80 Years Ago

 Today, Friday 15 August 2025, the UK formally commemorated the 80^th anniversary of VJ (Victory in Japan) day – the Emperor Hirohito formally signed Japan’s surrender on 15 August 1945. Ron Waddams, my father-in-law, then in Rangoon, had received news of the surrender of the Empire of Japan on Friday 10 August 1945.

A summary map produced after the surrender by Ron's unit (apologies for the amateur photograph).

Ron was drafted into the Royal Artillery, serving in Britain, until on 30 September 1942 he was transferred to the army’s map-making school in Ruabon, Wales. On 23 February 1943 his unit of the Royal Engineers sailed from Greenock in Scotland, via Dakar, Freetown, Capetown and Durban, to India, arriving at Bombay 11 June 1943. In May 1945 Ron and his British and Indian colleagues crossed into Burma. 

Ron Waddams, self-portrait in his Burma uniform, oil on canvas.

 

Two days after learning that fighting in Asia had ended, Ron wrote to his parents. His letter follows:

1601540 Sgt. R. Waddmas R.E.

61 Ind Reproduction Group I.E.

S.E.A.C.

August 12.1945

Dear Mum and Dad,

By the time this letter reaches you the world will be at peace. The first new I heard of the Japanese wish to surrender was on Friday evening [August 10]. My first reaction was one of jubilation, in fact we all went a bit crazy. It was so sudden. I had not expected it to end until later in the year

            The remainder of Friday evening was passed riotously, with whiskey, rum and gin … it is perhaps needless to say that I got drunk. We had the drinks out on the balcony of our house. Our dance band was there to keep things at a lively pitch, and it wasn’t long before some of us younger ones were dancing around. My clothes were soaked with perspiration. There was of course much singing as well. I remember of one our lieutenants singing ‘Don’t ‘Ang my’ Arry’¹ and among other vocals I had to give the refrain from ‘Popeye’. It was about the maddest booze-up I have had, but of course we couldn’t let such an occasion pass without an extra-special celebration. I was told later that it wound up about three in the morning. At the time, I was unaware of this as I had faded out to the lavatory an hour before. Later, I was found asleep in the aforementioned retreat. I managed to stagger back to my bed under my own power, where I was sick and had a grinding head. I had made the unfortunate mistake of mixing my drinks, a thing I never usually do, and I paid dearly for it afterwards. I spent the whole day on my bed, but recovered sufficiently in the evening to take a short stroll. Now I am back to normal practically.

            At the moment we are expecting confirmation of the leave to come through tomorrow. I don’t think the official day of peace will give rise to another celebration. It will be rather a stale peace, as I think everybody’s already celebrated it. I don’t know whether it is the same in England.

            I expect that you are even more happy than I am, and you’ll be asking how soon shall I be home. Now that the initial exuberance has passed over, I can view the future seriously. I am not going to build up any false hopes for you. The chance of my returning to England by Christmas is remote. I will be reasonable and estimate I will be home in January or February². You will realize what a terrific task the transportation of men back to England will be, and of course men will still be required out here to continue administrative and garrison duties. I consider myself in a fortunate position … I can imagine myself back among you in the old surrounding, going to dances and concerts, and all the rest of it. Before, all this. Was too far in the distant future to ever contemplate. As I hinted in a previous letter, I shall be in civilian clothes by my next birthday. In a few months time I shall be able to tell you the exact date of my release.

            The following months of waiting will be very trying. I shall try to keep my mind occupied with my reading and writing, and hope the time will pass as quickly as it has in the past. I hope too that you will be patient; it’s only a matter of months now…

            I am enclosing my photograph. I feel that I should put my spoke in and say that I have no intention of carving off the fungi [moustache].

Reference my request for editions of New Writing, I have just acquired editions Nos. 18 and 20, so please don’t buy these numbers.

Just this week I sent one of my short stories to John O’London’s. I had intended sending another to Lilliput but since the advent of peace, I do not think war stories will be acceptable for some years to come, so I intend to keep my original plan of compiling a book of such stories.³

Until Friday my week was a quiet one. I read and write a little, and had not found it necessary to go out. But this afternoon I was tempted out by a recorded orchestral concert. It was held in the only cinema left intact. The cinema recording apparatus was used and was excellent. The main work was a violin concerto by Beethoven.

I have managed to borrow a turntable gramophone on which I have tried out my symphony. I thought it exceedingly pleasant.

I shall have to abandon my plan of taking a French course, as I don’t have time to complete it. I hope to be able to study it when I return, though I realize that I shall be cramped for time to do all the things I want to do. I shall never know boredom anyhow.

My best wishes to the family with my fondest thoughts for the peaceful future which lies ahead of us.

Sincerest love from,

Ron

A page of photos taken by Ron in Imphal, now in the Indian state of Manipur, February 1945.

The view from Ron's tent, Imphal, 1945.

 

 

Publications collected by Ron. Finale is a booklet that commeorates the travels of his unit. The Christmas Programme was produced in Comilla, now in Bangladesh. The menu was: 

Roast duck, roast potatoes, peas, carrots, savoury stuffing. Sauce: Worcestershire, Heinz

Dessert: Christmas pudding, cream, preserves. Cheese. Mince pies. Rolls.

 

 

Notes:

1. The lyrics are as follows:

Don't 'ang my 'arry, don't 'ang him please,
'E's nothin' but a poor boy, on 'is knees.
'E didn't mean no 'arm, you see,
'E was just tryin' to 'elp, like me. 

The baker's boy, 'e asked 'im 'elp,
To carry a loaf, that was quite a shelf.
'E tripped and fell, the loaf it flew,
And 'it the baker, right in 'is shoe.

The baker, 'e was mad, you see,
And said 'e'd 'ang my 'arry, for all to see.
But 'e didn't mean to cause no pain,
'E was just a clumsy lad, in the rain.

So please don't 'ang my 'arry, I pray,
Let 'im go free, and 'ave 'is day.
'E's all I 'ave, my only love,
Sent from the heavens, from up above.

So please don't 'ang 'im, let 'im go,
'E's a good lad at 'eart, you know.
'E's not a criminal, not a thug,
Just a young man, with a clumsy lug.

So please don't 'ang 'im, let 'im go,
'E's a good lad at 'eart, you know.
'E's not a criminal, not a thug,
Just a young man, with a clumsy lug.

2. Ron’s ship home arrived in Liverpool on 18 June 1946. On 22 June 1946 he met Betty Charrosin at the National Gallery. On 20 October 1953 Betty gave birth to a daughter, Janet, now Janet Jacobs. 

3. Ron did not achieve his ambition to become a writer, although he had bought a portable typewriter in the market in Rangoon, perhaps with a future in mind. He had also neem designing Christmas cards, while in Burma, for a publisher in London. When he returned to London, he worked briefly for his father at the printer Emery Walker. He became a successful graphic designer.

Ron's Rangoon typewriter.