On August 15, 1945, a wave of jubilation swept across Britain as news broke that Japan had surrendered, bringing the Second World War to its long-awaited end. In Birmingham, the announcement sparked celebrations that would be remembered for generations. The city, already buoyed by the earlier victory in Europe, erupted once more—this time, with a sense of finality that six years of war had at last concluded.
According to Birmingham Mail, the festivities in Birmingham began barely ten minutes after Prime Minister Clement Attlee finished delivering the momentous news. Doors flew open as neighbors spread the word, even rousing those who had already gone to bed. In streets throughout the city, impromptu parties blossomed, with hundreds gathering in central Birmingham and thousands swarming into Victoria Square. The statue of Queen Victoria herself was festooned with decorations as revelers danced and sang late into the night. Yet, as the paper noted, the high spirits never tipped into chaos; the rejoicing remained remarkably orderly, a testament to the resilience and decorum of a population that had endured so much darkness.
Photographs from that day show a sea of faces packed into Victoria Square, their smiles illuminated by a rare sense of collective relief and hope. After years marked by rationing, air raids, and loss, the people of Birmingham—and indeed, all of Britain—paused to honor the lives lost and to mark the dawn of peace. “The war was over after six long years, many of them dark ones. Eighty years on we should all pause and reflect on the many lives lost over that period,” Birmingham Mail reflected in a commemorative piece published on August 25, 2025.
Yet, not all corners of the British Isles greeted VJ Day with such exuberance. In the Isle of Man, Kathleen Oates, a Leading Wren in the Women’s Royal Naval Service, missed the public celebrations altogether. Discharged from Sick Bay on August 24, 1945—just too late for the festivities—Kathleen chronicled her experiences and those of her friends in dozens of letters home, offering a unique window into the era’s mood and realities.
As recounted by her daughter, Christine Smith, in the Isle of Man Today column published August 22, 2025, Kathleen’s letters paint a nuanced picture of VJ Day. Her colleague Cynthia described the local celebrations as underwhelming: “Here, the celebrations took the shape of dancing in Market Square, illuminating bonfires and torchlight procession up the Downs. We went down to the marketplace to see the dancing, but didn’t stay long: afterwards, we walked miles in the dark through wet fields in a vain attempt to see the bonfire etc. We discovered afterwards that we had been misinformed and have been walking in the wrong direction! Finally got into bed about 1 am feeling a bit defrauded! The next day was much more civilised – various friends came up for drinks, Daddy having procured some sherry, and it was all quite chatty.”
Others reported similarly muted affairs. The Muirs, friends from Liverpool, wrote: “VJs 1 and 2 passed off rather quietly in Crosby. We went down to the main road in the afternoon and listened to the Mayor proclaiming, but it was a lame affair and the best we could find to do in the evening was a service at the Baptist Chapel.” Eventually, they found a bonfire and joined in some dancing, but the celebrations paled in comparison to the raucous scenes in Birmingham.
But for those in the military, the end of the war brought its own kind of release. Kathleen’s school friend Cooky, writing from Poole, described a “pretty hectic” VJ Day, with parties springing up everywhere, a pub crawl in a Royal Navy lorry, and a Victory Dance at the camp that lasted until 1am. Yet even these celebrations were tinged with complexity: Cooky confessed to being “head over heels in love with a Subby on her Base,” while also needing to delicately navigate the return of an old friend who had spent four years in the desert, apparently thinking of her.
As the initial euphoria faded, the letters reveal the sobering realities that awaited many families. The Muirs recounted the return of neighbors bearing the scars of war: “Kenneth’s poor burned hands look quite awful, but the medics tell him that the skin grafts will improve in appearance as time goes by. The Lieutenant next door but one has also got his discharge and his face is very badly scarred and he is minus an eye. Well, that’s the penalty of war.” Such stories, once whispered in kitchens and over garden fences, became all too common as servicemen and women returned home, forever changed by their experiences.
Daily life, too, remained fraught with challenges. Kathleen wrote of the continued rationing and the difficulty of acquiring clothing and other necessities: “I heard the news on the radio about clothing coupons having to last much longer – isn’t it awful!! I shall have to spend a lot of mine on new shoes - if I can get them. I went to Taggarts and got a credit note for those coupons, but they hadn’t any crepe in, Mum. I shall keep enquiring for you. I think I’ll buy some more ‘Navy Vests’ to keep for demobbing – they will save my own coupons. Do you want any at home because I can get them? Also would you like a pyjama chit if I can get one, Dorothy – so that you can buy ready-made pyjamas – or are they too expensive?”
There was, as Mrs. Muir put it, a sense that “the fruits of victory are not as sweet or as plentiful as we had hoped for. The Labour government certainly have a very forbidding task in front of them, sorting all the tangled skeins out.” The transition from war to peace, it seemed, would be as complex as the conflict itself.
For Kathleen, however, life soon returned to a semblance of normalcy. She was expected back at the Ronaldsway Control Tower on August 26, and, undeterred by a lingering leg injury, she made the most of her final days of leave. A sun-soaked outing to Port St Mary, complete with fish-salad tea and beachside relaxation, marked her return to the everyday joys she had missed. Her male colleagues, ever ready with a quip, tried to reassure her about the scar on her leg: “Never mind, Kay – not everyone looks at legs” – to which another replied, “No! - but 99% do!” Kathleen herself seemed determined to focus on the pleasures of the season rather than dwell on what she could not control.
As Britain marked the 80th anniversary of VJ Day in August 2025, the memories of those heady, complicated days in 1945 remain as vivid as ever. The scenes in Birmingham, the letters from the Isle of Man, and the stories of returning service members all remind us that the end of war is never simple. It is a time of relief and celebration, yes, but also of grief, adjustment, and the daunting task of rebuilding lives and nations. Today, as we look back, we do so with gratitude for peace—and with a renewed understanding of its price.
