大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Elizabeth Perez of Stockport Libraries on behalf of Mary Blood (n茅e Pettit) and has been added to the site with her permission. She fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

Mary's story, together with the war story of her husband, Harry Blood, was transcribed onto a floppy disc by Fred Kennington, thereby saving Stockport Library Service staff an immense amount of work!

VE Day in Brussels

We had settled in Brussels and May 1945 dawned. Something would soon happen - it would be VE Week! By 7th May, there had been speculation for some days that the war would end soon. We all went across from the office to Curly's friends to listen to the wireless as it was rumoured that Churchill was going to speak. But no luck, only a programme about snails, so we went back to the barracks.

About 7pm, one of the girls dashed in saying there had been a news flash and that the war was over. Suddenly we all felt very homesick. When peace was signed, we had been told, we would get three days off. We got ourselves ready and went down to Wesley House for a couple of hours for a cup of tea and a natter. Most people were finding it hard to come to terms with their feelings. Predominant amongst them all was this intense homesickness; most of the British people felt that way. It was certainly the case with the girls.

We went back to the barracks intending to get ready for bed. I couldn't settle and sat on the window sill for a long time looking out over Brussels. What a sight! The whole city was lit up by searchlights, rockets, flares, Verey lights everywhere. British, Belgian and American flags were flying; crowds were in the streets singing and laughing; car horns were sounding. As the evening sky darkened, the famous buildings were silhouetted against the glow from bonfires and fireworks. The old trams were clanking along as usual, but now with people standing or dancing on their roofs. The trams never seemed to run in a straight line as they swayed and rattled, reflecting the years of few repairs. As they crossed the points at junctions they threw a weird green light across everything. It was a sight I will never ever forget. I did finally tear myself away and fell into bed, the noise below still ringing in my ears, and me quite unable to realise that in one part of the world the war was over.

Thanksgiving

Next morning, 8th May, I was up by 7.30am, had breakfast and got ready for church. The service, a Thanksgiving for victory, started at 9.30am with the British National Anthem, followed by the American and the Belgian - a very touching ceremony. The service was conducted by Padre Mainiel with the congregation of British, American, Belgian and many other nationalities.

I sat next to a middle-aged Belgian lady. As we got up to leave, she asked me if I was doing anything, particularly during that day. I replied, 'No, I wasn't'. She asked me if I would care to come for lunch. I said that was very kind of her and I would be delighted to come. She stayed for a further service in French, and I met her outside the church at 11.20am. She said that if we hurried we could catch her husband before he left and could then go by car, otherwise we would have to catch the tram. I have to say that my mind wandered a little, here we were in 1945, five years from the start of the war there and petrol was hardly an easily-acquired asset. As suggested, we hurried. To my amazement there appeared a very large car complete with chauffeur. We sat in the car for a minute or two before we were joined by her husband to whom I was formally introduced. This was Monsieur Tournier. They were exceptionally nice people and, on the way, they gave me a bit of a guided tour.

After about fifteen minutes on the road, we turned sharp right, through a pair of large gates and up a long, winding drive, very well kept. There was not a weed in sight. The Tourniers' house was quite large and very tastefully and comfortably furnished. As you entered, the dining room was to the left; the drawing room to the right; while in the centre was a large room with French windows opening on to a terrace. The view from there was beautiful. Madame Tournier took me round the grounds and through the sunken garden with flowers of all sorts and colours. One particular thing that interested me was what looked like an old tombstone. Madame told me it was a 16th century tombstone that had been brought from one of their farms. We had a look at the kitchen garden, too. There were beautiful lilies of the valley. The paths were so well tended it seemed a crime to walk on them. The remainder of the grounds were wooded with a little river running through. To wander through those grounds was indeed a haven of peace. They gave me the Illustrated London News and the Picture Post to read and, just sitting there on the terrace, one couldn't help feeling at peace with the world. It was a 'new' feeling after five years of being 'not at peace'.

Lunch with the Tourniers

That sanctity was momentarily disturbed when I was called in for lunch and introduced to Madame Tournier's niece and M. Tournier's nurse. He was an invalid, although that was not apparent. As the guest I sat on Mme Tournier's right. The polished table, the silver, and the glass, shone. The sun poured through the window adding lustre to an already beautiful picture. Looking out of the window you could see a long way through a break in the trees to where the river flowed.

We were waited on by a butler, resplendent in dinner jacket, perfect in every detail, even down to wearing white gloves. It was a very enjoyable meal. For my benefit, they all spoke English. After dinner we retired to the drawing room for coffee and talked for a time before M. Tournier went for his medication before going back to the University.

Madame took a rest herself, leaving me with the niece. The two of us chatted for a while, then wandered round the garden again before it was her time to leave. She went off to work in a service canteen at the Gare du Nord. About 3pm I left with Mme. Tournier, but this time by tram with her going to work in a service canteen, too. I left with an armful of tulips and lily of the valley. Having more or less picked me up from a church service, I was a complete stranger who had been taken into their home. They were very concerned to know whether I had enjoyed myself; was I sure; did I regret coming and would I come again. They had been very welcoming and their only concern was for my comfort and enjoyment. They needed have no worries on that score. It had been a wonderful experience and they were so kind. There was just a touch of remembrance of my pre-war days when I had been a domestic. How the tables had turned!

VE Night

I was back in the barracks by 4.30pm with time to get ready to go out to meet an airman friend of mine. The trams into the city were running, although few and far between. We had been waiting interminably, when an American pulled his jeep up and asked if we wanted a lift to the city centre. We climbed in and had to hang on very tight indeed as he went like a bat out of hell. It was a relief to get out in one piece. In the city we wandered through the main streets or, more correctly, went along in the direction the crowd was going. Everywhere was crammed. By chance the crowd took us along to the Malcolm Club where we stopped for a visit. Leaving there, we were pushed along to the Porte de Namur. After a visit to a nearby hostelry, we got back to the barracks at 2am and finally retired to bed at 3am. That hostelry was the En Passant bar that would, one day, hold very dear memories. VE Day had been a very long, but a very happy day; one never to be forgotten.

The following day was a rest day which I much needed and that was followed by a return to the routine of work. After work I went out by tram with a friend to Woluwe. This was a lovely spot with, nearby, a Belgian Red Cross centre. The spring green of the hedgerows and the general aura reminded me of a tennis club in an English village. It was just a bit unusual to find baseball going on next to tennis.

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