While Britain danced in the streets and Europe breathed a collective sigh of relief, Australians, New Zealanders, and Americans knew the fight was far from over. VE Day, 8 May 1945, was not the end - it was the beginning of a countdown to a different kind of victory, thousands of miles away in the jungles and islands of the Pacific. This is the story of two victories, two moments of hope - and the long shadow between them.
On the 8th of May 1945, Church bells rang, flags flew, and people danced in the streets. Nazi Germany had surrendered. Across Britain and Europe, a long, brutal chapter was closing. For millions, Victory in Europe Day - VE Day - meant the beginning of peace, the return of sons and daughters, and the hope of rebuilding a continent left in ruins.
But for the nations of the South Pacific, the war was not over. Australia, New Zealand, and the United States received the news with joy.... yes..... but also with clenched jaws and a sense of unfinished business. For us, the enemy that had bombed Darwin, attacked Pearl Harbour, and pushed deep into Southeast Asia was still fighting.
The war against Japan would rage on for three more bloody months. VE Day was a welcome, but wary victory.
World War II had dragged nations through unimaginable horror. From the blitzed-out ruins of London to the death camps of Europe, from the frozen wastes of the Eastern Front to the battle-worn beaches of Normandy, suffering was a shared language.
By early 1945, the Nazi war machine was crumbling. Allied forces pressed from the west, while the Soviet army closed in from the east. On April 30, Hitler died by suicide in his Berlin bunker. His successor, Admiral Karl Dönitz, recognised the inevitability of defeat and authorised Germany’s surrender.
On May 7, Germany signed the surrender document in Reims, France, to take effect the next day. May 8 was declared VE Day.
The reaction was instant and explosive. In London, more than a million people flooded the streets. They sang, they danced, they cried. A young Princess Elizabeth (the future Queen) slipped into the crowd to celebrate anonymously with her sister Margaret. Prime Minister Winston Churchill addressed the nation, cautioning that while Europe was at peace, the war in the Pacific raged on.
In Paris, church bells rang. In New York City, Times Square pulsed with cheers. In Australia, the end of the European war was greeted with a mix of elation and continued commitment - many soldiers were still fighting Japan.
Yet for all the rejoicing, VE Day was not a simple victory lap. The world was scarred. Entire cities lay in rubble. Millions had perished. Holocaust survivors staggered out of camps, skeletal and stunned. Families who had waited years for news of loved ones learned, at last, they would never return.
Victory, yes, but purchased at an awful cost.
In Australia, Prime Minister John Curtin declared a national holiday on 9 May, marking VE Day. There were cheers, parades, and prayer services. But Curtin's speech that day held a note of steel:
“Let us rejoice — but let us also remember that this is not the end. Australia is still at war.”
For Australians, VE Day was a moment of partial relief. We had fought in the Middle East and Europe, but we had also borne the brunt of the Pacific theatre. Darwin had been bombed, Japanese submarines had prowled Sydney Harbour, and thousands of diggers were still locked in jungle warfare in Borneo and New Guinea.
In New Zealand, where nearly 12,000 men had died by that point in the war, the nation gathered in a mood of solemn thankfulness. Church bells pealed and thanksgiving services filled every church, but Prime Minister Peter Fraser’s speech struck a restrained tone:
“This is not the time for wild rejoicing. The war is not yet won.”
Even in the United States, where New York erupted into cheers and Times Square overflowed with celebration, President Truman reminded Americans:
“This is a solemn but glorious hour. We may allow ourselves a brief period of rejoicing, but let us not forget the toil and the sacrifices still ahead.”
VJ Day was the The Real End
15 August 1945: Japan surrendered.
After the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the Soviet Union’s declaration of war on Japan, the Imperial government laid down its arms. The world war was finally over.
In Australia, cities exploded in joy. People wept openly, hugged strangers, and waved flags in Martin Place and Swanston Street. This was the day that truly mattered — the day their war ended. Prime Minister Ben Chifley spoke directly to the Australian people:
“Let us remember those whose lives were given, so that we might share this glorious moment.”
In New Zealand, VJ Day was marked with church services, quiet parades, and the deep gratitude of a small country that had given much. Relief was tempered by memory ..... of lost brothers, empty chairs, and scarred returnees.
In the United States, VJ Day became legendary. On 14 August, crowds jammed Times Square.
Eisenstaedt’s iconic photo of a sailor kissing a nurse would become the symbol of the war’s end. President Truman, addressing the nation, struck a simple, final note:
“This is the day we’ve been waiting for since Pearl Harbor.”
For Britain and Europe, VE Day marked the start of healing .... of clearing rubble, rebuilding parliaments, and reuniting families.
But for Australians and New Zealanders, VE Day was a moment to draw breath before plunging back into the jungle. Our war .... closer to home, more personal ..... had no truce yet.
VJ Day, then, was our true day of victory. It marked not only the defeat of Japan, but the end of fear. The war was over. The boys would come home - or not - but the waiting was done.
From May to August 1945, the world crossed the final threshold of its darkest war. In the South Pacific, the months between VE and VJ Day were filled with grit, loss, and determination.
Today, both days are remembered - ( or not.... ? ) not just for victory, but for the price paid.
As the decades rolled on, the world rebuilt; cities rose from ashes, economies flourished, and former enemies became trading partners. The free world, forged in fire, seemed to stand for something: democracy, rule of law, individual liberty, and the dignity of nations.
But today, as we look back from a vantage point that would have seemed impossible in 1945, we must ask: have we honoured what was won?
Modern Europe faces internal divisions, rising extremism, and a bureaucracy often removed from the people it claims to serve. Britain, bruised by social fractures and cultural amnesia, seems unsure of what it stands for. Australia and New Zealand, once hardy outposts of shared values, now wrestle with forgetfulness - of their founding stories, of the price of peace.
The unity forged in war has frayed in peace.
Those who fought did so believing in a future better than the past. They endured horror so their children might live without it. Yet we now see freedoms eroded, truths redefined, and heritage recast as shame rather than strength.
Victory once meant more than just survival: it meant principle. Today, some seem unwilling even to define what those principles were.
Have we become so comfortable that we forget the cost? So distracted by self-expression that we’ve lost sight of shared purpose? So ashamed of our imperfections that we abandon our foundations?
Perhaps the true measure of victory is not in statues or public holidays, but in what we protect: truth, honour, memory.
The men and women of the past did not fight for comfort. They fought for meaning.
Will we remember well enough to deserve what they gave?
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