London on the First Armistice Day

Londoners at the Queen Victoria Memorial, 11 November1918

As reported by American War Correspondent Edgar Bramwell Piper:

The armistice was signed at 5 o’clock in the morning [on 11 November]. London and England should have been notified of the result early in the day, immediately after the signing of the document. But the London papers are poor contraptions, and they have a way here of awaiting official announcements. It isn’t news until the King, or the Premier, or some other great man has said it or done it. In any event, the method of communicating to the public the great fact that Germany had  officially acknowledged that it had lost was through Lloyd George. 

In the House of Commons that afternoon, immediately after prayers, I rose and announced the signing of the Armistice, the terms of which I proceeded to read.

I concluded by saying: “Those are the conditions of the Armistice. Thus at 11 o’clock this morning came to an end the cruellest and most terrible war that has ever scourged mankind. I hope we may say that thus, this fateful morning, came to an end all wars. This is no time for words. Our hearts are too full of a gratitude to which no tongue can give adequate expression. I will, therefore, move: That this House do immediately adjourn, until this time to-morrow, and that we proceed, as a House of Commons, to St. Margaret’s, to give humble and reverent thanks for the deliverance of the world from its great peril, the cruellest and most terrible war that has ever scourged mankind. 

David Lloyd George, Prime Minister 

The day was threatening and misty; a very poor time for a public celebration of any kind. Then a lorry came lumbering up the Strand firing anti-aircraft guns. The significance of the exploit was not at first clearly understood. Some thought it was a final German air raid. But at last it dawned on the London mind that the war was over; and the impossible happened. London cast all reserve to the winds and let itself loose in a spontaneous and mighty demonstration. It was mainly a thing of moving and joyous crowds, going somewhere, anywhere, and making a noise—not a din after the American fashion, but yet a fairly noisy noise, all quite seemly, disciplined and respectable.

The crowds were enormous, and they were everywhere. It is said that London has 7,000,000 people. It must be an underestimate. Far more than that number apparently assembled at Trafalgar Square and before Buckingham Palace, and marched in platoons or companies or irregular regimental formations up and down the Strand. The crowd before the palace wanted to see and hear the King and Queen. “We want King George!” cried the people. Here, where they have King George, and evidently intend to keep him, there was no emotional outburst, no passionate outcry, no mob frenzy, merely the more or less formal call of a disciplined people to see their King, doubtless because they reasoned among themselves, in good English style, that it was the correct procedure in the circumstances. There is no denying the popularity of the King, however.

If they were to hold an election for King in England tomorrow, the incumbent would distance all others at the polls. At a quarter to 11 there were no signs of special commotion before the palace. A few idlers had gathered to watch the ceremony of changing the guard. The only flag in sight was the royal standard. At 11 o’clock, precisely, a typewritten copy of the Premier’s announcement that hostilities had ceased was hung outside the railings and then the maroons exploded. The crowds began to gather, coming from all directions like bees in a swarm. Many had All Saints Alive flags. Men on horseback came from somewhere and reined up before the palace. Taxicabs and motor cars came along and people who wanted to see better began to climb on the roofs. Within a few minutes many thousands had assembled and they began to call for the King.

King George V Salutes the Crowd

At 11:15 King George, in uniform, appeared on the balcony. The Queen, bareheaded and wearing a fur coat, was with him. The Duke of Connaught came too, and the Princess Mary. The soldiers presented arms and the Irish Guards’ band played the national anthem and the crowd solemnly took up the slow refrain. Then the band played “Rule Britannia.” The people sang again and flags began to wave. The King removed his cap and his loyal subjects cheered, and someone proposed a groan for the Kaiser, which was given sonorously, and the ruler of Great Britain and all the Indies donned his cap and the royal group went back into the palace.

From a Londoner's Diary: 

Peace! London to-day is a pandemonium of noise and revelry, soldiers, and flappers being most in evidence. Multitudes are making all the row they can, and in spite of depressing fog and steady rain, discords of sound and struggling, rushing beings and vehicles fill the streets. Paris, I imagine, will be more spontaneous and magnificent in its rejoicing. Berlin, also, is reported to be elated, having got rid not only of the war but also of its oppressors.

The peoples are everywhere rejoicing. Thrones are everywhere crashing and the men of property are everywhere secretly trembling. ‘A biting wind is blowing for the cause of property’, writes an Austrian journalist. How soon will the tide of revolution catch up the tide of victory? That is a question which is exercising Whitehall and Buckingham Palace and which is causing anxiety even among the more thoughtful democrats. Will it be six months or a year?

Beatrice Webb, Diary Entry 11 November 1918

Celebrating at Waterloo Place

Later, the King decided to drive through the city. He was accompanied by the Queen and the Princess Mary. Rain was falling, but nobody in England minds rain. It was a triumphal procession. Everywhere at central points had gathered many thousands to welcome their majesties. Here and there was a police officer, but the police had no  difficulty with the crowds. There was no special or unusual guard for the King and Queen, only a few outriders. They have no fear, evidently, in England that anything untoward will happen to the Crown, through the act of a madman, or the deliberate deed of a regicide. A policeman’s baton is enough. The English respect authority and obey it. The celebration did not end on Monday night. But it started up again on Tuesday and continued through the week. When London celebrates it celebrates. There is no question about it. 

It was announced that the King and Queen would attend a thanksgiving service at St. Paul’s Cathedral on the succeeding day [12 November]. The street scenes of the previous day were repeated during the progress of the royal couple to the magnificent centre of worship. It is a noble and wonderful shrine, with a fit setting for occasions of vast importance. Great bells rang and a mighty concourse gathered, and a solemn and beautiful ceremony was conducted in commemoration of the triumph of the allied cause.

The King and Queen Mary Arriving for
the Thanksgiving Service

The Strand, ending in Trafalgar Square, the heart of London, is the most popular thoroughfare in the city. When the joymaking began, the crowds took possession not only of the Strand, but of all available vehicles. A favourite adventure of men and women was to commandeer a taxicab and to pile in and on anywhere, preferably on top. One car, with a prescribed capacity for four, had exactly twenty-seven persons sardined in its not-too-ample proportions.

Then there were lorries–automobile trucks–crowded with soldiers, civilians and girls, all waving flags and singing or shouting. Soldiers formed in procession and marched along. After a while they turned about and went the other way. Girls in uniform– munitions workers–appeared in large numbers, and walked along, arm-in-arm with the men in khaki. Flags were plentiful. The day went on with no diminution of the crowds or moderation of the excitement. Apparently it increased rather than diminished. Business was wholly suspended, except in the restaurants and hotels, and the metropolis gave itself up to merrymaking. 

An American Army Car Full of Revelers

Yet it was mainly an unorganized, though orderly, spectacle of movement, without any great variety of stunts or picturesque Incidents. There was little drinking or drunkenness, apparently, in the streets, though there was plenty, and to spare, later in the great hotels. Possibly the crowd was sober because intoxication costs money nowadays in England; or perhaps it was not in the humor to drink. But the gay assemblies within the walls of the restaurants had no such scruples. There was much drinking, much noise, much laxity, a complete departure from the innocent gaiety of the streets.

Sources: From Somewhere Near the War by Edgar Bramwell Piper; War Memoirs of David Lloyd George 1918;  Beatrice Webb, Diaries of, 11 November 1918. 

The highly regarded memoir, Somewhere Near The War: Being An Authentic And More Or Less Diverting Chronicle Of The Pilgrimage Of Twelve American Journalists To The War Zone, can be ordered HERE.