RECEPTION OF NEWS

Otago Daily Times, Issue 25924, 16 August 1945, Page 6

RECEPTION OF NEWS

FROM GRAVE TO GAY DUNEDIN’S UNHESITATING REACTION Even when the radio announcement was made shortly after 10 o’clock that the final news of defeat and peace could be expected at 11 a.m. Dunedin cocked a characteristically sceptical eye and went on working. But when Mr Attlee declared, that “our last enemy has been laid low ” the final vestige of reserve disappeared. The Prime Minister, Mr P. Fraser, was timed to broadcast to the country at 11.20 a.m., but even before his speech had begun the air raid sirens, grim -and piercing appurtenances of possible dire occasions, had startled the community into action. The Mayor of Dunedin (Mr D. C, Cameron) discovered in his chambers, said there was nothing official in the morning’s celebrations, and pointing through his window which overlooked the Octagon he remarked, “Do they need it? Just look at them. But what a blessing it’s a fine day.” Air of Gay Abandon

Long before mid-day the celebration began. It was a personal, spontaneous affair and consequently a genuine and heartfelt appreciation of the fact that the shadow of war and death and ugliness had at last been removed. In yesterday’s rejoicing there was a factor completely absent from the reaction to the cessation of hostilities in Europe. New Zealand had a division still waiting for its assignment. Even at two-brigade strength its future operations against a deadly foe comprised a keen and poignant problem-for a host of people. But probably more urgent and personal was the sense of relief and comfort that was felt by many whose friends or relatives have been for years prisoners of war or internees in Japanese occupied territory. fTuch considerations, while perhaps not uppermost with the majority, were strongly apparent in expressions of opinion that could be heard in the places where men (and women) celebrated. Three months before officialdom had complicated the business of rejoicing. This time the man in the street knew what he was about. He needed no cue. He was his own cheer leader, his own master of ceremonies. And the extent and the fashion in which he enjoyed himself was demonstrated throughout the afternoon by the gay but orderly abandon of his celebration. Before mid-day, and less than half an hour after the long-awaited broadcast, the banners and insignia of business firms and factories appeared as a clarion call to employees and a host of small processions began. Pupils of the Otago Boys’ High School, having exchanged headgear with the more sedate scholars of the Otago Girls’ High School, paraded down Princes street in vociferously vocal style.

But the observance was universal. Every public utility and service went into abeyance, as well it might. It was a hardened optimist who would seek a taxi, an almost criminally selfish individual who would demand a meal, but a generally satisfied patron who entered his favourite hotel. It was everybody’s day, and at the moment that shops closed their doors most people accepted the fact that the city was on holiday. But there were those who kept their places as the servants of the public, and recognition is due to them. . Unseen Service Actually nobody broke faith. There was a warning about most things. But certain services went on. The telephone exchange, even though it was jammed often with the weight of traffic, carried on. Somewhere behind the scenes men and women worked to keep the supply of electricity and gas uninterrupted so that thousands of people who might otherwise have crowded restaurants could satisfy their wants. In celebrations of the kind, while shredded paper, is falling from the highest buildings and the common man is enjoying himself wherever he can find his enjoyment it is easy to overlook the service that is being provided behind the scenes. Throughout the afternoon rejoicing and jollification continued, and after dark the urge remained strong and unimpaired. Places of amusement were thronged and streets retained a carnival appearance. About 8 o'clock more than a thousand people gathered in Dowling street outside the Catholic Youth Centre, attracted by the' sound of music, and for hours they danced to the elaborate strains of waltzes broadcast by a loud-speaker system. It was a form of diversion, common enough in other parts of the world, and not unknown in such parts of New Zealand as Napier and Hamilton, but seldom exploited in Dunedin. Modern and old-time dancing was catered for, and at midnight there were still those who wished to carry on.