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I had a nice new big flag.1 I had let it be known that this flag would go up only when Victory was confirmed, by which I meant when the B.B.C. announced it (and that is the way the whole population felt; “If the B.B.C. says so, it is so.”). And then at 7.45 Macao time came the announcement that at eight the Prime Minister would speak. I guessed. I heard the first words “Japan has surrendered” and I was on my way downstairs. The flag went to the mast-head, made-up, at its usual time. But when the flag was broken at the mast-head it was the new big flag. The war was over. And then materialized an amazing phenomenon. You can imagine how the Chinese felt after eight years of war. You can imagine how my family felt all ten thousand of them. Yet when the Government asked that there should be no celebrations for an unspecified while there were none, at least in public. The Governor had taken a wise step; he wanted tempers to cool; he wanted no incidents amounting maybe to a massacre of the Japanese still in the colony. I took perhaps a greater pride in my community than ever; in this hour of triumph they remained as self-disciplined as ever; they had, under great provocation, caused no incident during the war; they caused none now; they loyally obeyed the orders of the Government which had given them refuge. H.E. would agree with me. Four hours later there was another materialization.2 Out of the mist came a grey shape. H.E. and I were at Miramar where was the Government radio station (no. 10 on the map).3 H.E. was privileged; he was half way up the radio mast. Then a flashing light saying roughly “Request permission to enter and send boat ashore”. My glasses focused on—the White Ensign. Chapter XII Post-War The Lone Flag 122 It was too much; glasses or no glasses my sight was blurred. It was the greatest—except for one other, purely personal—moment of my life. We had felt so particularly alone, more than ever after V.E. [Day] when, no doubt unjustly, we had felt forgotten. Later we could see a boat coming in; and the Ensign grew till it filled the whole horizon. Do not ask me to recall whether there were official visits or not, nor in what order they were. The emotional tension was, thank heaven, broken by sheer comedy. A signal was received ashore. Would H.E. and I dine aboard H.M.S. Plym.4 Would we? H.E. had served in co-operation with our Navy in the last war; I had been brought up for the Navy till my eyesight went suddenly. Meanwhile the duty-boat’s crew had been entertained; among the crew was one man who was quite a local hero as he had played football in Macao—and they were royally entertained. When H.E. suggested we should go out in our boat I suggested that perhaps—; H.E. smiled and called one of his own launches. Our boat preceded us but steered such a wavy course and the crew showed signs of such discomfort for sailors on a glassy sea that H.E. felt it more tactful to pass her and go ahead. The duty-boat had meanwhile signalled the ship on a walkie-talkie “Governor coming aboard does not like red meat?”. This had caused a panic. “Is he a Mohammedan? Is Spam red meat? Break out some sardines.” However all went well when a correction arrived from the dutyboat , “For meat read tape”. This, I consider, ranks with the best signalling stories. And it was so. H.E. introduced himself as “Commander Teixeira, Portuguese Navy, at your service”, and the party went informally and most, most cordially. H.E. was not allowed to drink but this one time he had a gin or two and a whisky or two and damned the consequences. It was a great evening whether in the cuddy or the wardroom. I remember particularly the strange impression given me by the fact that I was surrounded by English voices and every kind of English accent. It was some years since that had happened to me. Around this time, a little before this time, Hongkong had been retaken for us in one of the most daring actions...

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