I was 4 years old on May 8th 1945.
I remember my mother’s tears turning to joy, so different from anguished tears of women waving their men off to war. A child senses such things.
Recently I was given a photograph taken in my village of Pentrefelin on May 9th 1945 (featured above). It was found in a dusty suitcase in the attic of a neighbour who had known my mother, Claire. Villages, towns and cities were jubilant. The war was over.
VE Day, May 8th 2025
The Government has proclaimed that four days of festivities will take place. So, what have we learned? Has anything changed over the 80 years as we are urged never to forget?
The relentless march of time looks back at me from my mirror each day for sure. The failed diplomacy leading to war is alive and well. Grey men in grey suits meet in conference rooms, a safe distance from the industrial scale slaughter still lack the vision and courage to manage our planet peacefully. The grey suits are a better quality than they were 80 years ago, certainly.
But the hopes and dreams of women, children and the young men and women in uniform in too many parts of the world continue to be trampled into the dust beneath the crush of poor decision making; the greed for power and domination as dictators call the shots.
As families, villages, towns and cities are laid to waste in order that new boundaries and red lines can be drawn on maps, what does it all mean? Where are we headed?
As the dwindling numbers of WW2 veterans gather, remembering their fallen comrades with pride and sorrow; watching the world around them changing rapidly, I wonder do they think the hell they witnessed was worth it?
My over riding thought today is that the arenas of war change, as do languages, uniforms, weapons and terrain change. But the damage done to men, women and children never, ever changes.
Fancy dress parades, flag waving, lamp posts and statues were climbed and no doubt a tsunami of babies born 9 months later as the whole of Europe celebrated the end of hostilities. The photo shows children resplendent in fancy dress and there I am, dressed as a nurse. I was profoundly moved, at the age of 74, seeing this photograph for the very first time.