By Canon Deborah Parsons
Thursday 8 May marked the 80th anniversary of VE Day. I’ve been moved to hear testimonies of people’s memories of that time.
Memories of joy and celebration; of dancing and jitterbugging in the streets; of cheering for the Royal Family on the balcony of Buckingham Palace. And sadness, too, for the loss of family, friends, comrades who didn’t return home or who were changed emotionally, psychologically or physically as a result of their experiences. Jane Richards, a retired GP and churchwarden, had kept her father’s handwritten sermon to celebrate VE Day from when he was a vicar of Crediton Parish Church.
I’d never really considered the significance of objects that carry memory and meaning until a friend shared with me the importance of three coarse, grey-blue blankets she’d inherited following the death of her mother.
The blankets were emblazoned with the logo of RMS Orion and had been handed to survivors when they were pulled out of the sea, after the ship they were being evacuated on, RMS Lancastria, was bombed and sunk off the French port of St. Nazaire on 17 June 1940.
My friend’s mother and grandparents had fled Belgium and were on the RMS Lancastria when it was hit. The British ocean liner had been requisitioned by the government and ordered to evacuate British nationals and troops from France, two weeks after the evacuation of Dunkirk.
Because of the urgency of the situation, the Captain of the Lancastria was encouraged to take as many troops and refugees as possible, regardless of the limits of international law. People were crowded into whatever spaces were available including the large cargo holds.
It’s not known how many people died when the ship was sunk but it’s thought to have been the largest single-ship loss of life in British maritime history.
Indeed the loss of life was so immense that news of the disaster was immediately suppressed by Winston Churchill for fear that the sinking would affect morale. In his memoirs, Churchill said that he had intended to release the news a few days later, but that events in France “crowded upon us so black and so quickly I forgot to lift the ban.”
Reuben, Lucy and Beth Goodwin were amongst the survivors. As an engineer, Reuben had been able to help people to lower the lifeboats, and he and his wife and daughter were amongst the last to be evacuated from the ship, which sank within fifteen minutes. His wife had refused to get into a lifeboat without him.
The Goodwins kept the blankets they were given when they were rescued as a remembrance of all that they had endured and as a reminder of the courage, resilience, sacrifice and love that they had witnessed. One nurse gave up her place on the boat and offered it to a serviceman instead. Another family jumped into the sea, holding the dress of their eighteen-month old daughter in their mouth to ensure she didn’t float away.
The blankets will be used as wadding for a quilt. Although the inside will be old and drab, the cover will be a patchwork of colour; a symbol of life out of death; joy out of sadness; hope out of despair.
On Sunday 11 May, Kathryn Timms will be speaking about Creative Grief, exploring how art can serve as a vessel for memory, loss, and remembrance and how creativity can help us hold and process the stories we carry. Her work focuses on the importance of acts of remembrance and the narrative power of significant objects – those that carry both memory and meaning. Do join us in the Chapter House at 6:30pm for an interesting conversation.