Japan’s surrender following the detonation of atomic bombs over the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki ended the Second World War. More than 200,000 New Zealanders had served during six long years of war, and more than 11,500 had died.
News of the Japanese surrender arrived in New Zealand at 11 a.m. on 15 August. As with VE Day in May, VJ Day events were regulated by officialdom. Once again the preparations had been considerable, and the celebrations generally ran smoothly.
Sirens sounded immediately, a national ceremony was held, and local celebrations followed. Once more there were parades, bands playing, thanksgiving services, bonfires, dances and community sports meetings, and again there was a two-day public holiday.
In Auckland, where fewer events were organised, people began to enjoy themselves the moment the factory whistle sounded, drinking, dancing and scattering confetti. Then rowdy elements began throwing bottles, windows were smashed and people were hurt. By evening, 51 had been taken to hospital and an estimated 15 tons of glass littered the streets.
We dug out my wife's uncles medals. He was wounded (bayonetted through the thigh) and taken prisoner in March 1945. So luckily only suffered the prison camp for a few months. He never really recovered a man with many problems subsequently. He quickly emigrated to Australia in 1946 but he returned when his youngest brother was killed in 1955.
I remember him always standing at his spot in the pub he drank in.
While he survived into the 1980s he was a casualty of the war. He was never a settled happy man.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them.
My grandfather was an Army sergeant in the European theatre. He rarely talked about his experiences over there, although he did tell me some stories on his deathbed. It was like he was reliving moments with me in the room. He would end each story with “you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.” The last time I saw him, I told him goodbye and that I had to get on the road to Chicago to go to work the next day. His response: “you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do”. That was 22 years ago, and every single time I face something I dread or don’t want to face, I hear his voice “you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do”. He had no idea (or maybe he did) of the tremendous gift he gave me that day, because it’s always his voice I hear when I have to plow through something difficult or seemingly insurmountable.
My uncle started WW2 in North Africa, and finished it in Borneo. After seeing how the Japanese troops behaved, what they had done, he refused to buy anything Japanese for the rest of his life.
@walabby like my wife's uncle. He was once arrested for criminal damage after he started smashing his neighbour's Honda. As I said in my comment he was troubled soul the rest of his life.
