Gordon Driver was just 12 years old the day Victory in Europe (VE) was declared, and he fondly recalls a multitude of celebrations with neighbors, where “long wooden tables were brimming with treats.”

The former vicar now resides in a care home located in Chippenham, Wiltshire, but back when the war started, he lived in close proximity to Danson Park in southeast London.

“On VE Day, the atmosphere was electric, and everyone came together to celebrate. There were flags waving and symbols of triumph everywhere; the overall spirit was infectious,” he reminisced.

Now at 92, Mr. Driver reflected on his childhood experience of the war, describing it as “quite alarming.” Nevertheless, he felt fortunate to have remained with his parents throughout the tumult.

His father worked as a plumber at Stone House Hospital in Kent, a facility for mental health treatment, which prevented him from enlisting in the military since he needed to be available in case the hospital was bombed or struck by explosives.

“The services he provided were crucial for the hospital’s functioning, especially since it dealt with individuals who were terrified and struggling to comprehend the events around them,” Mr. Driver explained.

Having his father at home contributed to a “greater sense of safety” because the family remained united during those turbulent times.

The Drivers initially intended for Gordon to be evacuated, and he recalls being taken to a registration center, “dressed up and tagged as an evacuee, complete with a mask that made me resemble a frogman.”

Entering the center felt “quite intimidating” to him due to the unfamiliar environment combined with the noise and bustle.

“Suddenly, my mother pulled me aside and said, ‘You’re not going. I’ve decided to keep you home after all.'”

Mr. Driver vividly remembers gathering with neighbors in an air raid shelter constructed by local men.

“They installed electric lighting and made it cozy, adding carpets, cushions, and all the necessities like food, bread, milk, and beverages,” he shared.

Hearing German bombers overhead was undoubtedly “terrifying,” and passersby would often try to comfort him with sweets.

“The flak from British anti-aircraft guns exploded around us, creating an unmistakable sense of danger.”

When encountering the V1 flying bombs, commonly termed “doodle bugs,” he knew to “either flee for your life as quickly as possible or find shelter in an air raid bunker.”

The V Rockets posed an entirely different threat; they were unseen until they detonated nearby, and if they struck a street, they would virtually obliterate the entire area.

Mr. Driver recalled how sometimes his mother would send him on his bicycle to assess the damage, and when he discovered shrapnel, he would secret it away, as keeping “souvenirs” was prohibited.

“I took great pride in my collection, which featured various shapes and sizes, stored in a fire grate at home.”

“However, after the war, my father told me, ‘I don’t want to crush your spirit, but I’m going to dispose of these because I don’t want us to remember what we’ve gone through,’ which truly saddened me,” he added.

Some of his most vivid memories from that time revolve around the power of community.

“The kindness and warmth from everyone were remarkable. People looked out for one another and shared whatever they could,” he noted.

“Strangely enough, despite the pervasive fear, everyone seemed, on the whole, a bit happier than people today.

“From a child’s perspective, there were certain things I didn’t fully grasp, but the sense of community and compassion has certainly stayed with me.”