In all our long history we have never seen a greater day than this. Everyone, man or woman, has done their best.

WINSTON CHURCHILL,

VE-Day, 8 May 1945

London—7 May 1945

“DOUGLAS, THE DOOR’S CLOSING!” PAIGE SHOUTED FROM the platform.

“Hurry!” Reardon urged. “The train will leave—”

“I know,” she said, attempting to squeeze past the two Home Guards who were still singing “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary.” And forming a solid wall. She tried to go around, but dozens of people were trying to board the car and pushing her back away from the door. She shoved her way back to it.

The door was sliding shut. If she didn’t get off now, she’d lose them and never be able to find them again in these crowds of merrymakers. “Please, this is my stop!”

she said, eeling her way between two very tipsy sailors to the door. There was scarcely enough room to slip through. She braced the door open with both elbows.

“Mind the gap, Douglas!” Paige shouted and held out her hand.

She grabbed for it and half stepped, half jumped off the train, and before her feet even touched the platform, the train was moving, disappearing into the tunnel.

“Thank goodness!” Paige said. “We were afraid we’d never see you again.”

You wouldn’t have, she thought.

“This way!” Reardon called gaily and started along the platform toward the exit, but the platform was just as jammed as the train had been. It took them a quarter of an hour to get off it and through the tunnel to the escalators, where things were no better. People were blowing tin whistles, cheering, leaning over the top throwing confetti on them as they rode up, and somewhere someone was banging on a bass drum.