When the war in Europe ended, my dad was stationed at a transit camp in Sidney, Australia waiting for onward transport to join his unit in the British Pacific Fleet. He wrote in his diary: On Tuesday 8 th May 1945 the newspapers were head-lined "It’s all over in Europe" and gave histories of the last five years. Flags were flying in Sydney but no crowds surged through the streets. We made sure our rooms were booked at the British Centre and went for a drink to celebrate Victory. A couple of drunken sailors were the only signs of the momentous day it was. At seven o’clock we were steaming out of Central Station just as the city began to warm up and celebrate. Australian trains are horrible. They are uncomfortable, slow, draughty and Heaven knows what else, in fact not a patch on the good old L.M.S. [London, Midland and Scottish Railway.] The only interesting part of the journey was an old man of 83 who got on at Penorth and who had emigrated here when h