On The Conservative Woman, Henry Getley notes the 80th anniversary of the formal surrender of Japan to the United Nations forces represented by Douglas MacArthur on board the battleship USS Missouri:
Representatives of the Japanese government on the deck of USS Missouri before signing the surrender documents, 2 September 1945.
Naval Historical Center Photo # USA C-2719 via Wikimedia Commons
ON September 2, 1945 – 80 years ago today – General Douglas MacArthur, Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers, accepted Japan’s formal surrender in a ceremony aboard the US battleship Missouri in Tokyo Bay. Then with the words “These proceedings are closed”, he brought the Second World War to an end.
That final sentence, broadcast worldwide by radio, came five years and 364 days after the global conflict started. Germany invaded Poland on September 1, 1939, but Britain – followed by France – did not declare war on Germany until September 3.
Six years later, on his enforced retirement, MacArthur told the US Congress: “I still remember the refrain of one of the most popular barrack ballads which proclaimed most proudly that ‘old soldiers never die, they just fade away'”.
Now, with the 80th anniversary of the war’s end, Britain’s old soldiers, sailors, marines and airmen have indeed faded away. At the war’s peak, 3.5 million men served in the Army, 1.2 million in the RAF and almost one million in the Royal Navy. Today, fewer than 8,000 veterans of those fighting forces are thought to be left. Most will be 98 or older.
It’s a striking thought for those of us who were brought up in the immediate post-war years. As I recalled in an earlier TCW blog, back in those days almost everyone’s father, uncle or brother had served in the military in some capacity.
The men we kids saw going to work in the offices, shops and factories of Civvy Street were the unsung heroes of the River Plate, Dunkirk, the Battle of Britain, the Battle of the Atlantic, the Arctic Convoys, the Western Desert, Italy, Normandy, Arnhem, the Rhine, Imphal, Kohima, the jungles of Malaya and Burma and many other battles large and small.
Being interested in military history, I was lucky enough to have become friends with several veterans of the Second World War, all sadly no longer with us. They were without exception the finest of men – modest, generous, good-humoured, gentlemanly. All had been at the sharp end in battle, but the last thing any of them would have called himself was a hero. They shared their memories with me reluctantly, anxious not to be thought they were “shooting a line” – that is, exaggerating or boasting. I was honoured and humbled to have known them.
Their passing reminded me that while the war was obviously seared into the very being of those who had experienced it, we of the first post-war generation inherited a lot of what you might call its folk memories and thus it loomed large in our perceptions.
