How Southampton celebrated VE Day
VE Day celebrations 8th May 1945 at the end of the Second World War. The Mayor of Southampton, J.C. Dyas, danced with Mrs R.J. Stranger, while the Mayoress dances with Councillor R.J. Stranger during the VE-Day celebrations on the forecourt of the Civic (Image: Echo)
The guns had finally fallen silent. An almost unimaginable, interminable span, exceeding two thousand relentless days of global conflict, had drawn to its earth-shattering close.
For countless souls across a war-weary continent, it was a moment of profound, almost disbelieving, survival. Many were the grizzled veterans, men and women who had weathered nearly six unyielding years locked in ferocious combat, whether upon the blood-soaked, churned-up lands of distant fronts, the tempestuous, U-boat-haunted waters of the vast oceans, or soaring the perilous, flak-scarred skies where dogfights decided fates in an instant of fire and steel.
Others bore different, often invisible, scars – the indelible trauma of incarceration, having been flung into the brutal machinery of concentration camps or endured the stark privations of prisoner-of-war compounds. These places were chilling signs as to the abyss of man's unfathomable inhumanity to fellow man.
Still more, the civilians, were slowly, painstakingly emerging, blinking in the unfamiliar light of peace, from the skeletal ruins of their own homes – cherished places where the terrifying, indiscriminate reign of the Blitz bombers had cruelly entombed so many of their neighbours, friends, and family.
It was May, 1945, and across the ravaged, resilient continent of Europe, the cataclysmic Second World War had, at long, long last, ground to its exhausted, bloody halt.
And what an excruciating, nerve-shredding vigil it had been for those on the home front, their lives suspended in a state of perpetual anxiety. Every anguished step towards this momentous conclusion, every flicker of hope, every crushing setback in the final, desperate throes of the conflict, was painstakingly chronicled by the diligent reporters of the Daily Echo.
Each passing day of that pivotal May was meticulously documented, recording for posterity the dramatic, inexorable implosion of the once-vaunted, now crumbling, Third Reich.
The dispatches landing on Southampton's doorsteps painted a grim, then gradually hopeful, picture.
On the first day of the month, harrowing reports surfaced, detailing the liberation of the Sandbostel concentration camp, a veritable hellscape where, in the depths of human depravity, it was said that "man ate man and crawled under blankets to survive."
The second of May brought with it swirling, uncertain rumours of Adolf Hitler's demise amid the smouldering, apocalyptic ruins of a vanquished Berlin.
Then, on the fourth, came the bold, declarative proclamation from the Daily Echo's Editor: "Nazism is dead – only the nerves in its loathsome tentacles are still intact," a potent metaphor for a dying, yet still twitching, beast.
Finally, the inevitable arrived.
Germany officially surrendered on May 7th.
The following day, a Tuesday, May 8th, 1945, was designated with a name that would resonate through generations, a beacon of hope and deliverance: "Victory in Europe Day" – VE Day.
Expressions of thankfulness and pure, unadulterated joy rippled not just across Britain, but across the entirety of Europe, as VE Day ushered in the dawn of a new, desperately prayed-for era of peace.
As the final minutes of wartime ticked into history, this momentous day was anticipated with a growing, almost electric excitement. It was welcomed in a style befitting its profound significance.
The doors were metaphorically, and in many cases literally, thrown open wide for Britain's biggest, most spontaneous, and heartfelt party ever conceived.
No gilded invitation was required, no ticket sought; an entire nation, weary beyond words but fundamentally unbowed, was cordially invited to partake in the collective, cathartic outpouring of relief and joy.
In anticipation of the jubilant, surging crowds, many down-town shop fronts in Southampton were prudently barricaded.
The Daily Echo published a special "VE Day Edition" – a tangible keepsake for posterity.
Its pages vibrantly captured the local eruption of celebration: "It was dockland that ushered in VE Day in Southampton. Soon after midnight, the town, still cloaked in the lingering, oppressive shadows of the wartime dim-out, was abruptly, wonderfully awoken by a cheerful, almost defiant barrage of ships' sirens.
“It was the initial spark, the resounding signal for a joyful chorus that would soon engulf the entire waterfront and spread like wildfire through the town."
All along the darkened waterfront, ship after ship eagerly chimed in, their voices joining the impromptu symphony of liberation.
There were the deep-throated, resonant notes of the big ships, a powerful bassline of freedom, pierced and uplifted by the shrill, almost ecstatic piping voices of their tiny, bustling neighbours – the tugs, the coasters, and myriad harbour craft.
This cacophony was a victory chorus in itself, merging with the jubilant sounds from an almost constant procession of Army trucks, which, already decorated, passed through Southampton as the forerunners of a grand Victory parade.
American jeeps and hefty 20-ton lorries joined this rolling celebration, their klaxons blaring, adding to the collective roar.
And then, as if by magic, the searchlights, once feared scanners of hostile skies, started to rake the heavens, triumphantly flashing out the iconic 'V' for Victory in Morse code.
Streaks of red and green signal rockets and brilliant star shells painted vibrant, fleeting trails against the dark canvas of the night sky.
Soon, the whole dockland area was ablaze with a kaleidoscope of coloured light, the joyous din re-echoing across the water and into the awakened streets.
The paper noted, "It was all rather reminiscent of an air raid, minus the dangers. Some of the sirens sounded quite like the raid variety and the searchlights and the rockets recalled the nights when Southampton's ground defences went into action. Officially Southampton is still in the dim-out belt, but, well, it was VE Day…”
VE Day acted as an astonishing catalyst, suddenly transforming the grey, blitz-scarred streets into an array of riotous colour as flags, bunting, and homemade decorations appeared as if from nowhere.
Camera lenses, hungry for images of peace, eagerly snapped the unforgettable, historic imagery unfolding before them.
Several Southampton cinemas even interrupted their scheduled programmes to relay the breaking radio news bulletins to eager audiences.
The official celebrations commenced that afternoon with Prime Minister Winston Churchill's momentous 3pm radio broadcast.
During this historic address, he formally announced that the war in Europe would officially end one minute after midnight.
A vast, expectant crowd, estimated at perhaps some 20,000 strong, had crammed into the Civic Centre forecourt, a sea of upturned faces, to hear the relayed premier's words.
He concluded with characteristic gravitas and foresight: "We may allow ourselves a brief period of rejoicing but let us not forget for a moment the toil and efforts that lie ahead. Japan, with all her treachery and greed, remains unsubdued...we must now devote all our strength and resources to the completion of our task both at home and abroad. Advance Britannia, long live the cause of freedom, God save the King!"
The applause that followed was nothing short of thunderous, a wave of sound crashing over the town before street parties, like wildflowers after a storm, magically erupted from the fissures of blitzed streets and tightly-knit neighbourhoods.
These celebrations were reminiscent, for many, of those experienced at coronations and jubilees, but with an added layer of profound relief. "Merry VE-Day to you," became the popular, heartfelt greeting exchanged between Sotonians.
Daily Echo reporters were immediately dispatched into the heart of the revelry to capture the unique atmosphere.
Their reports painted a vivid picture: "When children in Somerset Road held their party they had such luxuries as ice cream, trifles, jellies, blancmanges, sweets and chocolate, the latter a rare treat from Canada. After tea and jazz band played, its lively tunes a soundtrack to their joy, and fireworks were let off, momentarily relighting the sky."
In a symbolic act of catharsis, on top of the bonfire at the Midanbury children's party, effigies of Hitler and Mussolini were triumphantly placed, ready to be consumed by flames.
Another group of children at Lime Street held their jubilant party on the rooftop of Octavia House, where they danced, played games, and thoroughly "enjoyed themselves to the full."
The spirit of generosity was also present; "Kiddies at Chatsworth Road, Bitterne, were each handed a 2s 6d (12p) savings stamp on leaving."
Countless other parties sprung up spontaneously in streets across the ctown including Market Street, Sydney Road, Middle Road, Upper Priory Road, Park Road, Conifer Road, Lilac Road, Millais Road, Edwina Close, Laundry Road, Ethlebert Avenue, Athelstan Road, Brintons Road, Pilgrim Place, Archery Grove, King George's Avenue, and Manor Road.
Northam was said to have been particularly well decorated, with almost every street and house adorned with colourful bunting.
Here and there, dotted among the many be-flagged houses, poignant “Welcome Home” signs appeared, heralding the longed-for return of loved ones from the horrors of enemy prisoner-of-war camps.
In Bevois Valley, a light-hearted moment of rule-bending occurred when a policeman reportedly turned a blind eye as a small boy let off fireworks, much to the surprise of shoppers in a nearby fish queue.
Meanwhile, in the surrounding areas, "Romsey was in a merry mood with spells of serious reflection... scenes reminiscent, to older folk, of Mafeking celebrations have been witnessed."
Elsewhere, the grand finale in Totton involved the symbolic burning of another Hitler effigy on Eling Quay, while Winchester took quiet pride in celebrating the remarkable fact that its historic cathedral had never closed its doors throughout the long, dark years of the war.
A large bonfire was also built on the sites of demolished houses off Bernard Street in Southampton, where another effigy of Hitler met its fiery end.
Back at Southampton's Civic Centre, as evening descended, the Echo team described the heady, almost surreal scene: "Following the King's VE night broadcast, which was relayed over loudspeakers to the assembled throng, the mayor and mayoress, Councillor and Mrs JC Dyas, and the deputy mayor and mayoress, Councillor and Mrs RJ Stranger, officially started the dancing on the Civic Centre forecourt. Dancing with the mayoress was Corporal AG Bankover, and with the mayor a spirited Scots girl, who afterwards danced with the deputy mayor."
Floodlights, once used to spot enemy aircraft, now glared brightly against the walls of the civic buildings.
As dusk deepened into night, half of these powerful lights were reversed to illuminate the swirling, joyous dancers.
Adding to the spectacle, ships still in the docks sprayed the night sky with celebratory red, green, and yellow Verey lights.
Bonfires, hastily built in the streets and on the cleared sites of bombed buildings, sent up a cheery, warm glow against the twilight.
A jubilant sailor, carrying a Union Jack aloft on a long pole, started up a spontaneous procession. Before it finally broke up after winding its way round and round the Civic Centre square and the forecourt, it had swelled to nearly half a mile in length, a snaking river of humanity celebrating peace.
It was the Navy that provided other, more boisterous diversions.
Some high-spirited sailors were seen swimming in the Civic Centre fountain, while others performed daring acrobatics on top of flagpoles.
In a particularly audacious display, two other "sailor-men" managed to scramble to the very apex of the municipal office block to fix a red flag, a clear and public gesture in honour of Britain's Russian allies.
As the night wore on, those still celebrating could hear the strains of dance music from the Court Royal Hotel, where Lew Stone and his band broadcast live between 12:30 and 1 am.
The Daily Echo strove to balance its coverage of the unrestrained celebration with moments of considered, poignant reflection.
Its VE editorial perfectly attuned itself to a national consciousness that was bursting with overwhelming relief yet simultaneously haunted by the profound shadow of loss: "So, at last, we have come to the end of the road. It has been a long and weary way. Many gallant spirits are not with us to share in the joy of the goal achieved and the victory won. Our first thoughts today are with those who have given their lives that we may live and with those who have been bereaved by the dreadful ravages of war."
In keeping with this sentiment, on VE night at 7.30pm, a deeply poignant service of remembrance and thanksgiving was held inside the ruined, fire-blackened shell of the town's mother church, St Mary's.
A huge congregation, estimated at 1,000 strong and including American soldiers and British sailors alongside local residents, huddled amongst the stark, skeletal ruins.
There, an almost palpable outpouring of grief and an equally powerful sense of eternal hope mingled and rose together into the open, evening sky.
Above them loomed the old church spire – miraculously still intact and piercing the twilight. It stood as a potent symbol of the town's resilience, its dogged defiance in the face of adversity, and its ultimate survival. Yet, the smashed, broken church was also a stark and sobering reminder of the vast, daunting reconstruction task that lay ahead for Southampton.
Around 1,000 homes in the town had been completely obliterated by the Blitz, and a staggering 41,000 more were in desperate need of some form of repair, from minor fixes to major rebuilding.
The housing crisis was acute and in one particularly stark example of overcrowding, thirteen separate families were reportedly living in a single house in Mayfield.
Gradually, inevitably, the town's parties began to wind down.
Fuzzy heads slowly cleared, only for unwelcome, traumatic memories of the war years to resurface with painful clarity.
Nagging fears persisted, particularly about the fate of the men still confronting the formidable forces of Japan on the other side of the world.
For those who had been seriously injured in the conflict, the future was one of dependence, a life often damaged and irrevocably altered.
And, for the returning heroes, the post-war world they were re-entering was a very different landscape from the one they had left behind.
Women, who had courageously stepped into traditionally male roles on the Home Front, had discovered a new sense of independence and aspiration, and were often less prepared to slip quietly back into subservient roles.
Moreover, the servicemen's babies had grown into young children, many of whom now resented sharing their mother's affection and attention with the strange, unfamiliar newcomer in their midst – their own father.
After the initial, intense joy and euphoria of VE Day, a crushing sense of reality settled upon many. The transition to peace, while yearned for, brought its own complex challenges and readjustments.
Southampton had been changed forever by the crucible of war. And so, undeniably, had its people.
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