The Day that War Ended

It was a typical August school-day as I rode my new bike down Vincent Street, Cessnock on my way to school. The bike still hadn’t a single scratch on it as I’d been given it less than a month before for my ninth birthday. I still remember it as a black "Standard" bike with fine gold lines on the bars. Of course, you have to remember that this was well before the days of sprung suspension on the front forks and gears hadn’t been thought of for push bikes.

There really seemed to be something special about the day, but as a nine year old I couldn’t figure out what was so different.

Yes, it was a fine bracing day (as you’d expect in mid-August) and there seemed to be a few more people along the footpaths in the shopping street. The adults seemed to be gathered in small groups chatting away quite animatedly instead of strolling along on their ways to work. The few cars on the road gave cheerful toots as they passed each other and some even managed to play some sort of tune on their tinny old horns. Of course, these were the days when there really weren’t many cars on the roads because of petrol rationing and not many families owned cars in Cessnock. We seemed to survive quite well by walking or riding our bikes and having the occasional bus ride when we went from town to town.

A couple of trucks passed by with their gas producers burning on the front and their inflated gas bags tethered to the tops of their covered vehicles. But this was all so familiar that I didn’t think about how unusual this was till years later.

Something really was different! And then it dawned on me. The pit whistles were blowing from all the mining collieries around the town. Some I recognised because of their familiar daily whistles at the end of shift, but there were many I hadn’t heard before - and they kept on hooting and whistling. Then the passenger train at the station at the end of Cessnock’s main street began whistling too, to be immediately joined by a coal train waiting at the siding near the station.

This was MOST unusual.

As I turned the corner into Aberdare Road, with only a mile to go till I reached school, a chap standing on the corner at Lights Furniture Store called out to me ‘"You don’t have to go to school today, son. It’s a special holiday!"

Yes ? – Well I wasn’t going to be tricked into missing a day’s school. I’d heard about boys "wagging it" and they always ended up in trouble and I wasn’t going to get into trouble, so I rode on. Our fourth grade teacher, Leo Maher was known to occasionally wield the waddy and so far I’d escaped his attention. For wagging school though, you were sent to the Headmaster, "Bushy" Harris, and he was a fearsome man with an imposing build and flourishing, bushy eyebrows overshadowing his spectacles. To be caned by "Bushy" filled all of us with fear, especially when we saw the red welts across the hands of those miscreants who had earned his displeasure.

As usual, I propped my bike against the inside fence of a friend’s home and walked across to the school, expecting to see my mates - but the playground was strangely empty so I walked up the stairs towards the classroom.

Then it happened! There was "Bushy" towering over me on the top step. I was terrified even though I’d done nothing wrong. His reputation was enough!

He looked down at me and said, "What are you doing here young fellow? There’s no school today. The War is over and today’s a special holiday, so off you go home."

I escaped before he changed his mind or found something for me to do.

The War hadn’t really had much effect on me. Mum made sure that I had her share of the butter ration and Grandad kept chooks and had a huge vegetable garden, so I hardly felt any sort of rationing, although I do remember that Dad always had the only two Iced Vo Vos that came in the bag of mixed biscuits that Mum brought home from the Co-op Store and I had to line up each week at the Store to collect his tobacco ration.

So the 15 SoAugust, 1945 was a special day for me. It was the only day that I missed school unless I was sick. I wasn’t game to wag it and when I finally took a few days off school many years later it was called "Long Service Leave", so perhaps that doesn’t count.

THE DAY THAT PEACE WAS DECLARED.

There really seemed to be something special about the day, but as a nine year old I couldn’t figure out what was so different.

Yes, it was a fine bracing day (as you’d expect in mid-August) and there seemed to be a few more people along the footpaths in the shopping street. The adults seemed to be gathered in small groups chatting away quite animatedly instead of strolling along on their ways to work. The few cars on the road gave cheerful toots as they passed each other and some even managed to play some sort of tune on their tinny old horns. Of course, these were the days when there really weren’t many cars on the roads because of petrol rationing and not many families owned cars in Cessnock. We seemed to survive quite well by walking or riding our bikes and having the occasional bus ride when we went from town to town.

A couple of trucks passed by with their gas producers burning on the front and their inflated gas bags tethered to the tops of their covered vehicles. But this was all so familiar that I didn’t think about how unusual this was till years later.

Something really was different! And then it dawned on me. The pit whistles were blowing from all the mining collieries around the town. Some I recognised because of their familiar daily whistles at the end of shift, but there were many I hadn’t heard before - and they kept on hooting and whistling. Then the passenger train at the station at the end of Cessnock’s main street began whistling too, to be immediately joined by a coal train waiting at the siding near the station.

This was MOST unusual.

As I turned the corner into Aberdare Road, with only a mile to go till I reached school, a chap standing on the corner at Lights Furniture Store called out to me ‘"You don’t have to go to school today, son. It’s a special holiday!"

Yes ? – Well I wasn’t going to be tricked into missing a day’s school. I’d heard about boys "wagging it" and they always ended up in trouble and I wasn’t going to get into trouble, so I rode on. Our fourth grade teacher, Leo Maher was known to occasionally wield the waddy and so far I’d escaped his attention. For wagging school though, you were sent to the Headmaster, "Bushy" Harris, and he was a fearsome man with an imposing build and flourishing, bushy eyebrows overshadowing his spectacles. To be caned by "Bushy" filled all of us with fear, especially when we saw the red welts across the hands of those miscreants who had earned his displeasure.

As usual, I propped my bike against the inside fence of a friend’s home and walked across to the school, expecting to see my mates - but the playground was strangely empty so I walked up the stairs towards the classroom.

Then it happened! There was "Bushy" towering over me on the top step. I was terrified even though I’d done nothing wrong. His reputation was enough!

He looked down at me and said, "What are you doing here young fellow? There’s no school today. The War is over and today’s a special holiday, so off you go home."

I escaped before he changed his mind or found something for me to do.

The War hadn’t really had much effect on me. Mum made sure that I had her share of the butter ration and Grandad kept chooks and had a huge vegetable garden, so I hardly felt any sort of rationing, although I do remember that Dad always had the only two Iced Vo Vos that came in the bag of mixed biscuits that Mum brought home from the Co-op Store and I had to line up each week at the Store to collect his tobacco ration.

So the 15 th August, 1945 was a special day for me. It was the only day that I missed school unless I was sick. I wasn’t game to wag it and when I finally took a few days off school many years later it was called "Long Service Leave", so perhaps that doesn’t count.

THE DAY THAT PEACE WAS DECLARED.