When the War Is Over September 1945
There were great celebrations when it was announced that Germany had surrendered in the May, and the streets of Richmond, which were never short of men weaving their way between pub and bookie at any time of the day, were even more full of drunks wandering the streets, this time their faces full of sublime smiles, instead of the usual addled disappointment and despair. The Japs, however, were still being very stubborn in The Philippines where Fred’s ship HMAS Shropshire was stationed, so Shirley found it very hard to relax while everyone waited for that situation to improve. Fred’s letters were warm but circumspect, so it was hard to tell what was going on where he was. The announcements in early August of the bombings of Nagasaki and Hiroshima caused a flurry of excitement at the front fences of Griffith Street once again, and the eventual surrender of the Japanese three weeks later in September was celebrated with great elation at the Milton’s house in Clark Street.
Some of the festivities were ruined a few days later when news arrived for one of Shirley’s Griffith Street neighbours. Betty Journeau, a single mother, had lived with her only son at Mrs Weston’s house three doors down for as long as Shirley could remember. Freddie was a friendly boy, a few years older than Shirley, but always up for a yarn when he ran into any of the Reddings. His mother idolised him, being just the two of them for so long after the disappearance of their father, who travelled up north one year for work and never returned. He had a lovely girlfriend, Lyla, who Shirley knew through the Children of Mary and the local dances.
Betty was a lonely figure when her son left for war in late 1944, and she wrote to him religiously every week, filling in the neighbours on all his latest news when she heard from him. Bringing some tea cake and Freddy’s most recent letters with her, she would often visit May – and the girls if they were home, for a cup of tea and a yarn on a Sunday afternoon. Bravely positive and intensely proud, Betty nonetheless fretted about her son and missed him prodigiously. Freddy and Shirley promised to write to each other when he left, and Shirley made sure to send him a letter to show that he was in all their thoughts, with a letter arriving back from him in good time, a few months after he left for New Guinea.
Not feeling much of a writer herself, Shirley had been tested with her letter composition skills, whilst corresponding so regularly with her Fred. Her joy about the time moving closer that Fred would return home safely was tempered the day the war before peace was declared in The Pacific, when upon returning home from work, her mother told her that she had heard from the neighbours that Betty had received a telegram that morning informing her that Freddie was killed on August 8th, ironically in between the two bombs that fell on Japan on the 6th and 9th of August, three weeks earlier.
It was hard to have much of a conversation with Betty a long time after that, and she wasn’t often seen out, even though the neighbours all made efforts to invite her in for a cup of tea as often as they could. Betty would occasionally appear, jaw set against the wind, head following her feet, on her way to the shops in Bridge Road. Shirley’s heart would sink at the sight. Eventually she returned to the occasional Sunday afternoon kitchen table chat, but it was a much quieter affair.
Shirley kept in touch with Betty until well after she moved away and started her own family. She would visit with the little girls and spend the afternoon talking about old times. The letter Freddy Journo wrote to her she kept safe until she died, crumpled, yellowed and ancient along with the other precious memorabilia she boxed up in her time capsule – place cards from her sister’s wedding, invitations to her own, telegrams from her dear friend Lorna for her 21st , baby cards, and bric-a-brac from a lifespan of tender moments, each carrying the patina of the joy, history and loss that make up the registry of life and death of each of our life’s journeys.
All things must pass – except the memories.
I hope that you enjoy reading the transcribed letter below. In a poignant coinidence, upon checking his records with the Australian War Memorial, I found out that Freddy’s name will be projected on to the exterior of Hall of Memory this Thursday evening 30th June at 6.06 pm. I wish as I often do, that Mum was still alive so I could tell her about it.
26th July 1945
Dear Shirley,
Your very welcome letter to hand and very pleased to hear from you, actually never expected to hear from you as you are really quite busy.
Sorry to hear that about your mother being off colour. Sincerely hope that by the time that you receive this she will be right.
The only reason that I am writing to you so promptly is we move up tomorrow to get into some more trouble, I guess that it will only last about three months, sincerely hope that it won’t be longer.
Your boyfriend certainly has been pretty quick with the mail, got to write to Lyla five or six times a week, but she writes that too, guess that I am too good to her, but she deserves it.
Lorna and husband certainly are doing their bit for the country, I guess that we will all have to start populating the country very shortly.
‘Holiday by the beach’ is a crackerjack show, I would love to see it and I agree that plays are the best.
Lately we have done nothing else but sleep and eat for about the last week or so- but agree that it does you good.
You would certainly enjoy yourself on the beaches up here, the surf is great, at times I guess that it is a pity that you are not here, but I guess that you would boost the morale too much if you paraded around the beach in your speedos.
Do you still do plenty of swimming or has the weather stopped you, actually it shouldn’t seeing that the baths are heated.
Well Shirley, actually will have to close, next letter, I will endeavour to tell you what we are doing.
Give my love to the family and Eileen and Lorna and yourself.
Love and Kisses
Fred
Freddy’s original letter below
Memoirs and Memories 