9 MAY 1945

Churchill spoke at three p.m. He called it the people’s victory, but we all knew it was his. Churchill’s. At the end of his speech, there was loud cheering. Everybody spilled out into the street to enjoy the two days of holiday. The bunting meant something now, as did the Union Jacks and the portraits of Winnie. We had won the war. I put my hair up in a wrap and stepped out to join them. I held Greer and watched as they put on hats and sang. Then they danced the hokey-cokey and swilled down dandelion and burdock and ginger beer. I’d done my bit. I’d supplied them with their food. Some went off to church. The bells were ringing again. I hoped that at least one of them might remember Sandra. Others lit a bonfire, and on to it went army forms, and ration books; anything to do with the war. And there was a crude effigy of Hitler. That burned quickly. At nine p.m., the King made a speech in his usual stammer. I’d never had much time for these people, but it was moving. Some of them even spoke to me and smiled at Greer. Just before midnight, I took him inside, out of the evening chill.