Denise found our "Home Sweet Home" hanger where the veranda used to be, where it hung from the wisteria.
THE
BUSHFIRE THAT ATE OUR HOME
If music
be the food of life, bar-b-que it. Some Great Author must have written that in
His script for
We
gathered photos thank God, well most of them but alas the best were framed, and
their significance, together with the videos Denise and I had taken of our
children, all the music, guitars, books and our other precious possessions was
somehow dislocated in the confusion, the smoke filled wind, the black red sky,
the furnace atmosphere and raining embers, the racing heartbeat and dry tongue,
the feeling of futility and inadequacy in the face of such power, like hosing
down a tidal wave.
Yup, I
knew the house was gone. Neighbour Jane's home was on fire and ours was
directly in the wind tunnel. The sheer force is an unknown quantity, that's
the worst of it, you don’t know how far or how quickly it can jump. It's
amazing to recollect as I type, a weird mingle of excitement, fear and awe at having
looked at something forbidden, naked and Tremendous. Moments and movements seem defined in slow
motion, although on the ladder I furiously sawed a large branch to move it away
from the house, but gave up when the huge watercopter suddenly hovered above,
rotors roaring and dangling appendage like some ancient dinosaur insect looking
for prey.
We heard
the police in
Denise
misses her garden mostly. The solitude, haven for peace, soul comfort. The
tendering, nurturing of plants, the delight of new growth, the wonder of
nature's form; the beauty and prettiness, elegance and subtlety, texture and
colour. Me, I miss Howlin' Wolf at
ten paces through my Aaron speakers, the roar of "the soul of man", the
voice of certainty. I miss the choice of 43 years' collection of books and
music, of being able
to compile with little restriction. We miss the videos of our kids as they grew
which I'd compiled as a family historical reference, interviewing them every few
years so we'd have an insight into their early personalities, snapshots of
their lives, their school friends, their hopes and dreams. These were
fascinating, warm, funny and irreplaceable. I miss the music tapes my mates and
I made. I miss my books, treasured literature, each with a memory.
Denise
had engaged local horticulturalist Lisa Douglas (who also lost her house) to
remodel our front garden and it was resplendent for Christmas visitors, and the
exterior which I'd repainted two months previously blended perfectly. But Fate does not
favour nor discriminate and regardless of the lovely garden and my lost long
service leave it did what it was designed to do, perhaps.
As my
mate Clint put it, "you got out alive, the rest is stuff". Yup. That sort of
put it in perspective. There’s stuff and stuff but. The Wolf unleashed singing
"Oww
Oooo Smokestack Lightning, shine just like gold, don't ya hear me cry". Now
that's special stuff.
We lost
four houses out of nine in
Our
neighbours have been wonderfully supportive in many ways, and we've had a
number of gatherings, both impromptu and arranged, tea and sympathy, chats,
bar-b-ques and beverage. We're a sociable bunch, though not living out of each
other's pockets. Driving into the Place on a Friday night a gathering of
Calder Placers sitting on the Fitzgerald's benches under the "Memory Tree"
was not a rare sight. In fact midweek gatherings to watch the kids hit a cricket
ball off someone's windshield, or boot a footy ball into a tree were not
altogether unusual either, followed on occasion by a discussion on the state of
politics in Lower Volta, the merits of merlot or Toddy the Red Heeler, or the
longevity of the Land Rover, or the ruggedness of the great Australian outdoors,
or Ned Kelly's last supper. When I think of it Ron Cody was never short of an
opinion at the cork end of a night. And why would ya wanna live anywhere else?
We opted
for a positive approach from the start, no point in doing otherwise, but it's
been stretched to the limit this year. Suffice to say life is a roller coaster
and we keep whizzing past the turnstile yelling at the Attendant, who it seems
is deaf. However, the generosity of relatives, friends, neighbours, colleagues
and our employers, Defence and DVA, and the community support people – Salvos,
St Vinnies, Red Cross and Smith Family, and not forgetting the ACT
Government who did a marvellous job
with their Recovery Centre, has assisted immeasurably and we are thankful and in
awe.
One thing's for certain, this trauma, despite the scar,
will replenish our community spirit.
The community rallied in support and we have become closer. You now know the bloke over the back, and his neighbour's cousin who lost the lot. We have street parties, working bee bar-b-ques, and just general levity in the face of fate, or celebration of deliverance, or acceptance of the inevitable, depending on the viewpoint. Canberra is just a big country town really, with city advantages, despite outsiders' slanted perceptions - the pollies fly in from elsewhere, they don't live here - and despite the south western suburbs and Namadgi looking like Hiroshima, the shock and devastation is counterbalanced by a renewal of spirit and perspective.
BARRY
MCGLOIN JULY 2003