Jubilation by Regulation

V-E Day In Sydney

By Judy Tudor

Sydney, May 8, 1945.

IT is V-E Day in Sydney and this is written for the benefit of those resi dents of the far-flung islands of the Pacific whose isolation precludes them from rejoicing in the mass. Indications are, at the present moment, that they have not missed much by being far-flung.

For the past month we have been on the qui vive for happenings. For the last week we have been radio-ridden and kept in a simmer of expectation by three inch headlines announcing that “Peace is Imminent” or “Only a Matter of Hours.”

Canberra, and the fussy old men who run it, have been busy issuing regulations of one kind and another and fixing the time, the method and the degree of rejoicing. There was to be no monkey business; no drink; no theatres. We were not to begin to feel gay until the Acting Prime Minister had told us so to be.

Finally, most Australians got fed up with the whole boiling match, said, in effect, to hell with V-E Day, and in that mood last evening went to bed and slept through the momentous news.

Even now, no official announcement has been made; that will not happen until 11 o’clock to-night, by which time people will either have celebrated on their own account, or have gone once more to their beds.

MOST heard the news by chance., From the radio this morning, about seven, came canned chimes, and the voice of an unnamed clergyman saying: “After people have had time to grasp this won derful news, we feel they will like to join us in thanksgiving.” There followed a hymn; but no mad, yelling excitement; no eroding into the street to dance and sing spontaneously. Heaven knows why, unless wartime regimentation and regu lation has so got us that we cannot rejoice, even, in this end to the slaughter and destruction in the Europe for which we originally went to war.

Work as usual is the order of the day until such time as Churchill, Truman, Stalin, and (in our case) Acting Prime Minister Chifley, have spoken their little bits. to work we have come. Same old bus —same old scramble —same old “move along the centre, please,”

But it is a sustaining thought that the powers-that-be, who gave themselves such headaches regulating this outburst of joy which is scheduled to overtake us at 1300 hours GMT, and no sooner or later, did not bargain for Germany’s announcing her own surrender and scooping the world at 12.40 a.m. on Tuesday, May 8 (Australian time).

The Government, and its controlled radio-stations are saying: “Listen in at 11 o’clock to-night and you may hear a most .important announcement. Until then, not a word ” But, spread before me is this morning’s “Sydney Morning Her ald,” whose page-wide headings shout: “Germans Proclaim Surrender—Totally Crushed—Fighting Ceases After Nearly Six Years.” To-day should have been the day spontaneous joy.

In the meantime we work. Sure, there are signs that there is something out-of the-ordinary afoot. The accountant in this office reported early that a house in Elizabeth Bay was flag-draped. The office-girl says that in her suburb two large green flags are being flown by a Boy Scout. Someone from farther down the city rang to say flags were flying

there, “But,” she added, ‘‘they have been flying since Roosevelt died—they have raised them to the mast-head, that’s all.

The lad in the composing room, whose musical masterpiece is “Onward Christian Soldiers” has this morning whistled “God Save the King,” “The Star Spangled Banner” and the “Marseillaise” in that order. I guess he doesn’t know the “International.” ...

AT noon I went into the city to see what was a-cookin in the old town.

Nothing cooked, not a darned thing.

Most of the large business houses flew flags and had blossomed forth m apirio pnate window displays; but many city buildings were bereft of bunting of any soit.

I hied me to Martin Place. If any excitement were brewing it should certamly brew there: the Cenotaph is in Martin Place and that wide thoroughfare has been used only recently for the daily sideshows in aid of the Third Victory Loan. Not three weeks ago, Mo, of Tivoli fame, rode an elephant there with a view to coaxing the price of a war-bond or two from the pockets of idle taxpayers.

But to-day there was no Mo, no elephant, and a total lack of excitement. It might have been May 8. 1938-or 1942_0r 1944.

Certainly not May 8, 1945.

Seeing a knot of seething females on the other side of the street, I made a beeline, scenting news: City typists were queueing-up to buy sixpenny worth of sweets from a small kiosk.

Only one sight in the whole of that morning meander lifted the heart to Victory-day tempo, or tickled the sense of humour. There is a small shop in Castlereagh Street, which I have always believed to have been designed, owned and operated by the gentlemen who draw pictures for “Esquire” and “Man.” It

sells panties, scanties and brassieres—the most seductive variety that ever came out of a coloured advertisement.

Normally, they, are fashioned from black lace or flesh-pink satin; but to-day both black lace and pink satin were missing. In their place were the same voluptuously shaped flimsies, but this time they were tri-coloured—made from pieces of red, white and blue silk. * * * a ND so to V-E night. The kids of wdolloomooloo started it with a bonfire* and SO 0f)0 of Svd-

and TeatSy feeSifg toat

regulations had had their innings, finit hptwppn q nm nnH tbp email Twenty or thfrtT thousand is ftfll a small nronortion of Svdnev’s IT million and Qf these the ereat maioritv were frankly-bored onlookers. But it proves, if no tbing- plsp that a fpw thousands havp t hl’ bludgeoning of bmeaucracv lufficilntlv to SkfhoLs off to Utterbue h/the streets and engage in nubduels P It wag 8 th N avv ’ s night Australian nnd iiq Fvpfv hiupiark-pt had Australian and Üb. Every bluejacket nad ' fapt thnt o-pnprallv is -tin I]n north towards Tanan nrohahlv ,~on

intLclimax 2nthil to of victorv?in-

lurooe It is hard to reioice wholeit is nam to rejoice wnoie "eartedly when ones son husband or if he is a nrisoner in the hands of the Jans Hard ISo to grasn all one dav P that victory ’ over® our w and ar ch-LZ thf fi has been ?S’p£S? arcn enemy ’ tne Hun > nas been TJUT the lack of mad excitement goes Jj deeper than that—it is a part of our present-day attitude to all things, an aftermath of six years of being

pushed around. World War II has reached out and affected intimately the lives of the remotest people; it has put its mark on all of us.

They went to World War I with bands playing; they entered peace on a tidal wave of sentimental promises (that were never fulfilled) and they fell directly into the Twirpy Twenties, which laid the foundations of World War 11.

We entered World War II reluctantly, hating war, and fearing it. We approach p*® . Second Peace with wariness and trepidation.