The Birth of a Nation. Fiji.

39 years ago today, I stood in the children's section of the multi-racial choir at the Independence Ceremony at Albert Park in Suva, Fiji, and watched my country being born.

It was a beautiful day: 10th October, 1970; sunshine, sea-breeze, Suva all spiffied-up and at its sparkling, magical best. Prince Charles presided, sitting front and centre in the place of honour in a specially built stand in Albert Park next to Government Buildings, and I remember being almost shocked at how much he looked like his photographs because most people don't, and also at how he was much more nervous and fidgety than I'd expected any member of the Royal Family to ever be. But, to be fair, this was the first official duty he'd ever performed so I guess he had reason to be nervous.

Sitting next to him was Ratu Sir Kamisese Mara, our already-chosen Prime Minister, and our very own Giant-of-a-Man too: 6 feet 10 inches tall, and so handsome, intelligent, honourable, charming and, boy, didn't he always make us so proud to be Fijian. An Oxford-Man, you know! I bumped into him once, literally, when I was about five, at the then-new Nausori Airport, and from way above me, he looked down and said in the most elegant and drawling Ox-bridge voice "Ah, Miss Murphy! So nice to unexpectedly bump into you this way!" which was most unexpected because you don't really expect the Chief Minister, as he was back then, to know your name, do you? But that was the way he was; always made everyone feel very singular and special; even a five year old.

And as I watched them sitting side-by-side on the podium that day, Prince Charles nervously fiddling with his cuff-links and Ratu Mara so commanding, imposing and beautiful, it definitely seemed like we were winning something ENORMOUS with Our Independence!

And this despite "The Prophecy of Pundit Girmitji". Do you remember that? How, about three months before Independence, some Indian priest went into a trance and began sprouting this huge rant. Someone wrote it down and the Fiji Times printed it, and it went something like "In the year 2000, Fiji will be high-jacked by dirty Fijian businessmen, and the whole country will become all dirty-Fijian-business and the world will say 'this is your own problem, you sort it out yourselves' so for many, many years Fiji will be embroiled in dirty-Fijian-business until Fiji gets sorted out itself. After that is done, the future will get brighter and brighter until Fiji finally stands among the proudest nations on earth." Do you recall that?

I read it back when it first came out and remember thinking "It's all so far away, it hardly matters." But, boy, didn't the time move fast.

I suddenly recalled this prophecy, back in 2000, immediately after that dirty Fijian businessman, Speight, did his coup, (I went to school with him, by the way: a very funny little runt, great with the one-liners, but so nasty, spiteful, malicious and truly bad-to-the-bone.) (I could tell you a funny story about him, but some other time.), and freaked out, but I couldn't remember Pundit Girmitji's exact words, which had suddenly become vitally important, so, for days, I went searching for it on the web and initially didn't find it, until, about four days later, someone posted it on-line on one of Fiji websites/chatrooms. Five hours later, because I wanted Keith to read it too, I went looking for it again only to find it was gone. Guess "dirty Fijian businessmen" took it down because they didn't want us to know the Speight-coup was all really just 'dirty Fijian business' and not the claimed "anti-Indian rule" that they were all spruiking.

Boy, did I kick myself for not cutting-and-pasting when I had the chance!

But I've once again gone way off track. Back to 39 years ago:

Over the years, reading the official accounts of what happened that day and trying to match these with my own memories, it turns out there's the strangest dissonance because there are bits and pieces that don't fit. I can't believe that the official story isn't true, but nor can I believe my mind melded together two entirely separate days, but ...

Look, the official story goes that the ceremony began with an empty flagpole, the Union Jack having been taken down the day before. That soooo isn't how it is in my mind, and since this is MY account of that day, I'll tell it the way I remember it, and what I recall is this:

The Union Jack fluttered proudly above us as we all sang "God Save the Queen", and then military drums started beating out a tattoo, called "The Retreat" from memory, as the Union Jack was lowered for the last time. I remember this all so vividly because totally without warning I wanted to scream "Nooooo! Stop! We're not ready. We need you." and then I burst out crying. I had no idea it was coming and, because I was always such a grim and unemotional child, no idea it was even there, so this sudden outburst of insane, almost hysterical sobbing both astonished and embarrassed me.

But then I noticed everyone else, the entire Albert Park, was crying too; that there were deep, silent tears pouring down every single face as we watched the end of the era; the end of everything we'd grown up to, and the crying went on and on as the flag was slowly and reverently lowered down the flagpole, folded and marched over to Prince Charles.

It was only THEN that the flagpole was empty. Boy oh boy, didn't that seem wrong!

But then a different tattoo started and spiffy dress-uniformed Fijian soldiers marched out our new flag, Our Own Flag, which none of us had yet seen. We knew they'd been a competition to design it, and knew too that everyone on the Committee had been astonished because so many different people, without consulting each other, had come up with an identical design, so, even though Ratu Mara had demurred about the colour - "It's Cambridge Blue!" - they realised that THIS truly was meant to be Our Own Flag, and so went ahead with it.

The tattoo continued and everyone held their breath as it was slowly pulled up the flagpole until it reached the top. Then the drumming stopped! Total anti-climax! We could see it was blue but that was that because, whereas the Union Jack had waved so proud above us, Our Own Flag just hung there limply. From all around me came this low, disappointed "Awwww!"

But then it started.

You should have been there. You should have seen it. The God of Nations could not have choreographed anything more beautiful, nor more magical, nor more RIGHT.

Have you ever seen a butterfly immediately out of its coccoon? Wings all soft and limp? But then fluid is slowly pumped into its veins and slowly they spread, stiffen and flutter until pow!, they spread out and the butterfly is suddenly THERE?

That's exactly what happened to Our Own Flag. For several seconds it just hung there limply, but then there was the slightest, slightest movement. Everyone stopped the "Awww!" and fell silent and we could only stare, all Jungian tingles and tight throats, knowing the moment was a metaphor and our entire future hung on the movements, and they got bigger and bigger until the fluttering started and slowly, slowly, with perfect timing and choreography, it unfurled in fractions, more and more until POW!!! it was THERE! Strong! Proud! We, Us, Fiji! We were THERE and it was the mightiest sight imaginable! With a single voice remember how we all roared! And it went on and on and on! We! Us! Fiji!

But then we got pulled back to reality with the nod to start, so we sang, for the first official time, "Blessings grant, oh God of Nations, on the Isles of Fiji! As we stand united under noble banner blue!" and it was just so right and so perfect and so magical and didn't we all totally LOVE Fiji. Our Fiji. Our very own beautiful, beautiful FIJI!

Sure, there was lots more ceremony and lots of dancing in the streets and a night of fireworks and it was all very special and gorgeous, but nothing, nothing, nothing came close to that singular, special metaphoric moment when Our Own Flag burst out so proud and strong and we were THERE.

Yeah, yeah! OK, OK, I know. Lots has happened since that isn't ... you know ... but we have the brightest possible future, one day, not too far away. Pundit Girmitji turned out to be right about everything else, so how can he be wrong about this.

Happy Birthday, Fiji.