The whole town was festooned in a sea of red, white and blue.
Every sewing box had been raided to find ribbons for the children’s hair and even the dogs sported patriotic rosettes on their collars. Bunting, which had last seen action during King George’s coronation in 1937, was pressed into service and strung across the street from lamp post to lamp post.
The air almost crackled with expectation of the big announcement, due later that day, from Prime Minister Winston Churchill, who had guided the nation through its darkest hour. Ever since Hitler took the coward’s way out a week ago in his Berlin bunker by shooting himself, the writing had been on the wall for the Nazis.
Some people had taken that as their cue to start celebrating a few days early. Annie had heard about a raucous victory party down in Shepherd’s Bush, but the air-raid wardens had put paid to that with stern warnings. ‘Don’t you know there’s a war on?’ was still the constant rebuke.
Yesterday, the woman from opposite and all the neighbours who didn’t have a wireless set had crowded into the little scullery at Grove Road to hear the momentous news from the BBC: Germany had finally signed an unconditional surrender and the war really was coming to an end. Churchill himself was to make a speech about it, drawing the whole thing to a triumphant close.
They listened, mouths agape, before Bill broke the silence.
‘About bleeding time too! They were never going to beat us!’ he said, raising a mug of chicory coffee in a toast to the radiogram. ‘Now, I’d better start getting those bunk beds out of the Anderson. No time like the present, is there?’
Mum rolled her eyes. ‘Honestly, I swear he’ll miss that shelter.’ And everyone collapsed in fits of laughter. It was true, the Anderson seemed to have developed more leaks than the Titanic given the amount of time Bill spent out there. If George got his way and used it as a hen house, what on earth would Bill find to do?
The housewives put their heads together to make Victory in Europe Day an occasion to remember. Even though sugar and eggs and just about everything else needed to make a cake were on the ration, ovens were soon heated as hot as furnaces and sweet treats were baked as if by magic. Kids had grown up with carrots being grated into cakes to sweeten them and apple pies were always a treat, especially with a bit of evaporated milk poured over instead of cream.
Annie peered out of the net curtains to spot a boy on a bicycle riding up and down the street whistling to himself. It seemed incredible to think that just a day ago, they were living in fear but now, everything was going to change for the better, after nearly six long years of struggle. One by one, people came out of their houses, bringing tables, chairs, china and anything they could muster to give to the little ones as a treat for the party until the whole street was transformed. Neighbours who only days ago had been worn down by years of struggle started smiling and laughing together and it was like the sun coming out in their street.
Bottles of beer and sherry were pulled from under floorboards and dusted off from the backs of cupboards and poured into teacups while the kiddies had their fun, dressed as pirates, nurses and anything else that their mums could find around the house to make a costume with. John was determined to be a cowboy, so Annie had made him a pair of chaps from an old towel and she’d altered an old black felt hat by attaching some string under the chin. He roamed the street with two sticks for guns, terrorizing anyone who crossed his path, to whoops of delight from the other little boys. Anita wanted to be a princess, like the girls in her favourite book of fairy tales, so when Mum’s back was turned she took down one of the net curtains in the front room and tied it around her daughter’s waist with a bit of spare ribbon.
Mum burst out laughing when she saw what Annie was up to and hastily took the other one down so that Anita could wear that as a headdress.
As Mum fixed it in place with a spare yard of lace from her sewing box, she cooed, ‘Don’t you look lovely! Now, run along and play with the other children.’
As Anita skipped off, Mum smiled in a way that Annie hadn’t seen since before the war. One little mite came dressed in a pillowslip with a ribbon tied around her middle and no one minded. There were bobbing apples and games of hopscotch and running races and the street was alive with the shouts of excited children as Harry helped judge the winners.
At three o’clock precisely a hush fell over the proceedings as the wireless set took pride of place at the head of a long row of tables and the unmistakable voice of Winston Churchill resonated over the airwaves, bringing the news that they had all been longing to hear.
‘My dear friends,’ he began. ‘This is your hour. This is not a victory of a party, or of any class. It’s a victory of the great British nation as a whole. We were the first in this ancient island to draw the sword against tyranny.
‘After a while we were left all alone against the most tremendous military power that has been seen. We were all alone for a whole year.’
Annie thought of all the terrifying nights spent during the air raids and silently thanked God that they had been spared.
‘There we stood alone,’ said Churchill. ‘Did anyone want to give in?’
The whole street erupted with shouts of ‘No!’
Churchill continued: ‘Were we downhearted?’
Again, the cry went up and fists punched the air: ‘No!’
‘Every man, woman and child in the country had no thought of quitting the struggle,’ he said. ‘London can take it!’
Within moments of the speech ending, church bells all over the borough started peeling and aeroplanes zoomed overhead, flying into the city of London in celebration. Buses and cars honked their horns in a jubilant cacophony down on the High Street. Neighbours hugged each other and children danced. Only one person stood on the sidelines, smiling but not really joining in. It was Elsie. She’d lost so much weight due to her heartbreak over Josh that Annie had been forced to put darts in all her waistbands; she was almost as skinny as Ivy. The end of the war would mean the one thing she was dreading – Josh and Joan would be getting married.
‘Come on!’ said Annie, running to her sister and pulling her over to where the children were playing ring-a-roses and a bottle of sherry was doing the rounds. ‘Come and join in the fun! We’ve got to celebrate.’
Elsie shrugged. ‘I feel a bit tired, Annie. Maybe I could look after the kids so that you and Harry can go down the pub with the others? You deserve some time together.’
Annie couldn’t accept that her little sister’s dancing days were over. ‘Tonight of all nights it will be a huge party and there are plenty more fish in the sea. You owe it to yourself to get out there and have some fun.’
But Elsie wouldn’t be persuaded. She just shook her head, helping Mum to clear some of the plates and teacups. It was as if she’d lost the magical thing, the sheen which made fellas look twice. The Blitz hadn’t broken her but that damn GI had stolen her spark.
The next day was declared a public holiday, so the bloke Annie watched being pushed home in a wheelbarrow because he was three sheets to the wind wouldn’t mind too much about the hangover he’d have in the morning.
By early evening, the people of Acton had drunk the pubs dry, but no one was downhearted; they had the spirit of victory to sustain them.
As night drew in, bonfires were lit for the first time in six years and word spread around the pub about a huge one down on the green at South Acton. Annie and Harry joined the good-natured gaggle of folk heading over there, linking arms, singing at the top of their voices.
Kids had made an effigy of Hitler, stuffing an old boiler suit with straw and using a sack for a head, inking on his unmistakable moustache for good measure. They chucked it on the top and whooped with glee as the fire was lit. Hitler crackled and popped as a rowdy conga line snaked its way down the road towards the gathering in a jumble of arms and legs.
Someone darted out of the pub with a chair and chucked it on the bonfire, sparking other people to follow suit. They pulled chairs from their own homes, just to make the flames leap higher. Who cared if they’d have to sit on the floor in the scullery tomorrow? They’d just won the blinking war!
Annie caught sight of Bessie standing there, staring into the flames, and went to join her.
‘Vera would have loved this, wouldn’t she?’ said Bessie, wiping a tear from her eye as the conga line skipped and kicked its way past to hoots of laughter.
‘Yes,’ said Annie, knowing that nothing she could say would ease Bessie’s torment over their lost friend. ‘She would.’
As the night wore on, fireworks exploded, lighting up the sky, and it seemed as if the town would celebrate forever. It made such a difference from the tracer fire and the resounding ack-ack of the anti-aircraft guns.
They were a joyous mass of humanity, endlessly singing, dancing, kissing. All the agonies of the war were swept away as pianos were hauled out of smoky bar rooms and into the streets, so that everyone could join in the knees-up. They belted out ‘Roll Out the Barrel’ and when they did the ‘Lambeth Walk’, lumbago was forgotten for the night. People smiled and laughed more than Annie could ever remember.
Harry, her Harry, was there with Annie through it all until they’d sung themselves hoarse and their feet were blistered from dancing.
As dawn was breaking, they made their way home through the streets they knew so well, past the places that had been reduced to rubble by the terror from above which had made the nights of London a living hell for so long.
Dunkirk and the Blitz and everything they had suffered had united the community more than Hitler could ever have foreseen. Their homes lay in ruins, but their faith had not been shaken.
Stopping for a moment outside their front door, Harry pulled her into his arms and they kissed. She knew then that whatever the future held, they could face it together.
They had gone out during war time but they came home at first light, to peace at last.