大象传媒

Muriel Sloman died in May last year, aged 90, but amongst her papers was this account of V.E. Day celebrations. I am the 16 month old baby referred to in her tale - too young to remember it myself, but we still have the flag!

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The second world war was over at last in Europe, after 5 years, 8 months and 5 days. This was broadcast to the nation by Winston Churchill on the radio, that on May 7th, at Rheims in France, the supreme headquarters of the Allied Expeditionary Force, the Germans had signed a treaty of surrender.

The war in the east was still to be won, and my brother was still serving there, but we were still grateful and excited at this news. We wanted to celebrate, it was so wonderful to think that war and all it meant to us was over at last. Like me, my family wanted to rejoice, not only ourselves, but with our neighbours and friends. Having lost our home in Devonport to the bombing of April 21st 1941, we had moved to live at Mount Pleasant, on top of the hill above the village of Darite, but already we felt very much a part of it.

My husband Bert, recently invalided from the Navy, had raised the huge Union Jack that we had been keeping ready for the occasion, high from our tall clothes post. We dashed over to Wheal Agar in the next field where Mr and Mrs Walter Knight also intended to fly a flag on their especially prepared post. Later in the day, we drove to Pensilva, where my Uncle Ed had retired to from the Royal Fleet Auxillary, with my Aunt Jessie Nation; they had their Union Jack already hoisted, to share their joy.

I went to see Mr Billy Pearce, Headmaster of the village school, to know what was to be done so that everyone could rejoice together. He and his wife lived in the schoolhouse next to the Darite County Primary School, where Miss Snell taught the infant class. However, I was deflated to learn that he did not feel able to do anything. He told me the Parish Council would be organising an official celebration in due course.

This was not good enough for me. I discussed it with the family, and we agreed to act now and see what we and the rest of the villagers could do between us. I was to tour the village, starting at the village shop, which Mr Bert Baker and his wife Elizabeth managed for the Co-op, to test their interest and also any customers' there. The idea caught on like a bush fire, to have a village party.

Mr Baker put up a notice in the shop window. My husband made out some big posters to distribute around the neighbouring villages, Tremar, St Cleer, Common Moor and Crows Nest, announcing a joint gathering and celebration the next day for anyone and everyone interested in taking part.

My sister-in-law Violet Sloman was with us. She was Headistress of a Centre for the handicapped in Plymouth (she was later awarded an MBE for services to Plymouth Mencap)but lived with us at weekends and was home for the Public Holiday that had been given. She started to cook for the planned party, and kept an eye on our 16 month old son Roger and 6 year old daughter Angela; and off we went. It was quickly decided to request the use of the Men's Institute, and in case of rain, to borrow the Darite Chapel for a get together and sing song. Both requests were readily granted.

Races organised by the men were to be held in the field below the bridge, where football matches were held, generously loaned by Mr Peak Garland.

Trestle tables were set up, tablecloths, cutlery, china, milk and food flowed into the Institute opposite the school. Everyone helped and gave and cooked. It was amazing how generous, hard-working and friendly everyone was. It rained - gently - but the races and the party still went on undeterred.

Petrol was rationed and cars were scarce, so people from all over St Cleer Parish walked. Rev and Mrs Bland were on war time call out from retirement, well earned as missionaries in China, as the local Vicar, Rev Lane-Davies had been called up as Chaplain to the Forces; they walked over the hills to share the event and give it God's blessing. Mr Benorthan, an elderly gentleman from Crows Nest, came with his concertina and led the community singing. The Sunday School dividing screens were opened back and the whole Chapel crammed to the doors with happy, laughing people.

Sweeys were rationed among so many things, at only 3/4 lb a month, but somehow those rations were donated so that every child received a small packet of sweets, an orange and threepence each - no mean gift in those days - at the ned of the day. I have no idea where it all came from. Even the humblest of us gave what they could. The atmosphere was terrific. Villagers had found decorations, flags and balloons from long hidden stores, and all in all it was a most emotional and happy time. The Institute and the Chapel both looked quite festive.

In due course, the Parish Council provided a public tea at St Cleer. There was a fancy dress comptition with generous prizes, well supported, and a beaker to mark the occasion was presented to every child. All credit to the Councillors for their work. But somehow, the spontaneity was lacking, and to many, it was the opportunity to share our happiness at the actual time that counted most.

Muriel Sloman
January 1995

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