When peace was finally declared on 11 November 1918, ending the four years of bloodshed and mayhem that was the First World War, the initial reaction in Wales was one of relief. It was over, people seemed to say, now things can return to normal.
As normal as they could be. Over 30,000 Welshmen had died in the conflict and thousands more were grievously wounded and maimed. For their families and friends – and for the wounded themselves - nothing would ever be normal again.
When the poet Hedd Wyn, killed at the Battle of Paschendaele, had won his posthumous chair at the Eisteddfod in September 1917, the bardic chair had been covered in a black cloth. That single empty chair symbolised all the other empty chairs across Wales. So it was no wonder that the initial reaction was one of subdued relief rather than outright rejoicing.
It did not last long. There was a moment of quiet reflection and then the celebrations began in earnest. In Cardiff the advent of peace was first declared at exactly 11 o'clock by the sounding of the siren on the Western Mail building.
On and on it went, and if people hadn't realised what it meant they soon learned as the hooters and fog horns of all the ships in the docks quickly joined in.
Crowds of people suddenly appeared in the city streets, singing and dancing and screaming that the war was over.
Two American officers, who just happened to be walking down St Mary Street, were grabbed by shop girls who had left their posts and run out into the roadway. The girls then proceeded to wrap up the men in a gigantic Union Flag. The Americans, as happy as the rest of the crowd, took it all in good heart.
The cheering crowds made their way to City Hall where, from the front of the building, the Lord Mayor read a proclamation sent by prime minister Lloyd George. It formally announced the coming of peace.
There could be no hope of normality returning for the rest of the day. Shops and offices were closed and the children were given the remainder of the day off. People spent the time wandering the streets, singing songs and cheering. But in the evening there was barely a church in the city that did not hold a thanksgiving service.
For people in more rural areas the celebrations were rather more restrained. As one man from St Athan in the Vale of Glamorgan, a young boy of seven or eight at the time, declared:
"I remember a big bonfire and lots of torches in the darkness. More than anything I remember the flags. They must have been flying out of everyone's window."
Flags seemed to be an important part of everyone's celebrations. And if they were sometimes a little wide of the mark, nobody really minded. Augusta Clubb was in bed, ill, on the day peace came but even so she was determined to enjoy the moment. She saw a lorry full of airmen coming down the road past her house:
"I grabbed a flag. We always had lots of them in the house, my mother was the commander of the local VADs [voluntary aid detachments] in town so we always had them, just in case they were needed. I ran to the window and opened it, then stuck my head out and started to wave the flag.
"The men in the lorry all waved back, cheering and laughing. And then I realised I'd been waving the Russian flag. I told my mother but she just laughed. 'I don't suppose they minded,' she said."
In the town and port of Barry – the largest coal exporting port in the world – celebrations were also loud. All of the ships in the docks sounded their sirens, being joined by the workshop hooters and whistles along the jetties. Everyone poured out from their places of work and the docks, shops and schools were all promptly closed.
All week the celebrations continued at Barry. They culminated in a torchlight parade on Friday 15 November. Soldiers, sailors, VAD workers, boy scouts all took part, many people being clad in fancy dress.
The parade ended up in King's Square where a huge effigy of the German Kaiser was publicly burned. As the Penarth News observed: "The dummy was set on fire and reduced to ashes amid a scene of great enthusiasm, the only regret being that the Arch Demoniac himself was not present to submit to the fiery ordeal."
Similar demonstrations and celebrations took place all over Wales. But then, once the hysteria had died down, further reflection set in. It was time to raise the money and build memorials to the fallen.
Very few towns and villages did not build a war memorial over the next few years. £30,000 was raised to create the Welsh National War Memorial in Cardiff; other, smaller communities produced more modest monuments.
But one thing was sure, big or large, modest or opulent, nobody was going to forget the dead of the First World War.
