1918-11-07 Spectator War End News Part 1

 “Hamilton learned through the Spectator that the war was over.

At twenty-five minutes past the noon hour, there appeared in the Spectator window a bulletin paper bearing the hasty scrawl :

‘The war is over – Hostilities cease at 2 o’clock today – Official’ ”

Hamilton Spectator. November 7, 1918.

The first floor windows facing the James street south side of the Hamilton Spectator were always the focus of interest  for people as they passed by. Bulletins received by telegraph, if considered to be of immediate interest would be pasted in that location.

During the lunch hour of November 7, 1918, a different kind of bulletin was pasted in the Spectator window, and the news being bulletined was extremely welcome:

“The greatest and most glorious news that Hamilton ever heard hit the city like a thunderbolt. The usual knot of bulletin readers perusing the morning war dispatches rubbed their eyes. They believed not for joy.

“Then a young girl gasped : ‘O-o-o-h! The war’s over!’ Somebody started to cheer, but the majority took flight to the nearest telephone to spread the joyful news.

“The glad intelligence spread like wildfire. Five minutes after the bulletin appeared in the window it was in everybody’s mouth in the streets. So the great war was over; the allies had won; the Hun vanquished at last. Glory Hallelujah!

“But it was not till about 1 o’clock that news had thoroughly filled the city. Then Hamilton abandoned itself in a delirium of joy. The celebration was of necessity of a spasmodic character. Sirens screamed, bells clanged, klaxons tooted, cheers resounded through the city streets.

“The telephone system was unprepared for the shock, and was disorganized automatically. Thousands and thousands of calls were put into central and central collapsed. By 1:15, there was not a chance of getting a number.

“Organization is being completed for a grand thanksgiving celebration to be held later.”¹

¹ “Spec Broke ‘News’ ”

Hamilton Spectator.    November 11, 1918.

The Spectator immediately assigned staff to cover the celebrations touched off by the news that the war was over.

The next day’s Spectator contained the following description of what happened:

“Did Hamilton celebrate that report?

“Yes, verily, she did – with a roar and a whoop that surely must have soared right past our own boys in France and Flanders and rattled the windows at Potsdam. The old town just turned itself inside out in frantic, spontaneous joy. The lid was torn right off’n the city. No official holiday proclamation was necessary. Everybody, big and little, young and old, just hiked for uptown districts and added their full share to the raw and raucous bedlam of noise that shook the city from end to end.

“Hamilton never had another celebration like it – and won’t equal it again until the boys who are making victory possible come marching home.”²

² “Bedlam of Noise Shook Old Town From End to End : Peace Report Frantically Received By People : Was Wildest Time Hamilton Ever Experienced : Uptown Streets Choked With Cheering Throngs.”

Hamilton Spectator.  November 8, 1918.

It did not take long after the bulletin had been pasted in the window for things to get very raucous in the downtown core:

“It was just ten minutes after the report that had been signed had been bulletined in the Spectator window that the first parade was in action. Headed by a hatless man, who toted one of the biggest Union Jacks in town, the clerks of one of the uptown stores formed in line. Holding up the folds of the big Union Jack was an old women, who with tears of gladness streaming down her cheeks, fervently pressed the flag to her lips and kissed it time and time again..

“ ‘I bet she has a dear boy overseas,’ remarked a bystander.”²

Indeed, the reaction of the old woman would not be the only tearful one :

“There were hundreds like her, whose emotion had its outlet in tears. Not all of them had boys coming back, either. Many there were who, though thanking God that the titanic struggle of right against might was reported over, thought also of their own dear sweet men – sons, brothers, husbands, sweethearts – who sleep in Flanders fields where poppies blow – those heroes who so freely gave their todays that we might have our tomorrows. In hundreds of home yesterday afternoon and forbade an active part in the uptown celebration. The scars from the searing hand of the war god, Mars, were appallingly numerous.” ²

Those involved in the downtown scenes of jubilation put aside any feelings of sadness over those lost in the war for the moment. The news that the guns of war were silenced was all that they wanted to consider, and they wanted to parade:

“That first little parade took on numbers with every step. The postmen, armed with flags, fell in line. Every automobile was decked with flags and streamers and freighted down with noisy, frenzied humans, horns, tin pans, kettle covers that were pressed into service as cymbals. Tubs that were utilized as drums and – well, if you weren’t in it, you were strictly out of it.

“Where all the flags and noise-making instruments came from on such short notice will always be a mystery. One didn’t think there were so many flags in the world as were on display an hour after the celebration started. First of the local bands to put in an appearance was the crack musical organization of the 91^st Highlanders, which, at 3 o’clock, rendered patriotic airs at the Gore, while thousands, quivering and shaking with excitement, cheered and sang themselves into hoarseness.”²

(To Be Continued)