76th anniversary of the end of war in Europe, I’ll be in London in spirit. The sole remaining member of my fun-loving, nine-man 8th Air Force B-24 bomber crew, I’ll drink a toast to the memory of my old buddies. Till we meet again...
● Si Liberman, 96, is a retired editor of the Asbury Park Sunday Press, New Jersey, and lives in Florida