Mixed emotions as war came to an end

Luke Rix-Standing talks to historian James Holland about the mixed emotions that followed the end of World War Two.

At 3pm on May 8, 1945, Winston Churchill sat in front of a microphone in No. 10 Downing Street, and declared in typically gruff tones that the war against Nazi Germany had been won.

A week after Hitler had taken his own life in a bunker beneath Berlin, the remnants of the regime under Grand Admiral Donitz had surrendered, and the Third Reich was officially no more.

Cheering crowds packed Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly and Pall Mall in London, dancing spontaneously in the roads and frolicking in the fountains. Among the revellers were Princesses Margaret and Elizabeth, allowed to wander incognito amid the throng despite the protestations of the Queen.

In the United States, President Truman gave a similar address from the Oval Office, as party-goers flooded Times Square. “This is a solemn but glorious hour,” he intoned. “The flags of freedom fly all over Europe.” He paid tribute to his predecessor, Franklin D. Roosevelt, who had died in office not a month before.

The public narrative was simple: Germany had surrendered, and May 8 would be Victory in Europe Day forever more. But behind closed doors, the announcement was the result of political jockeying between three of the world’s premier powers.

A group of German generals had actually delivered the official surrender at the allied headquarters in Reims, Northern France, during the early hours of May 7. The difficulty was when and how to disclose it.

“The Russians wanted their own surrender,” says historian and author James Holland, “and in the interests of post-war fraternity, Truman felt their wishes should be honoured. Churchill thought this was ridiculous and they should announce the news immediately, and the to and fro went back and forth all day.”

Neither premier got their wish. The Germans leaked the story to an American journalist in Berlin, who promptly spilled the beans. This proved too much for Churchill, who announced on the evening of May 7 that the following day would be Victory in Europe Day, thoroughly irking Truman, and putting Britain on celebration standby. The Russians eventually held their surrender shortly after midnight, Moscow time, on May 9.

“There’s effectively three surrenders, and three VE Days,” summarises Holland. “One on the 7th, when the surrender was actually signed, one on the 8th, when it is celebrated in the West, and one on the 9th, when it is commemorated in the Soviet Union, now Russia.”

Back on the streets, the conga lines continued unabated, and it was just as well that London’s pubs had run out of ale by early evening. American, British and Soviet flags were sold and waved by the bucket-load, but for many the celebrations caused mixed emotions.

“I remember talking to a friend,” recalls Holland, “whose fiance had been shot down over the Balkans, and she wept for the entire day. I spoke to another lady from Bologna whose whole community had been massacred. I asked if she was relieved when the war ended. She said ‘No, I spent the day in floods of tears. If it could end, why did it have to start?’”

In some places, it hadn’t ended. Truman and Churchill both emphasised that the job was only half-done, and it took three more months and, devastatingly, two atomic bombs before Japan surrendered.

VE Day brought raucous celebration to South Africa, Egypt, Canada, Australia and New Zealand, but in the Asian and Pacific theatres it was a newspaper headline and little more. “If you look at diaries and memoirs by people fighting in Burma,” says Holland, “there’s absolutely no mention of it at all.”Even for those whose race was run, there was huge fear over what the future held.

As soldiers returned to their homelands, rationing initially grew worse not better, and some troops had grown almost institutionalised. “Think about how much had happened,” says Holland, “how much the world had changed. You had to confront all that and get on with ordinary life, and a lot of people felt terrible anxiety about it.”

In his address, Churchill declared Britain was emerging “from the jaws of death, from the mouth of hell”, and it’s hard to even imagine the mixed emotions that must have accompanied the parties, the speeches, the bombsites and the funerals.

Every victory is also a defeat, and while the world celebrated, Germany lay a broken, burning ruin.

Though Nazi high command got their just desserts at Nuremberg, German civilians faced total devastation. Entire cities had been levelled by shelling, and much of the country was overrun by Soviet troops champing for revenge after the record-setting bloodbath on the Eastern front.