This article originally appeared in the July 29 edition of the Wilmington Town Crier newspaper in Wilmington, Massachusetts. Brackett is a local subscriber to the Town Crier who remembered being in Wareham as a child on V-J Day, Aug. 15, 1945.

A strong memory I have from the time I was seven is of a family vacation and the events of Aug. 15, 1945, the day after World War Two ended.

The war had ended in Europe three months earlier, on May 8, 1945, known as V-E Day. Japan, though, fought on until the Americans dropped two atomic bombs on Aug. 6 and 9. Less than a week later, on August 15, V-J Day, Japan announced its surrender. The official surrender took place Sept. 2 aboard the battleship USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay.

Our fathers, uncles, brothers and sons would finally be coming home.

For me, though, it happened that August Wednesday at a small beach along a river in Wareham, Massachusetts.

The Saturday before, I was sitting on my suitcase on our front porch in Watertown, eagerly awaiting the arrival of my grandmother. Nana was taking me away for a week to Buzzards Bay, partly for vacation, partly to give my mother, six months pregnant with my sister, a needed break. Finally the old black (I think) coupe pulled up in front of my house. Aunt Fran was driving and Nana was riding shotgun. I piled into the rumble seat beside cousin Barbie, a year younger than me.

We arrived at the cottage on Saturday afternoon. All I can remember is a small place with a brown weathered exterior, and that we kids were really excited and wanted to go to the beach, a couple of blocks away, with anyone who would take us.

On Wednesday morning we were greeted by Nana telling us the news had come over the radio, the night before, of the surrender. Two of her six sons, my uncles, were still overseas, but would soon be coming home. Being so young, I probably didn't get the full impact of what this meant. When we got to the beach this day, it looked and felt so different. The place was busier than before, with many people smiling, hugging and shaking hands. The men were scurrying about, from one end of the beach to the other, gathering every last piece of driftwood they could find and forming a huge pile that must have been at least eight feet high. They then set it all on fire. This was the most spectacular thing I'd ever seen, the flames soaring in the air. To the right there was a bridge over which drivers continually crossed in a steady stream, all leaning on their horns. People were standing on the running boards shouting in joy, celebrating our country's victory and the end of this tragic war.

A clear vision of this scene stayed with me all these years, and I always had the urge to revisit this place, just one more time. But I didn't know how to find it.

Enter Google Earth. This magnificent computer software exhibits satellite images of anywhere on the planet. It allowed me to investigate the village of Buzzards Bay from the air, searching for bridges in close proximity to a beach. The problem was, no area looked right. Expanding the search encompassed more areas in Bourne and Wareham. I finally settled on one location that looked good, over all the rest. Only, it isn't in Buzzards Bay. It's about eight miles west of there in a section of Wareham called Weweantic, with Briarwood Beach on the Weweantic River. Maybe Nana just thought this whole area is called Buzzards Bay. Or perhaps she thought it best to not be specific, figuring us small ones may have a problem pronouncing the old Wampanoag Indian name which means "wandering stream". This wide river begins inland as a small stream.

I surely had to go see this place. My wife and I were planning a three-day trip to Cape Cod in May. The day before we left, I plugged the location's coordinates into our GPS, to be our first stop along the way.

In this part of Weweantic the streets are parallel and run toward the beach, culminating in a space between cottages, which now line the shore. My wife stayed in the car while I walked the few feet to the beach. Adrenaline was flowing, my heart beating faster. After all these years is this actually the right place? I walked past the cottages and onto the sand. One quick look around told me. As I looked to the right, there was the Route 6 bridge. This is it, the place where the great bonfire had been! I could almost hear the horns blaring and feel the heat from the raging fire. I could see my aunt and cousin sitting on towels on the sand, and my Nana sitting on a beach chair. I snapped a few shots with my camera. Seventy years, just like that! What nostalgia!