VE Day began a political awakening - now pandemic may do the same 75 years on: Jayne Dowle

All these things can happen – and have happened – around us all in one way or another. However, they do not necessarily define an epoch; that period of time when one way of living ends and another begins. Rather, such events thrum along in the background, a global accompaniment to the general clamour of everyday life.

VE Day, which will be commemorated on Friday, was different. On May 8, 1945, it marked the end of the Second World War in Europe. For most British people – unless their sons, husbands and brothers were still fighting in the Far East, missing in action or incarcerated in prisoner of war camps – this meant a full stop to six years of anxiety, loss and terror.

When we think of VE Day we might conjure up grainy black and white photographs of street parties, revellers dancing in the fountains in Trafalgar Square and King George VI on the balcony at Buckingham Palace speaking to the throng below, his own family around him.

However, the repercussions of VE Day went beyond a mere 24 hours of collective relief. Almost immediately, it signalled the way for a political awakening. Within a matter of months, Winston Churchill was ousted by a Labour landslide election victory.

Social reform, better housing, fairer education and, of course, the NHS, piloted by Aneurin Bevan to its launch in 1948, were the touchstones of Labour’s appeal to an electorate exhausted by privation and suffering. The term “post-war” was born. A new epoch began.

Until now, unless we found ourselves at the eye of a particular storm, life kept moving without such a full stop. When the history books come to be written, these times will be remembered as our own defining moment.

With respect to those who endured six long years – not six weeks, so far – of uncertainty, shortages, displacement and bereavement between 1939 and 1945, this time will change the world and shake our footing.

As we enter the second month of lockdown, it’s possible now to see the line in the sand which clearly defines our “then” and “now”.

We will all have our own measure, identified by a particular thing. I’d put my own past somewhere around March 12; this was the last time I attended any kind of public gathering.

With some foreboding of the sadness so many people are now suffering, it was the funeral of a close friend’s father, who died after battling stroke for five long months.

When I think about this day, I see us at the wake in a local restaurant, still talking about coronavirus as if it was just another health scare that would soon pass.

Now the restaurant is shuttered and barred and I haven’t seen my friend, only on Zoom, since.

Our frittering conversations seem totally inconsequential. Now we queue for our groceries and accept work, travel and social restrictions we couldn’t have imagined.

It has been tempting, as our Prime Minister knows, to compare our own determination in the face of coronavirus to the courage and forbearance our parents and grandparents found when dealing with an enemy which could be seen and heard.

Whilst there are certain national characteristics – such as cheerfulness, resourcefulness, general respect for rules and community strength – weaving their links through the decades, it’s only half-right to say it’s the same.

The events now planned for Friday might help us to make sense of this. The two minutes’ silence at 11am should give us all pause for thought.

We can’t celebrate VE Day in the way we might have intended. The planned parade of Second World War veterans through London will not happen, and this is sad. Every year their number diminishes. The street parties and concerts will not take place in parish halls and parks, but online instead.

It’s reported that Her Majesty will address the nation again before we will all be invited to join in a country-wide singalong of We’ll Meet Again outside our front doors.

By marking the end of one epoch, we might also think about how it paved the way for what lies ahead.

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