by Trudy Graham

Created on: March 04, 2008

Although I can't possibly remember the day I was born, I have been told the story of it so often than I almost feel as if I do.

It was 15th August 1945 and Sydney, along with the rest of Australia, was celebrating the end of the Second World War. It was midday on the day that would become known in Australia as VJ day, victory over Japan. It was also the day, and the hour of my birth.

My mother, who was 17 years old, never forgave me for arriving that day because it meant that she missed out on the biggest party Sydney had ever seen. And what 17 year old girl doesn't love a party. Along with the rest of the country, she had been expecting Japan's surrender, and had planned to celebrate with her best friend, Mary.

Instead, she found herself in the labor ward of a private hospital. During the last stages of labor my mother says she thought she was dying, or dead; then she was sure of it when the bells began to ring and the face of what appeared to be an angel hovered over her.

Her surreal experience continued when she saw the angel' move to the corner of the room to haul a man to his feet. He'd been slumped on the floor. Much later, my mother realised that he was the doctor, a little the worse for wear after a premature celebration, and her angel' was the nursing sister, who sported a long, flowing veil.

By the time I arrived, and the pain had ceased, all my mother was aware of was noise bells, people calling out and singing in the streets, and car horns honking. As was the custom then, I was taken away to the nursery and my mother, after being bathed, was left to rest. Apart from the dwindling noises outside, all was quiet. The staff seemed to have disappeared.

Some time later, my mother's mother arrived. She discovered my father in the waiting room, where he'd been put when he'd brought my mother to the hospital. There he'd remained; everyone had been keen to get off to the party and no-one thought to inform him of my arrival.

Granny thought I should be named Victoria, to mark the victory. However, my mother, who usually did as her mother commanded, remained firm. She'd liked the name she gave me since she read it in a book.

My mother went on to have 11 more children, but no other was born on such an auspicious day. It's been over sixty years since that day and every decade the country celebrates VJ Day, and subsequently my birthday.

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