History of the BBC

On the 75th anniversary of VE Day, share your memories of BBC broadcasts on that special day.

Did you receive news of the surrender in Nazi Germany from BBC radio? Did the broadcasts from all over the UK and from the rest of Europe convey the moment? If you couldn’t join in the celebrations that day, what do you remember about the broadcasts? Let us know your thoughts, memories and ideas.

A selection of images and sounds from a long and celebratory day of broadcasting from the BBC on VE Day 1945. Your memories

I was eight years old living in Rutherglen, Lanarkshire, Scotland and have just two specific memories – but both are vivid and detailed. I don’t have any knowledge of the announcement but do recall my mother telling me that we no longer had to keep the blackout curtains shut at night and she deliberately opened them – then switched all the lights on. Then my father who was working on military hardware down south in England was back a day or so later for a very short stay. He took us to a bonfire, just up the road, all my friends were there and some of the dads had to work very hard to get the fire going but the sense of occasion was excitingly electric and we had some fireworks! From somewhere in someone’s cellar just two or three Roman candles and two Catherine wheels about two inches in diameter – one didn’t work! The atmosphere and fire continued and the repeated message was that this was a great victory and celebration. Only in later life was I to fully understand the magnitude of that occasion. Today, living in the United States I have been surprised at the apparent very low appreciation level of this 75th anniversary – however, not necessarily a reflection of indifference as the VJ date in August has more overall significance.

Norman Eden, Carmel, Indiana, USA

One of my earliest memories, perhaps my earliest, is of being at a bonfire event with my mother in Bangor, County Down, in Northern Ireland. I was about three years old. For a long time I had assumed that this memory was of a Guy Fawkes Night bonfire. There was a big fire, a lot of people milling about and an effigy sat atop the bonfire, being consumed by the flames..

Thinking about this, half a century later, it dawned on me that this memory could not be of a Guy Fawkes Night celebration, because we couldn’t have had bonfires like that during the war; and there were no fireworks. I am not at all sure that Guy Fawkes/Bonfire Night (“Plot Night” if you are in Yorkshire) was celebrated in Ulster. It could not have been a Plot Night after 1945 because my mother had just given birth to my sister at the end of October 1946. Then, at the time of the 50th anniversary of VE Day, watching old newsreel films of the 1945 celebrations, I realised that this memory was of the VE Day celebrations in Bangor, County Down in May 1945. I would have been just short of three, having been born in June 1942.

I recall standing in a crowd of people with my mother as the effigy of a man was placed atop the bonfire and it was set alight. “Who’s that man?” I asked my mother. I was always an inquisitive little boy. She hissed at me through gritted teeth, “Shut up. It’s Hitler.” In those days, for many people, “Hitler” was akin to a swear word and not to be uttered in the presence of children – nor by children in the presence of grown-ups.

I have no memory of my father’s being present. On VE Day he would have been on the continent with the RASC. He remained with the army for a while after the peace, driving “displaced persons” back from Germany to Czechoslovakia. We left Northern Ireland at the end of 1945 or early 1946 and moved to my recently demobbed father’s home town of Christchurch, Hampshire. My mother died in December 1946.

Gordon Nevill, Bradford West Yorkshire

I was not yet 12 on VE Day. I recall looking up at the sky and thinking, the worst that can fall on me now is bird poo. No more bombs or land mines or shrapnel.

C. Wylie

On hearing the news on the radio my great aunt sent her sons to the vicarage to tell the vicar so that the church bells could be rung once again.

Pat Dawsom, Llandybie, UK

I was four years old living in Kenya and my Mother told me the war was over but I could not understand why my Father was not with us, he was still with the 4th Kings African Rifles fighting in Burma. We as a family were united at the end of August 1945.

David Watson, Castle Cary Somerset, UK

I was just seven at VE day. I remember we had a big party in the village hall, when that finished there was a bonfire and singing. My parents and I went to a party at house where Major Podmore was on leave. I guess he’d finished in Europe and was waiting to be sent to the far east. Anyway at some stage he put his offcers hat on me. It stayed on for the rest of the day, including when all the children had a group photo taken. Very late that night my father carried me home still wearing the majors hat which he returned to the major the following day.

Alan Taylor, Stoke-on-Trent, UK

I was five and a half years old, and I remember the street party where a bonfire had been lit outside the local Methodist church. Potatoes were roasting in it and being turned over by local young men with long sticks to cook them evenly. They tasted delicious even though the skins were blackened. The Sunday School piano had been brought out into the street and my mother was co-opted to play all the popular songs of the day. We all sang with gusto and even with a mouth full of potato I joined in and knew every word. The happy singing faces lit up from the bonfire flames, the elderly neighbours sitting on Sunday school benches chatting about their war time experiences and the laughter and encouraging smiles at me singing my heart out are lasting memories which will always live with me.

Mary Gelder, Brighouse, West Yorkshire (now living in Cyprus)

I was nearly seven on VE day. We lived in Cheam, Surrey, and I remember the street party, but it was not much fun as my father, in the Royal Engineers, was still in Oslo, Norway; my mother had heard that there had been some explosions in Oslo and she stayed at home waiting to hear news of my father. I did not understand everything, but I realized that my mother was worried about my father, and I did not like being at the street party on my own. My father was fine.

Yvonne Taylor, Northants, UK

As a five year old, I remember going with my father to collect sand from a nearby allotment then wheeling to the junction between West Avenue and Ebley Road in Handsworth Wood, Birmingham. The sand was spread over the tarmac forming the base for a bonfire in the evening. Tables set up in West Avenue were loaded with cakes for a celebration party. VE Day was celebrated in style.

Rodney Cartwright, Guildford, Surrey, UK

I was on the school sports field – it was cricket that afternoon. One lad appeared and claimed that he’d heard the war was over. I don’t know where he got the information from. It was not unexpected , but no one knew whether the story was true or not. The Sports Master told us that if it really was true there would be no school next day.

Then we carried on with the cricket.

Donald Noble, Bromyard, England

These are the recollections of my late dad SSM Robert Fife of the 49th RTR 7th Armoured Division, from his diary he wrote in 1945.

At the beginning of May, when we were in the Cuxhaven area, I was stationary in my tank at the side of the road. I saw some figures walking up the road in our direction. As they came closer I could see it was a party of German generals and one German naval officer, Admiral von Freideberg in a long black coat. The Germans were carrying a white flag. Some of our officers went up to meet them. They stood together discussing things near my tank. I wished I had had a camera at that moment. As no British officer of a comparable rank was there an official cease fire could not be organised. Some Britsh officers went with the Germans across to their side of the lines to see the “other side”. The official surrender was signed 3 days later.

Neil Fife, Tyne & Wear, UK

I remember VE-day even though I was only 5 years old because my grandfather used to listen to short-wave BBC and that day he started to wave his arms and to embrace the family shouting: “Berlin fell… Berlin fell…!!”. Then, my sister Myrna, who was two years younger than me said “Yes, it’s true because I heard the noise.” Of course, that added to the laughter and euphoria of that day.

My grandfather was the greatest admirer of Sir Winston Churchill and had a large painting of him behind his desk, in his office.

Many years later, I owned a tour company in the US and we moved 2500 veterans to England and Europe when the 50th. Anniversary of D-Day and saw not only the landing beaches in Normandy but also many of the sites of different battles fought in WWII. Those veterans we moved had beautiful and poignant stories of the places they had been during the war.

Christina Coirolo, Melo, Uruguay, South America

I was five years old in May 1945, so it was not until I became an adult that I realized certain childhood recollections and images in my memory belonged to VE Day.

I know now that May 8,1945 was the day when one of the pastimes that we enjoyed as children, midgie raking (dumpster diving on a small scale), became a scavenger hunt to search for and gather anything that could be burned.

There was to be a big fire that night and we were going to help fuel it.

Even though my arms were not long enough to reach into the rubbish bins, our targeted sources for finding stuff to burn, I and other small children joined the quest. Following the bigger kids, we ran from backcourt to backcourt, working as transporters to help carry potential fuel from the middens to where the fire was to be built.

I recall two of my pals, Ena and June, and I carting one lucky find, a load of old newspapers, to the heap of trash growing in the middle of the street.

When we were done scavenging, we started soliciting from shopkeepers and neighbors. We ran up and down tenement stairs, usually chapping at all the doors on each landing simultaneously, as we shouted, “Anything for the fire?” What a noise we must have made but I do not recall anybody getting annoyed with us.

Throughout the day people came to throw their contributions on the pile. Once-precious junk, old furniture, and wooden crates were tossed onto the stack.

The mound became a mountain.

By the time fuel gathering was exhausted there were two piles in the street. We thought that meant there’d be two bonfires, but were told the smaller pile was to be used for stoking the main fire to keep it burning as long as possible.

The war in Europe was over. That night Thistle Street, where I lived, was invaded by revelers overjoyed to celebrate the beginning of the end of six years of sacrifice.

As darkness fell, people packed the street. Those who’d assumed or been given responsibility for guarding and stoking the fire waited quite a while for the exuberance of the crowd to tamp down before announcing that the torch was about to be lit. There were rousing cheers from the gathering at the proclamation.

Naturally, youngsters wanted to be right up front to see the fire being started and some were lifted onto willing shoulders to watch as the pyre was set ablaze. Parents had their hands full keeping offspring from getting too close to the flames. Soon, though, most children were shooed away from the bonfire as adults took over the party.

Though banished to the outer perimeter, we could yet see the flames dancing above the heads of the crowds, but could catch only glimpses of the fire itself.

My friend Ena and I were lucky. We were hoisted atop the baffle wall outside No. 201, our close . I don’t remember who did the lifting. From our elevated seat we had a great view of the bonfire and the antics of the grown-ups.

There were so many people around the blaze that they formed two circles. They held hands as they swayed side-to-side, singing old wartime songs and perennials of the Scottish songbook.

When the dancing started, I spotted my mother among the crowd. I had never seen her dance before. But there she was doing a jig, raising her arms, flicking her skirt, lifting her legs and rejoicing like the rest of the troupe.

My brothers and I went to bed much later than usual that night while the fire was still burning. Like our pals, after such a busy day, we were tired even before the festivities began. The anticipation of the big fire and the uniqueness of the event must have infused us with enough energy to let us stay awake for as long as we did.

I close my eyes and I can see that glorious blaze with its leaping flames and brilliant sparks; the people holding hands as they circled the fire, then swaying from side-to-side as they sang. And there’s my mother dancing. I can see them all, illuminated by the glow of the fire and the joy in their hearts.

It seemed as if the whole world was happy that night.

The following verse, that we recited as children, came into my head as I wrote this story of VE Day in Thistle Street.

Now the war is over

And Hitler he is dead

He thought he’d go to heaven

With a crown upon his head

But the Lord said, “No,

You’ll have to go below,

There’s only room for Churchill

And his wee black bow.”

ENDNOTES:

Midgie = Glasgow slang for a midden, where rubbish bins were kept. Not to be confused with the tiny biting insect that plagues the highlands of Scotland

Going from one tenement backcourt to another was an easier task than it would have been before the war when backcourts were called back greens. Metal palings (railings) that, as fences, had separated back greens into allotments, were dug up at the beginning of the war to be melted down and used in munitions factories.

With no fencing to impede, the backcourts became shortcuts and throughways. The once divided areas were trampled into a huge grass-free playground, giving children more space to play games, go midgie raking, dig dirt, make tunnels and, with the aid of a pail of water and spade, fashion buildings from clabber (gooey mud) – castles in the dirt rather than the sand.

Baffle walls had been erected in front of the close of each tenement building early in the war. They were brick barriers or corrugated aluminium encasing sand and stone, eight to nine feet tall, six feet wide, and two- or three-bricks deep, built on the edge of the pavement (sidewalk) to prevent shockwaves from bomb blasts resounding through the entrances and bringing down the buildings.

Close = common entranceway

My mother, in recounting her memories of the war, told me some of the songs that were sung on VE night: It’s a Long Way to Tipperary, Pack up Your Troubles, Keep the Home Fires Burning, I Belong to Glasgow, Keep Right on to the End of the Road, By Yon Bonnie Banks and, of course, Auld Lang Syne, among them.

Late in the evening as the fire was getting low, the majority of people with children left to put them to bed. A few scalawags found sources of fuel to keep the blaze going.

The day after the bonfire, some of the common toilets were missing their wooden doors. The doors of communal cellars, which were located at the back end of each tenement close, ended up in the fire. Such cellars were used to store, among other things, long wooden clothes poles, whose purpose was to prop up clothes lines and keep wet laundry from dragging on the dirt when it was hung out to dry. The poles met the same fate as the cellar doors.

Mary Caroline Russell nee Whittaker, Then: Gorbals, Glasgow, Scotland. Now: Walnut Creek, California

Lived in N.W. London. Went up to Trafalgar square with my Mother and Aunts. Got separated in the crowds and spent the day sitting on some scaffolding in Whitehall.

Herbert Reginald Beckley, Bournemouth, UK

I was five and a half years old. I had followed the progress of the war with mum who had a map of Europe on the wall. As the bulletins came in mum pointed out where and what was happening, the Allies crossing the Rhine and meeting the Russians, the Red Army on the banks of the Elbe. My dad was working for the Hawker aircraft factory, the drawing office moved from Richmond to a girls school in the country. Travel was difficult and he worked sometimes seven days a week. I hardly knew my dad in those days.

I was awoken a year previously by a doodlebug actually flying straight past my bedroom window, its flaming exhaust lighting up my room and its engine deafening I hated the war but my brother four years older found it really exciting.

Adrienne May, North Walsham, Norfolk

We did not have a radio to hear the news so I went to school as usual.

When I got to school there was no one in the playground at Fetteresso School, Stonehaven, Scotland.

I thought that I was LATE for class. As it was frowned upon by teachers for pupils to arrive late resulting in a scolding I decided notto go in.

I hid my school bag across the street behind some bushes and set off to play on the beach. I could see the town clock from the beach so when lunch time came a couple of hours later I retrieved my school bag and headed home.

When I got home I was greeted by many uncles and aunts and mother asking where I had been.

I told them “I HAVE BEEN AT SCHOOL”

Everyone started laughing and this was the only time I avoided being reprimanded for not telling the truth. My tarrydiddle was accepted.

So I went down in family history as the only kid who did not know the war was over!!

Arthur Balmer, Silver Spring, Maryland, USA

A film made by my students at The Small School, Hartland, Devon, in 2016. It features the World War II reminiscences of four ladies in the village. A poignant film, particularly appropriate for the present circumstances.

Paul Wilkinson, Hartland, Bideford, UK

I was 11 at school in a small village between Durban and Pietermaritzburg. The newspaper carried a map each day of the narrowing ring around Berlin. The surrender was announced by the local broadcasting corporation, and then again at 6 pm on the General Overseas Service of the BBC. When the newsreels arrived I saw the crowds around the Palace and very clearly remember the commentator saying “And here come the South Africans with their traditional yellow flash,” which offended us all tremendously as the flash was orange, and yellow had and has implications. My father had been injured in the desert war, and had already been discharged.

Ralph Wortley, Natal, South Africa

My Mother, Patricia Steane (formerly Glenwright) was remembering the Street Party and big bonfire in her neighborhood on VE Day. Her own mother sewed red and blue ribbons in the shape of a “V” on to her white dress!

Katherine Steane, Swansea, UK

My paternal grandfather was one of the first Aerial Observers during WW1, after the war he went to work for Lucas Electricals as an engineer. During the mid 30’s he was involved in the design of Britain’s tanks, it was during that time he was recruited to help in the design and construction of Churchill’s War Rooms were he played a fundamental role. He never talked about this and I only found out after his death, a truly amazing gentleman.

Stephen Phillips, Castle Cary, UK

My parents, John Yorke-Barber and Gillian Cumberlege got married at St George’s Church, Bloomsbury on VE Day! They only just made it to the church as so close to Trafalgar Sq. My father was an army chaplain with the 8th army in Egypt, my mother a Middlesex Hospital nurse. My father died in 1964 from his war injuries following the sinking of the Lancastria in 1940. They were a wonderful happy couple.

Clare Padmore, Cookham

May 8th, 1945 – the official date for the end of World War II in Europe with the signing of the act of surrender of Germany.

How enviable their fate!

Cherries bloomed.

In the depths of the bustling world.

I caught the start of the celebration of Victory Day in my country in 1965 on May 9th as a child.

That day everything was different in our courtyard.

Underneath the greenery of surrounding bushes that held the first blossom, stood a large table usually occupied in the evening time by men for playing chess and dominoes from the nearby houses, covered with a large tablecloth after midday.

Residents pulled up from the porches of houses to this table with cooked treats for the war veterans.

Most of the men who were former military men for the first time in many years put on their Battle awards and medals slowly went to this festive table, for the first time to solemnly and humanly remember this day of 1945 and all those who did not return home.

Many of our neighbors did not know how many war veterans lived in our neighborhood.

The men in the award-winning jackets were solemnly silent and a little embarrassed, from such attention to them and from the spontaneously arising festively laid table for them.

I don’t remember, or rather, I don’t know who the initiator of this celebratory lunch in our courtyard was back then.

However, I remember how we performed before them on an improvised stage by the garages: some recited simple verses, some sang, but the highlight of this concert was the performance of one girl, a high school student, performing melodies of war songs on the accordion.

Awards, medals!

We have not seen so much and so close!

And who would have thought that those whom we saw every day, and about whom the old women sometimes fussed about on the daily at the entrance, were not just Vasily Ivanovich and Nikolai Petrovich, but were heroes who risked their lives in reality, not like in a movie about the war, but in reality indeed!

And how much more!

We saw the Battle Medals and award regalia and we were allowed to touch them and examine them up close for the first time.

We vied with each while asking the veterans about what they got them for.

Ah! If only would it be possible to write everything down then, but not everyone would tell in detail, they kept rather silent more and said that it was a long time ago and remembering is not always joyful, it’s simple – this was the work, the military work it was and that is that.

There was a navigator from the icebreaker MV “Krasin” with the Order of Lenin (the highest award) for the salvation of the Chelyuskinites, and a sailor on MV “Avrora” with St. George’s Crosses from the First World War.

The sailor from MV”Avrora” was blind, he could always be seen on the tribune during the city procession of holiday demonstrations on November 7th, but he was always there without these George Crosses. We never knew.

There was our courtyard janitor lady with the Order of the Red Star award and medals for the capture and liberation of European cities, who passed along the roads of war as a medical instructor.

Like any celebratory feast in the Urals, in our yard it continued with songs of the war times, with conversations about how it was and how they were lucky to stay alive, remembering all those who did not live up to the peaceful post-war days, before the festive fireworks that day.

The first festive salute in honor of Victory Day was given by students of the Suvorov School named after Twice the Hero of the Soviet Union Mikhail Odintsov, from the roof of the main building of the school with signal flare guns.

It was the first salute on Victory Day on May 9, 1965 in the Soviet Union.

Until this day, Victory Day was not public holiday and was not celebrated with a salute.

I will never forget this first festive Victory Day and my neighbors in the courtyard who were on the fronts of the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945.

Sergey Makarov, Moscow, Russia

My paternal Grandmother was ill in hospital with appendicitis on VE day and the nurses all went into central London to celebrate leaving her alone on the ward ! My father saw fireworks for the first time on the night of VE day when a local newsagent who wasn’t allowed to sell them during the war allowed children to help themselves to his stock !

Andrew Griffiths, Sunbury on Thames

I think the celebrations have gone very well I think that the weather has been great for the ve day celebrations yours faithfully David Hudson from Leeds

David Hudson, Headingley, Leeds

I was ten years old on VE Day. Remember only some people celebrated, I was not in the mood having lost good school friends, an Uncle, and an Aunt in air raids over Sunderland; could see no winners in any war and still feel the same. We had a street party in Fulwell Rd, and dancing in a shed where buses were garaged. My memories are far more vivid of sleepless night spent in a shelter hearing bombs fall. Celebrate? Not likely.

Dr Malcolm Craig, Cambridge

I was liberated from the holocaust.

Vera Hoffman, Savannah.Ga. U.S.A

My mum’s been telling me how she ended up at two VE day parties! She’s wondering if she’s the only original attendee in the street.

Hugh Davies, Vale of Glamorgan

At 3’oclock 75 years ago to the day my Mum told me to take the message that the war in Europe had ended to my Papa (my mother’s father). So I ran (age 8) to the standing stone field beyond the cemetery in Gatehouse where he was helping in the field to give him the message. My father, was a British soldier at the time, a long way from home in the Netherlands.

Alison Park, Gatehouse of Fleet, Scotland

I was aged 8 on VE Day and I have a vivid memory of walking from Sloane Square to Buckingham Palace with my parents and shouting ‘We want the King. We want the King’ until the King and Queen re-appeared on the balcony with Winston Churchill. We were about 8 rows from the railings of Buckingham Palace. I have not seen or heard any recordings of this whilst watching the old newsreel footage.

Simon Bingham, London

I was a war baby, born in 1942, living in New Zealand, and I believe the war, or the end of the war, provided me with one of my first real and powerful memories. It was VE Day, so I would have been two and a half. It must have been in the morning. My mother took me out to the free-standing letterbox, lifted me to stand on it, and there we heard the bells, sirens and hooters, ringing up from the city, invisible over the ridges that led down to town about three miles away. Then my mother took me back inside, into the front room, the best room, and we both knelt down by the couch and she prayed out loud, thanking God that the war was over. I have never forgotten that; I don’t believe that I would make that up, nor do I think it was my mother who told me this happened.

Donald Fraser, Glasgow

I remember the street party. Lots of tea and cake but we were reminded that rationing hadn’t ended. Joy at the end of bombing and V1 and V2 attacks. We lived in Medway on the bombing run into London and in between dockyard at Chatham and airfield at Rochester, and looking at the crater pattern we reckon we might have been next. But regret that Dad and uncle were still fighting in Burma in dreadful conditions. They were the Forgotten Army all right. Last in line for supplies and aircraft. We even got food parcels sent to us from Dad as Americans had much better rations and could spare some. Sweets! I was just 4 years old at the time but still shiver at the noise of a siren. Last of the line that can remember it first hand. Must remember to tell the grandkids. Our parents never spoke of it.

John Parsons, Banstead

As a young boy of around four we realised the importance of producing as much of our our food as possible, and I would eagerly jump into my grandfather’s wheelbarrow and be taken along to his allotment in Netley Abbey, near Southampton. We lived in a critical area as borne out by the German bombers obsession with bombing the docks and the main railway line carrying troops up and down the South coast. As young boys we were repeatedly warned not to go near the Southampton water itself which was regarded as a well sheltered but potential landing point for German troops, and towards this end a large part of the sea front in the village was mined.

One day when my grandfather and I were happily going about our task a single German fighter plane flew overhead heading in a direct line to our house, the target railway line being but a minimum distance up the road next door but one to my dear Aunt. A look of terror showed on my grandfather’s face and, in anger, he shook his fist at the plane. Nobody would have believed what happened next, least of all my dear grandfather. The pilot took the plane around full cycle and tore down towards us firing all the way, and I recall to this day seeing his shape in the cockpit and the fire flashes emanating from his machine gun. It was only my grandfather’s action in throwing me to the ground, and himself on top, that saved our lives.

The firing having stopped we finally stirred to find along my entire body, on my left side and less than half an inch away, a line of holes still ejecting a mixture of dirt and smouldering smoke. Drawing my grandfather’s attention to them in all innocence I asked “what were those “angry holes”!? He went white and, terrified that my mother would hold him personally responsible for shaking his fist and I was sworn to complete secrecy – a secret I kept until her very old age upon which she told me she “knew” there was something odd gong on that day! The plane had come down the other side of the railway lines and the pilot was “captured” by local farmers – it being just as well that they knew nothing of my story!

With the outcome of the war not looking good at the time my fourteen year old cousin Bob Carter told us young ones that we were the final line of defence when the Germans would, in his words, “surely come up the Southampton water, invade our village, and head up Hunt Avenue towards our homes with evil intent towards us and our mothers. He encouraged our little entourage to gather sticks and stones and anything available with which to confront the German soldiers, and from that day on the stone I selected for the purpose nestled, being right-handed, in my right trouser pocket.

I will never forget VE day when it finally came. At the age of six I had known nothing but war, constant bombing, black-out curtains, no street lights, hunger, powdered egg, and all that went with it. Everywhere people ran into the street shouting “the war is over”! Married ladies and mothers enquired as to whose sons had made it through, and whose had not, and there was amazing joy mixed with tears as folk looked around for just about anything that would burn to add to the huge celebration fire to be set off on common land. Retired Major Saunders let off his own home made fireworks which blew out several windows in the street.

Soon the unmistakable thump of my father’s army boots would be heard from far away victoriously approaching the house to be received with mixed feelings as many such men were in those unique times. I felt a strange mixture of joy, relief and excitement tinged with a kind of empty feeling born of not knowing what I should focus on next. For example I considered at length what I should do about the now redundant stone in my trouser pocket. I knew I would feel somewhat naked without it but after due consideration I finally allowed it to slip through my fingers to the ground as the ultimate symbol that it was now finally over!

Now we just had to learn to live with the peace!

But I did learn lessons from these events, young as I was at the time. As my career unfolded, for example, I had already received a strong lesson in how to keep confidences and hold a secret. I began to believe that “somebody” was looking after me up there. I little knew at the time that I would face many more life threatening ventures, the survival of which just added to a kind of confidence that, perhaps, I was truly invincible; that the incident with the German plane was just a preparation for what was to come. The shipping up the Southampton water nurtured my wanderlust and extensive future travels. We learned the priorities in life and how to see things in perspective. We had all learned the value of companionship sharing both misery and joy in those communal air raid shelters, and without, and I think it would be true to say that we learned how to make the best out of life. But now was the time for those exhilarating joyous celebrations which we now entered with utmost enthusiasm and vigour. A time in our lives never to be forgotten. the likes of which we all pray we will never encounter again

John Gittus, Bewdley

I wasn’t born then but I can remember my Mum who lived in Drury Lane saying. “After years of being frightened every day, living through the Blitz, waiting for the doodle bugs which cut out before they landed and exploded, running for your life- sleeping in the underground and hiding under the stairs you could walk without fear and at last could dream about the future. “. She was one of those with her sister laughing and dancing in Trafalgar Square. That moment stayed with her for the rest of her life. She died at the age of 94 in 2015.

Heather Wing, Bracknell

An extract from a letter my Grandmother wrote to a Polish airman she had met who was to become my Grandfather! “Dear Mietek, The news has come at last and everyone is wildly excited….. A friend and I went to Trafalgar Square as we thought we would like to see the fun, it was simply amazing to see the crowds there, I have never seen anything like it before. No one seemed to care where they were going or what they were doing. There were people sitting on the lion statues and on Nelson’s column and on the gates and monuments by Buckingham Palace.”

Ruth McConkey, on behalf of my Grandma Mary Sloboda, London

Even as a young boy then, I remember well going to a newsagents shop, buying a paper, with headlines ‘Victory in Europe. Unconditional surrender by Germany’. At night, large bonfires and fireworks made for a very noisy night in Perth.

Allan Fair, Aberdeen

I was 12 o VE day. I I remember street party in Pelkerin Road Stoke Newington. The pianos were moved into the street and there was lots of singing and dancing. I was happy the war had ended, no more bombs and doodle bugs.

Pat Brandwood, Poole

My father the late Francis James White (Jim) was one of the first people in the World to know that World War 2 in Europe was over.

At the age of 18 in early 1939 Dad enrolled in the Territorial Army, because of his interest in electronics he joined the Royal Corps of Signals. He was at the annual TA camp on the South Coast in late August 1939 and was called up. for active service one day before war was declared.

In late 1941 he was posted to S.E. Asia but because he was under 21, was removed from the contingent and became involved with the defence of Britain. He was posted to Norfolk where he subsequently met and married my Mother.

As the war carried on, he was promoted to the rank of Sergeant and then posted to General Montgomery’s 21st Army Group TAC HQ. This meant that he was to be involved at the very centre of Britain’s effort to defeat the Nazis.

He remained with TAC HQ through France then into Belgium, he was involved with the disastrous Operation Market Garden, sitting in a ditch for three nights trying to contact, by radio the surrounded paratroopers on the bridge of Arnhem. Following the Battle of the Bulge he set up special radio links to enable General Montgomery to secretly move back to Belgium to temporarily take over command of the allied forces.

As 1945 progressed, TAC HQ reached Luneburg Heath in Germany. On the 3rd May a contingent of senior German officers (General Admiral Von Friedeburg; Rear Admiral Wagner and Major Friedl); approached the camp. They were escorted in and made to stand adjacent to a flagpole flying the Union Flag. General Montgomery came out to see them. Dad remembers hearing Monty say in a very dismissive voice “What do they want?” Dad recollects they were making demands and asking for conditions from Montgomery until he took them into his map caravan, on the way in he told them he was breaking protocol by showing them the Allies disposition and jokingly told them “showing you this could get me court marshalled for disclosing information and fraternising with the enemy”. He then showed them the Allied positions on the charts, they came out of the map caravan looking very shaken and sombre. There was no more talk of conditions. Some of the Germans returned to their HQ to report back to the German High Command.

This is where my father really became involved with the surrender process. He was responsible for running some of Monty’s radio communications and was ordered to contact the German High Command and send them the terms and conditions of the surrender. The link was set up and the information was sent by Morse Code. It was part of Dad’s duty to stand behind the operators to ensure that any message that was sent was accurate, he did this by listening to the click of the key. When the operator had finished sending the message to the German High Command Dad reached over him and said “That is a piece of history” he promptly unscrewed the Morse key and replaced it with a spare. The Morse key has remained in the family since then.

In the early hours of the next morning Dad sat down and wrote a letter to my Mother telling her as much as he was able about the day’s events.

My Darling Wife, this is 2.30 on the 4th May and I have a feeling that it is the day we have been waiting for, for six years. I only wish I could write down on paper what I know but there is still such a thing as a censor and all I can say is that I am now doing what is probably the most important work in my life.

For many years after the war Dad attended TAC HQ dinners initially with Field Marshall Montgomery then subsequently with Montgomery’s son David.

In May 1995 Dad was invited to attend several commemorative events in the Netherlands and Germany. On Luneburg Heath he was taken to the supposed site of TAC HQ, he very quickly informed them it was the wrong place and went and found the concrete slab that had been laid to give Monty’s caravan a firm and flat foundation. He was interviewed by members of the Dutch and German press and, I believe, a reporter from the UK forces radio and TV service. Later that day in the town of Luneburg he shared the stage with the sons of Admiral Friedeburg and Field Marshal Montgomery.

Shortly after the surrender Dad was posted home due to ill health. He was admitted into hospital where he had one of his kidneys removed. He had to leave the army even though he wanted to make a career of it especially as he was recommended for officer training. Following a training course on television maintenance he acquired a job as a radio & TV repairman. He eventually became the owner of the company and stayed there until he retired. He passed away in January 2010.

Peter White, London

I was 6 years old when my friend Eileen and I walked home from school on VE Day.Eileen’s mother told us the war was ended and we made sand castles in her garden decorating them with Union Jack flags. Then I rushed home to tell my mother the news and she already knew. My father was a regular soldier and had been fighting with the 8th Army through N Africa and Italy. He finally came home in the Autumn 1945. We hadn’t seen him since September 1939. Proud of both my parents for the way they both coped for our country and our family.

Nina Terry, Nottingham

I was a three months old baby and my father had seen me for the first time. However having been part of the Normandy invasions, his leave was over and he had to return to Germany. He told me about how he spent the day en route in a field in France without his comrades and no celebrations. My mother who had been a WRAF was in Bristol and whilst being relieved about the end of the war in Europe feared her husband would now have to go to Asia (no knowledge of the atomic bomb) Based on their direct experience I think the euphoria content today overstates the real mood. Yes, relief but a lot more still to come. The BBC owes us the true mood not some simplistic version of a really strong generation.

Stuart Saint, London

I was 10 when the war ended. Me and my mother went to Big Ben to listen to the news, I was overjoyed.

Mehar Odedra, Leicester

I would like to send you pictures of the letters my father (RAF 14th squadron now deceased) wrote to my mother around VE day, They had been married a year and had just had a brief few days together. They are poignant of the times and he describes waiting to hear the news from the BBC. He had to return to operations on 10th May escorting ships. He was in bombers Marauders and Wellingtons. I located these letters along with his entries in his diaries.

Anthea Perry, Bromley

At 88 I’m still a presenter on BBC’S Radio Kent, Oxford and Berkshire. I was two monhs away from my 14th birthday when VE Day came. My father was a village publican at Bekesbourne near Canterbury and he sent me round the village on the eve to tell people about the fete and sports day the following day. We had been in the thick of the war. The village was blitzed in late August by German bombers aiming for the Dover- London railway line,we had a ringside seat for the Battle of Britain and had to endure two blitzes on Canterbury three miles away. I recall being frightened that their would be a lot of drunkenness on VE Day but, as it happens there was absolutely none.

Bill Rennells, Beckenham

As a young boy living in Salford during WW11, I experienced the blitz of 1940 with its bombing and distruction around my home. Three brothers in Army. Youngest aged 18 was killed 6weeks prior to end of war, having served in Royal Scots Fusilliers. We visit his grave and that of his 9 comrades in Germany and should have travelled there on 23rd March this year with a visit to his grave on the day he was killed 75 years ago. It wasn’t to be! Other two brothers travelled afar throughout the duration of war and returned home. Father had fought in the Somme – WW1 now to be in ARP Service in WW11. VE Day in 1945 held mixed feeling for our family, though as a child I enjoyed the street party. My parents with heavy hearts could not join in.

Colin Pollard, Manchester

 

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The VE Day Broadcasts – Highlights

The VE Day broadcasts on the BBC were extensive, and items across the schedule included:

Regular Victory Reports, handing over from studio to outside broadcast vans across the UK and elsewhere in Europe.

London scenes from Buckingham Palace with commentary by Howard Marshall describing the waiting crowds floodlit for the first time since the blackout. The Royal Family appear on the balcony.

A look back at the appearance earlier that day from Sir Winston Churchill. Commentary by Richard Dimbleby as Churchill appears on the balcony and speaks to the crowd with three cheers.

Victory messages from the Commanders:

General Eisenhower, Air Chief Marshal Tedder, Admiral Sir John Tovey.

Messages from the Armies in the field:

In Germany, Field Marshal Montgomery.

BBC Correspondent Chester Wilmot, introducesmembers of 21st Army Group: Sgt. Major George Emery (11th Hussars),Pte.William Nelson (Royal Scots),Sgt. Fred Garrett (6th Airborne Division) an ex-bricklayer.Dvr. Wally Gibson (three times champion ploughman) Wing-Cmdr. Robert Woddell (R.C.A.F.). 12th U.S. Army Group:General Omar Bradley.

BBC Correspondent Frank Gillard introduces: Lt. Carl Goodwin (95th Infantry Division),Sgt. Lawrence Vercandy (9th Army Air Force), Tech. Sgt. J. Dalusio (9th Armoured Div – one of the first to cross Rhine at Remagen), Italy: Field Marshal Alexander, Supreme Commander, Mediterranean.

BBC Correspondent Stewart MacPherson with commentary on the atmosphere in Piccadilly Circus.

On Lambeth Walk, south London, commentary by Tommy Trinder, with crowd singing ‘Doin’ the Lambeth Walk’ in the background.

Channel Islands: message from Mlle Lucille Gruchy in London, whose family remained in the Channel Islands.

Dover: Commentary by Norman Fuggles from a warden’s post at Hellfire Corner, introduces Pat Buckley (Chief Warden) and Miss Scanlan, landlady of a hotel on seafront.

Birmingham: Commentary by Mr. Oakley at a party at Birmingham Services Club, with interviewees fromJamaica.

Hull: Mr. Kirby describes a typical home and family and introduces his wife, Mrs. Lawson.

Caernarvon: William Aspden describes the scene outside the Town Hall as the crowd sings ‘O Fryiniau Caersalem Jesu Mawr’.

Belfast: Mr. McMullan describes scene on one of the harbour quays and introduces a Naval officer and a dock worker.

Edinburgh: Mr. Westwater describes the scene in Princes’ Street.

Glasgow: Mrs. MacDonald of Greenock talks about her five sons.

Clydebank: Leo Hunter describes the scene, with the sound of crowd singing, and chorus of ships’ hooters from the harbour.

U.S.A.: Times Square, Midtown, Manhattan with commentary on the scene.

Cincinatti, Ohio: Commentary by James Cassidy, introduces Annette Madden, saleslady.

San Francisco: Commentary by Alistair Cooke.

‘Victory greetings to friends in liberated countries and to our Russian allies’.

Paris: Commentary by Pierre Lefevre. Dawn on V-E Day with sirens and the crowd singing in the streets, with the bells of Notre Dame.

Duchesne: a message from London – France’s ordeals during the war and outlook to the future.

Greetings to the Far East.

Lord Louis Mounthatten: message from Far East: ‘Japanese too are beginning to run’.

London: Buckingham Palace with commentary by Howard Marshall, crowd still awaiting another appearance of Royal Family.

Countryside: Commentary by R. Wightman from the village of Piddletrenthide in Dorset. Pub scene and description of the quiet countryside.