up, Connie,’ Rene chided as she took her arm. ‘We’re making history. Don’t let Emmett spoil it for you. Be happy.’
As they stepped onto the road, Connie had never seen so many people all in one place. Soldiers, sailors and airmen, from what seemed like every country in the world, had been drawn here to join the people of London to welcome this much longed for day. After five years of war and hardship, peace had come at last. It was rumoured that Churchill and the King had wanted Monday, 7 May to be called VE Day, but the Yanks had insisted that it should be today, Tuesday, 8 May. Connie supposed it was because they were cautious enough to make sure that everything was signed and sealed before enjoying the victory. The German troops had capitulated and signed an unconditional surrender at Eisenhower’s headquarters at 2.41 a.m. Whatever the reason, the grey war-wearied faces had gone and Connie was met with smiles and handshakes from complete strangers. Ever since the news had broken that Adolf Hitler and his mistress had committed suicide, the whole nation finally believed what they had not dared to, that the war in Europe was over at last. The war in the Far East was still raging but the smell of victory was in the air.
The bus had come to a halt because an Aussie soldier, waving the Australian flag, his arm linked with a merchant seaman, was leading a group of revellers down the middle of the street. They were being watched by a couple of eagle-eyed Red Caps but there would be no trouble today. No one was in a fighting mood. The military police were in for a lean time. Even the US MPs – ‘Snowdrops’ as they were known because of their white caps, white Sam Browne belts and white gloves – were redundant. The joyful crowd following in the Aussie soldier’s wake was made up of American GIs, WAAFs, ATS girls and civilians all singing at the tops of their voices.
‘Bless ’em all, the long and the short …’
‘Come on,’ cried Rene as Connie held back, ‘let’s join in.’
An American GI caught Rene’s arm and pulled her into the body of moving people. ‘… this side of the ocean, so cheer up my lads bless ’em all.’
‘Oh Rene,’ cried Connie, ‘it’s really, really over.’
Picking up the lyrics, they lurched with the crowd towards Nelson’s column, the base of which was still covered in hoarding to protect it from bomb blasts even though the last air raid warning had been sounded on 19 March. Someone had stuck a poster on it with ‘Victory over Germany 1945’ on one side and ‘Give thanks by saving.’
Connie nudged Rene in the ribs and jerking her head, shouted over the noise, ‘Give thanks by saving? I should cocoa!’ and they both laughed.
After so much hardship and sacrifice, did the government really think everyone was going to keep on being frugal and sensible with their money? Some might, but not her. She was twenty-one and she’d already spent the best years of her life scrimping and making do, first in the munitions factory and then, after a spell of sick leave, in the WAAFs. Now that the war was over, Connie had no idea what she wanted to do but she was sure of one thing. She was in no mood to save for the future. Hadn’t she just blown all her coupons on her new outfit, a lovely pale lemon sweater and some grey pinstriped slacks? And then there was Emmett. She had hoped he would have asked her to marry him by now, but he hadn’t, presumably because he was anxious about his mother’s health. He’d asked her a few times to go further but Connie had told him she wasn’t that sort of a girl. Still, Rene was right. This was no time to nurse her disappointments. Today was the day to enjoy herself.
In the press of the crowd, Rene was standing on tiptoe to see if anything was happening. ‘We should have got away earlier,’ she grumbled good-naturedly. ‘There’s too many people here.’ Despite the noise all around her, Connie heard a distinct tap-tapping sound just behind her and froze. Someone was tapping his cigarette on a cigarette case. Her blood ran cold and her heartbeat quickened. A surge in the crowd made the woman beside push her and she apologised. ‘Sorry, luv.’
‘Has Churchill given his speech yet?’ Rene asked.
Connie listened hard. The person behind her clicked a cigarette case closed. It couldn’t be … could it? No, it was impossible. It would be far too much of a coincidence.
‘It was supposed to be at nine o’clock this morning,’ the woman went on, ‘but we’re still waiting.’ She rolled her eyes towards the lions. ‘They’ve been putting up speakers so that we can hear him but as for when that happens, your guess is as good as mine.’
‘You all right, Connie?’ said Rene. ‘You look a bit peaky.’
‘Three o’clock,’ said a man’s voice behind them. Connie turned sharply to look at him. Sure enough, he was putting his cigarette case into his inside jacket pocket and was reaching for a lighter. He lit the fag between his lips and took a long drag. ‘That’s what the copper on the steps told me,’ he went on. ‘Three o’clock.’
A wave of relief flooded over her. The man was old, forty or maybe fifty with greying hair and a tobacco-stained moustache. It was all right. It wasn’t him. Connie relaxed and looked at her watch. It was quarter past ten. A group of Girl Guides gathered together at the base of Nelson’s column and were turning around to face the crowd. If the authorities were planning to entertain them, the man must be right. Churchill wouldn’t be giving his speech for ages yet.
‘Rene!’ A girl’s voice rang out above the noise. ‘Rene Thompson, it’s me, Barbara.’
Rene searched the sea of faces and eventually spotted her friend waving as she came towards her. ‘Barbara Hopkins. Well, as I live and breathe. Fancy seeing you here!’
Laughing, the two girls hugged each other. Barbara, dressed in her WAAF uniform, was thickset with very dark curly hair. The girl with her was dressed in civvies and hung back shyly.
‘I haven’t set eyes on you since our training,’ Rene cried happily and Barbara hugged her again. ‘Oooh, it’s so good to see you.’
They stepped apart and introduced everybody.
‘This is Eva O’Hara,’ said Barbara. Eva was tall but with an almost elfin-like face, and a lot of laughter lines around her eyes. She wore dark slacks and a pale blue hand-knitted jumper.
‘And this is Connie,’ said Rene. ‘We share the same billet.’ The hand shaking was soon over and somehow or other the girls had reached one of the fountains in the middle of the square. The day was warm and the water inviting and while Rene and Barbara caught up with old times, Connie, unable to resist, began to roll up the legs of her slacks. ‘Come on,’ she laughed. ‘Which one of you is game for a paddle?’
After a feeble protest from the others, Eva rolled up the legs of her slacks as well. As she climbed in, a sailor gave her a hand and then he rolled up his trouser legs and stepped in. The water was cold, but not unbearable, and it came just above their knees. The sailor and his mate, who joined them, were taller than Connie and Eva so there was less chance of them getting their clothes wet. The sailors were nice looking lads. One had brown Brylcreemed hair and a ready smile and the other one had fairer hair and slightly bucked teeth. He plonked his cap on Connie’s head as they stood together. The blond one carried a knobbly walking stick and Connie wondered if he had some sort of injury, but she didn’t like to ask. They all had to hold on to each other because the bottom of the fountain was covered in algae and a bit slippery. If they weren’t careful, they’d all be under the water and soaked. The singing grew louder.
‘There’ll be blue birds over the white cliffs of Dover …’ The two girls swayed with the sailors as
