The war is over – city celebrates
Bells tolled and The Square filled with people celebrating the end of the Great War in November 1918.
Bells were ringing out all over Palmerston North – church bells, fire bells, dinner bells, quickly improvised gongs, tinkly handbells and motorcar horns. Anything that could make a festive noise was grabbed as the crowd surged into The Square from 10.30am onward.
It was Tuesday, November 12, 1918. The Great War was over. That news had been telegraphed about 9am, but official notification didn’t arrive until later.
Notices posted up at the Manawatu¯ Standard office, at the central Post Office and at other prominent places had ‘‘set all doubts at rest’’. The day before, at 11am on Monday, November 11, the Armistice – the formal agreement for the Allies and Germany to stop fighting – had been signed.
The Standard described the scene in its afternoon edition: ‘‘The Square was transformed . . . into a happy hunting ground of joy and gladness. Flags of all kinds were quickly brought forth, and a display of bunting such as the town had never seen before. From every flagpole waved bunting of many colours, and although the Union Jack was of course the most prominent, the flags of all the Allies found a place in the decoration scheme.’’
People who didn’t have flags made do with red, white and blue draperies. Boys and girls marched around the streets, wearing patriotic rosettes, and every bicycle and vehicle was decorated. Even passing trains blared their whistles as they passed.
‘‘Britishers may as a rule be a deliberate, cold-blooded race,’’ wrote the Standard reporter, ‘‘but those in Palmerston this morning
. . . for once let themselves go. Strangers exchanged warm and hearty clasps of the hand, and congratulated themselves and each other on the conclusion of over four years of horror and suffering that has at last had a glorious and triumphant conclusion.’’
At the Main St courthouse, the day’s business was adjourned, and almost every commercial establishment had closed.
The J Battery gun, obtained by ‘‘Colonel Hume, Major Bosworth, Captain Mitchell and others of the Defence Department’’, boomed out several rounds of blank ammunition in The Square.
Along with the crowd’s relief, other emotions welled.
‘‘Beneath the feeling of rejoicing there was a strong undercurrent of thankfulness. In many eyes there were tears . . . Many of those who celebrated this morning remembered the lads who had gone so proudly and gaily away to do their part nobly in the great conflict, and many of whom will never return.
‘‘But if there was sorrow deep down . . . there was also great pride – pride for what they had done to assist the consummation of the struggle waged so bitterly and so long.’’
The Peace Committee had been planning ahead for this hoped-for milestone, and now, after a quick meeting with mayor James Nash, it was organising activities.
The afternoon would feature a band concert and parades of schoolchildren, veterans, returned nurses and returned soldiers in uniform, councillors, territorials and cadets, a tableaux of Allies, friendly societies, labour organisations, Red Cross members and decorated taxis full of prominent citizens. The Voluntary Motor Corps would be giving lifts to all returned soldiers otherwise unable to attend through illness or injuries.
There was more. That evening there would be an orchestra and dancing in front of the Kosy Theatre, bonfires in The Square, Chinese lanterns and lighted shop windows, and massed choirs.
A ceremonial burning of the Kaiser’s effigy on horseback was planned for Wednesday.
The Standard continued: ‘‘It was a glorious summer’s afternoon, and it seemed almost as if the elements had combined to assist in the day of great rejoicing. Country people flocked into town . . . Nobody cared about the latest war news, all they knew and all they cared to know was that Germany had signed the armistice terms . . . There must have been 15,000 or 16,000 in The Square. There was no rowdyism of any kind.’’
Everywhere in town, tools had been dropped, shutters put up, and ‘‘in some cases boys making their rounds of deliveries had turned immediately and left their customers without the goods that had been ordered . . . The banks were closed for the day and the public offices vacated by civil servants.
‘‘Hotels were closed for the rest of the afternoon, this being decided by the licensed victuallers themselves, and not because of any instructions from the authorities.’’
A public prayer had been delivered by the Reverend A Doull, mayor Nash gave a speech, and the German flag was set alight ‘‘on the balcony of the hotel opposite, by Mr EA Simpson, who had five volunteer sons at the front’’.
In the excitement, no-one was thinking about that other cruel enemy infiltrating Palmerston North and claiming victims, just as it was around New Zealand and the world: The ‘‘Spanish’’ influenza pandemic.
The Standard noted: ‘‘The fear of contracting the prevailing influenza epidemic did not seem to have entered into the minds of the people. With such a crowd congregated together, the chances of infection were, of course, considerable, but the people seem to have made up their minds to take the risk, or had for the time completely forgotten about it altogether.’’