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V E & VJ Day 2020 celebrations
- Thread starter Ray Griffiths
- Start date
oldMohawk
gone but not forgotten
I have edited your photo by pulling the corners straight, removing colour on the main view, equalising and slight sharpening. Hope you don't mind ...
pjmburns
master brummie
I hadn't seen this anywhere else but maybe others had:
Due to Covid-19, commemorations to mark the 75th anniversary of Victory in Europe (VE) Day will be held at home. On Fri 8 May, there will be two-minutes' silence at 11am; and there are online activities throughout the day, including a virtual service at St Martin’s in the Bullring at 2pm, which will be followed by a national toast
This was on a Birmingham Council email earlier today.
Due to Covid-19, commemorations to mark the 75th anniversary of Victory in Europe (VE) Day will be held at home. On Fri 8 May, there will be two-minutes' silence at 11am; and there are online activities throughout the day, including a virtual service at St Martin’s in the Bullring at 2pm, which will be followed by a national toast
This was on a Birmingham Council email earlier today.
thanks jan and here again is whats on tv on bbc1
- 10:50 BST - at a service in Westminster, Commons Speaker Sir Lindsay Hoyle will lay a wreath on behalf of the Commons. Lord West will lay a wreath on behalf of the Lords
- 11:00 - a national moment of remembrance and a two-minute silence will be held
- 14:45 - in a special programme on BBC One, extracts from Churchill's victory speech to the nation announcing the end of the war in Europe will be broadcast
- 14:55 - solo buglers, trumpeters and cornet players will be invited to play the Last Post from their homes
- 15:00 - as Churchill's speech is broadcast, people will be invited to stand up and raise a glass in a national toast, saying: "To those who gave so much, we thank you"
- 20:00 - another BBC One special will feature Welsh soprano Katherine Jenkins, actor Adrian Lester and singer Beverley Knight, who will be performing some well-known songs from the 1930s and 40s. The programme will culminate in the nation being invited to sing along to a rendition of wartime classic We'll Meet Again
- 21:00 - the Queen's pre-recorded address will be broadcast on BBC One at the exact moment her father, King George VI, gave a radio address 75 years ago. It will be her second televised message during the coronavirus outbreak after a rare speech to the nation last month
- 21:30 - Spotlights will light up the sky in Portsmouth to recall the experience of blackouts during the war. The local council says the lights are also to remind people "that lighter times will come again"
Thank you so much for improving the photo. I also posted it on the Penfold thread for interest.I have edited your photo by pulling the corners straight, removing colour on the main view, equalising and slight sharpening. Hope you don't mind ...
View attachment 144864
Only a tenuous connection with VE Day, but these two WW2 photo's from Wolseley Motors, Drews Lane Works, may be of interest.
A young couple who had just got married (identities not known) and a view of the Staff Canteen with the interesting sign, "Get More Sun and Beat The Hun".
Boomy.
Attachments
mbenne
master brummie
Some of my Dad's memories of when he was waiting to be called up around VE day. I think his time in the RAF was memorable but nothing like he imagined - he became a chef!
The war had been raging for nearly six years. The conflict I refer to is the “Second World War” - 1939-1945. For the present, at least, the world, the people and everything else that moved within it would begin to cool.
I was too young to be drafted when it all began. As a child I’d played war games and gradually nurtured my genes to the warriors’ way and now all my mates were currently serving in some branch of Her Majesty’s Services, except for me. I was the youngest of my original childhood group and still the smallest but I had a vivid imagination and could daydream.
I’d never wanted to be in the Navy, though water and I were always close companions, usually with me being in the midst of it. The RAF held a great attraction as I had, and still was engrossed in model plane building and was currently making another to add to my collection. My models usually found an early grave when I flew them but there was always the appealing prospect that the next one would survive. Yes, a life in the RAF could well be my vocation. On the other hand, the army wouldn’t be alien to me either. After all I’d had plenty of battles with my mates in the nearby field.
The stigma of not being enlisted left more bruising than the many blemishes my bum had received in the long-gone days of conflict with dad’s belt.
A few weeks had passed since the declaration of peace. But this didn’t necessarily mean that the war was at an end. Hostilities were taking time off but there was still a little mopping up to be done. Sitting in the side-lines as a spectator was unthinkable.
I had yet to undergo a medical in readiness for possible enlistment. The irony being that If I passed it still didn’t guarantee that I would be accepted into the armed forces. There was always the risk of being selected as a candidate for a coal mine, the unlucky ones became known as the Bevin Boys, so my future was down to chance.
Refusing to work in a mine meant a gaol sentence. An older schoolmate of mine had already served a couple of three-month sentences and was currently awaiting the outcome of his latest court appearance for refusing to work in the pits. I had already conditioned myself into refusing a life underground. My hope was that fate would choose the course I wished for.
At this moment I was neither faced with the coal- mines or any branch of military service. I had yet to reach my eighteenth birthday. The feelings of simply being a bystander were many of the beasts I lived as I as I imagined myself at the scenes of many battles.
Eventually I was called for a medical. I remember putting on a show of vigour to demonstrate the peak of fitness. The examination was a typical routine affair. First there came an inspection to determine that I had two eyes, a pair of legs and an equal number of arms to complete the outer structure.
The workings of the inside bits underwent closer scrutiny. Trousers were lowered, followed by a cough to assess and hopefully conclude the mechanics of my innards. Workings of the grey matter came in for closer scrutiny by a gentleman who tested my mental agility with a series of well-prepared questions.
The final part of the medical exam was a sample of water, which can be difficult to produce on request. On any other occasion I wouldn’t have had a problem. I found a tap and was almost tempted to fill the container but I resisted and drank continuously until the gravity on my bladder allowed me to surrender a sample.
Eventually I was ushered to a desk. Behind it sat a quirky looking character who was to do the final assessment. I’d already assessed my own aptitude and physical; My legs were fine – they had to be, they had always saved me when escaping from ruffians, winning the odd egg and spoon race at school and winning a tin of biscuits in the 1937 Coronation kids street race event; My vision was fine, I didn’t need spectacles because my eyes could always detect the looks mom gave when I was in trouble; Brain function, however, would have to be left to the medical assessment board.
My pride was dampened when I was graded 2 instead of 1 due to an old injury which prevented me from bending one of my fingers. It was only a minor setback and didn’t stop me entering the services. I was more than grateful.
I was asked if I had any family serving in the armed forces. I did, my brother Geoff was in the army. He had been wounded in the battle of the Ardennes and recently released from hospital and reassigned to a new unit. I wondered why this was relevant and was told that it was sometimes possible to recommend a family member to the same unit. On the spur of the moment I agreed to join the army.
I still had to wait for my eighteenth birthday and it gave me plenty of time to dwell on the decision I’d made about joining the army. My love of aeroplanes hadn’t faded. In fact, I was in the midst of building another model to add to the list of past losses.
Gazing at the latest model under construction I made a decision. At all cost I must be connected with aeroplanes in some way or other. I tussled with the thought of army life and the air force.
My decision was made, I wrote a letter to the draft board explaining my change of mind. I expected my request to find its way into the nearest waste bin, but at least I had obeyed my conscience and made a commitment.
Two weeks later I received a letter. I had forgotten about my request. It was a reply to my letter, I was to undergo an interview in response.The interview came and my answers must have satisfied them because they agreed to my request.
My present job seemed boring, working in a factory completing war effort orders. I felt no joy producing something that in all probability would find its way onto a scrap heap. The sooner I got my call-up papers the better. Each day after returning home from work I’d check the day’s post.
Time passed slowly and it was now one week to my eighteenth birthday. I had already written to the war office to remind them of my age. These weren’t the days of first-class delivery so by the time they opened it I would be of service age. Three days before the deadline and I was considering writing another letter but I resisted.
A few premature birthday cards arrived but, on my birthday, I had three envelopes waiting to be opened. Two of them were obviously ones of greetings. The third stood apart and without any close examination it had the unmistakable government mark. This was the one I had longed for even though I had not seen its contents. It was the one I opened first. Not so much an opening of the envelope but tearing.
My eyes picked out the words of conformation of enlistment – The details I had yet to read. I sidled off to an easy chair to study every word. I sat for a long time, just reading and re-reading the few words that confirmed my drafting. The next day I would take great pleasure telling my foreman and everyone else that crossed my path.
From then on, my final week at work was a blank but my departure from civilian life was crystal clear. My last day in civvy-street was spent fishing. Dad and I went to a quiet spot to try our luck on the river and I was rewarded with a good day’s catch. A nice omen I thought. It was a kind of token farewell to the stranglehold that civilian life had upon me.
My past style of living was about to undergo a change for tomorrow I would be exchanging the blues of discontent to a different shade - The blue of the RAF.
Dad with my Grandad in Blackpool some time after joining up.
The war had been raging for nearly six years. The conflict I refer to is the “Second World War” - 1939-1945. For the present, at least, the world, the people and everything else that moved within it would begin to cool.
I was too young to be drafted when it all began. As a child I’d played war games and gradually nurtured my genes to the warriors’ way and now all my mates were currently serving in some branch of Her Majesty’s Services, except for me. I was the youngest of my original childhood group and still the smallest but I had a vivid imagination and could daydream.
I’d never wanted to be in the Navy, though water and I were always close companions, usually with me being in the midst of it. The RAF held a great attraction as I had, and still was engrossed in model plane building and was currently making another to add to my collection. My models usually found an early grave when I flew them but there was always the appealing prospect that the next one would survive. Yes, a life in the RAF could well be my vocation. On the other hand, the army wouldn’t be alien to me either. After all I’d had plenty of battles with my mates in the nearby field.
The stigma of not being enlisted left more bruising than the many blemishes my bum had received in the long-gone days of conflict with dad’s belt.
A few weeks had passed since the declaration of peace. But this didn’t necessarily mean that the war was at an end. Hostilities were taking time off but there was still a little mopping up to be done. Sitting in the side-lines as a spectator was unthinkable.
I had yet to undergo a medical in readiness for possible enlistment. The irony being that If I passed it still didn’t guarantee that I would be accepted into the armed forces. There was always the risk of being selected as a candidate for a coal mine, the unlucky ones became known as the Bevin Boys, so my future was down to chance.
Refusing to work in a mine meant a gaol sentence. An older schoolmate of mine had already served a couple of three-month sentences and was currently awaiting the outcome of his latest court appearance for refusing to work in the pits. I had already conditioned myself into refusing a life underground. My hope was that fate would choose the course I wished for.
At this moment I was neither faced with the coal- mines or any branch of military service. I had yet to reach my eighteenth birthday. The feelings of simply being a bystander were many of the beasts I lived as I as I imagined myself at the scenes of many battles.
Eventually I was called for a medical. I remember putting on a show of vigour to demonstrate the peak of fitness. The examination was a typical routine affair. First there came an inspection to determine that I had two eyes, a pair of legs and an equal number of arms to complete the outer structure.
The workings of the inside bits underwent closer scrutiny. Trousers were lowered, followed by a cough to assess and hopefully conclude the mechanics of my innards. Workings of the grey matter came in for closer scrutiny by a gentleman who tested my mental agility with a series of well-prepared questions.
The final part of the medical exam was a sample of water, which can be difficult to produce on request. On any other occasion I wouldn’t have had a problem. I found a tap and was almost tempted to fill the container but I resisted and drank continuously until the gravity on my bladder allowed me to surrender a sample.
Eventually I was ushered to a desk. Behind it sat a quirky looking character who was to do the final assessment. I’d already assessed my own aptitude and physical; My legs were fine – they had to be, they had always saved me when escaping from ruffians, winning the odd egg and spoon race at school and winning a tin of biscuits in the 1937 Coronation kids street race event; My vision was fine, I didn’t need spectacles because my eyes could always detect the looks mom gave when I was in trouble; Brain function, however, would have to be left to the medical assessment board.
My pride was dampened when I was graded 2 instead of 1 due to an old injury which prevented me from bending one of my fingers. It was only a minor setback and didn’t stop me entering the services. I was more than grateful.
I was asked if I had any family serving in the armed forces. I did, my brother Geoff was in the army. He had been wounded in the battle of the Ardennes and recently released from hospital and reassigned to a new unit. I wondered why this was relevant and was told that it was sometimes possible to recommend a family member to the same unit. On the spur of the moment I agreed to join the army.
I still had to wait for my eighteenth birthday and it gave me plenty of time to dwell on the decision I’d made about joining the army. My love of aeroplanes hadn’t faded. In fact, I was in the midst of building another model to add to the list of past losses.
Gazing at the latest model under construction I made a decision. At all cost I must be connected with aeroplanes in some way or other. I tussled with the thought of army life and the air force.
My decision was made, I wrote a letter to the draft board explaining my change of mind. I expected my request to find its way into the nearest waste bin, but at least I had obeyed my conscience and made a commitment.
Two weeks later I received a letter. I had forgotten about my request. It was a reply to my letter, I was to undergo an interview in response.The interview came and my answers must have satisfied them because they agreed to my request.
My present job seemed boring, working in a factory completing war effort orders. I felt no joy producing something that in all probability would find its way onto a scrap heap. The sooner I got my call-up papers the better. Each day after returning home from work I’d check the day’s post.
Time passed slowly and it was now one week to my eighteenth birthday. I had already written to the war office to remind them of my age. These weren’t the days of first-class delivery so by the time they opened it I would be of service age. Three days before the deadline and I was considering writing another letter but I resisted.
A few premature birthday cards arrived but, on my birthday, I had three envelopes waiting to be opened. Two of them were obviously ones of greetings. The third stood apart and without any close examination it had the unmistakable government mark. This was the one I had longed for even though I had not seen its contents. It was the one I opened first. Not so much an opening of the envelope but tearing.
My eyes picked out the words of conformation of enlistment – The details I had yet to read. I sidled off to an easy chair to study every word. I sat for a long time, just reading and re-reading the few words that confirmed my drafting. The next day I would take great pleasure telling my foreman and everyone else that crossed my path.
From then on, my final week at work was a blank but my departure from civilian life was crystal clear. My last day in civvy-street was spent fishing. Dad and I went to a quiet spot to try our luck on the river and I was rewarded with a good day’s catch. A nice omen I thought. It was a kind of token farewell to the stranglehold that civilian life had upon me.
My past style of living was about to undergo a change for tomorrow I would be exchanging the blues of discontent to a different shade - The blue of the RAF.
Dad with my Grandad in Blackpool some time after joining up.
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Lady Penelope
master brummie
mbenne, I loved your post and I would have been in gaol without a doubt. I can't stand enclosed spaces to the degree that if I'm watching the television and caving comes on I have to turn it off. Any mining programmes go the same way. I once watched a programme about slave ships and it haunts me to this day - I wake up panicking. I'm sure other people have phobias and they are not to be taken lightly. I often wonder what I would have been doing in the war, I know it depends on age but everyone faced danger whether in the forces or not.
On a lighter note, I have just taken a selfie, posed in front of our bunting, to send to the children but am left wondering who that old biddy with the wrinkles is, she's taken my place! I usually try to lift my chin before taking the pic but obviously forgot this time.
On a lighter note, I have just taken a selfie, posed in front of our bunting, to send to the children but am left wondering who that old biddy with the wrinkles is, she's taken my place! I usually try to lift my chin before taking the pic but obviously forgot this time.
mbenne
master brummie
My wife's Grandad left Wales with his family to avoid going down the mines so even being Welsh doesnt mean that mining is in your blood. Happy VE day!!
mw0njm.
A Brummie Dude
i have not heard that for a while."old biddy"
Lady Penelope
master brummie
bewdley
master brummie
We had a small socially distanced street party.
An air raid siren sounded at 11am and the all clear at 11.02. There were a few tears for some of our elderly neighbours who were there in 1945.
My neighbour's father was a policeman at Wychbold and the Union Flag in the pic is the one he waved running down the village street of Wychbold on VE day when he was 8.
An air raid siren sounded at 11am and the all clear at 11.02. There were a few tears for some of our elderly neighbours who were there in 1945.
My neighbour's father was a policeman at Wychbold and the Union Flag in the pic is the one he waved running down the village street of Wychbold on VE day when he was 8.
Wouldn't it have been wonderful to have had an picture taken from the same bedroom window yesterday.
VE Day 1945 - two fellows having a bottle of beer outside their digs. Probably not the first of the day. An unknown Birmingham road, probably in Handsworth or nearby. My future brother-in-law on the right.
Chris
VE Day 1945 - two fellows having a bottle of beer outside their digs. Probably not the first of the day. An unknown Birmingham road, probably in Handsworth or nearby. My future brother-in-law on the right.
Chris
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lmr3103
master brummie
Lyn, my family's story is very similar to yours. My lovely Gran was widowed in the early twenties leaving her with 4 children to bring up. She later married my Grandad who had lost his leg in the First World War and whose wife had died with the Spanish flu, leaving him with 2 sons. This second marriage produced 6 children, (one of whom was my Mom)- one son died at 13 months and a daughter at 12. At age 49 in 1938 my Gran was widowed again, my Grandad died with complications from thrombosis in his remaining leg which had also been injured in the war. No benefits then available, what a struggle it must have been. Such a hard life, yet my Gran who died at 82, was the jolliest person you could imagine, never without a smile. What a strong generation they were.
yet another sad tale...i have said many times and will say it again that i have nothing but total respect and admiration for those who got through such tough times..how they did it i will never know
lyn x
oldbrit
OldBrit in Exile
We had good friends, our age, (Both now long gone). They lived in London during the blitz, Fred about my age during the war, went with his Dad to a scouts meeting, there was an air raid, when he and his Dad got home, the house had been hit by a V2 and demolished, killing his Mom and sister. I am sure, there are many, many, horror stories like this, from the war. This Virus scare, is in some ways very similar. You never know do you?
Radiorails
master brummie
The difference, during WW2, was that as youngsters - and many of us on this Forum were in that category - were not really bombarded with information as people are today. What was said was generally on BBC radio and was carefully scripted and only at limited times of the day.
Unless personal tragedy, such a family and friends being killed or homes being bombed, for many youngsters it was a curious time. Roads and their premises, we once travelled along, were often altered - sometimes considerably by air raids. Many motor vehicles and other things were still in use, though, in many instances, well past their 'sell by date'. Lots of interest for inquisitive boys!
Unless personal tragedy, such a family and friends being killed or homes being bombed, for many youngsters it was a curious time. Roads and their premises, we once travelled along, were often altered - sometimes considerably by air raids. Many motor vehicles and other things were still in use, though, in many instances, well past their 'sell by date'. Lots of interest for inquisitive boys!
oldbrit
OldBrit in Exile
Hope and Glory movie says it allThe difference, during WW2, was that as youngsters - and many of us on this Forum were in that category - were not really bombarded with information as people are today. What was said was generally on BBC radio and was carefully scripted and only at limited times of the day.
Unless personal tragedy, such a family and friends being killed or homes being bombed, for many youngsters it was a curious time. Roads and their premises, we once travelled along, were often altered - sometimes considerably by air raids. Many motor vehicles and other things were still in use, though, in many instances, well past their 'sell by date'. Lots of interest for inquisitive boys!