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The Berlin Wall coming down, Nelson Mandela’s release from Robben Island Prison. Planes crashing into buildings in America, two Gulf Wars, a Tsunami devastating South East Asia. Watching Duncan Armstrong, Cathy Freeman, and Rob Bradbury’s Olympic victories. Attending the 2008 AFL Grand Final to witness my beloved Hawthorn beating Geelong, are just some of the significant historical moments in my lifetime. I am sure like me, you can remember where you where and what you were doing when life alerting moments occurred in your lifetime.
February 7, 2019 marks ten years since the tragic Black Saturday Bushfire (Firestorm) raised Victorian towns not that far from metropolitan Melbourne. These fires claimed the lives of 173 people. Devastated townships included Flowerdale, Kinglake, and Marysville.
Growing up in Melbourne’s north east, I was particularly familiar with Kinglake. It was typical of Australian bushland, scenic drives and a great place for a hike. Like the other events listed above, I can recall where I was and what I was doing at the time. As someone who has always enjoyed hiking, I was at Wilsons Promontory in Victoria the weekend of the fires. During a sunrise hike to the peak of Mount Oberon, I could taste the smoke in the air from the Gippsland Fires that had occurred the week prior. As the heat of the day soared to 47 degrees, there were native birds struggling to walk along the ground, looking for shade and water. I listened to the radio reports later in the even to find out whether I should go home early or not. The radio news was not going to prepare me for what I saw and read in the papers when I returned home on the Sunday morning.
Driving towards Melbourne along the Bass Coast Highway, I saw a dirty brown cloud like mass floating south over Port Phillip Bay. Arriving in Melbourne, I was lost for words to read the newspaper reports and see the news broadcasts. Little was I to know what impact the events that followed these horrific fires would have on my life.
In August 2009, I was appointed as Chaplain for The Salvation Army in that region. The day I arrived in the Kinglake area, it looked like a scene from a Vietnam War movie of an area that had been carpet bombed with Napalm – 9 months after the fires. My role was primarily to find and connect with the survivors, particularly the men in the community to journey with them, and become involved in the community rebuilding activities. Whilst I have chosen to forget most of the stories that I heard from the survivors, there are three that I’ll never forget, which I have permission to share openly.
Tom was a man whose family and friends were seriously concerned for. They suspected he was suicidal as no one had seen or heard from him for a few weeks. I drove past his block of land, his caravan now stood where his house once did. For two weeks, I drove to his block, and chose different times of the day hoping to catch him. With one of my colleagues from our drop in centre in Whittlesea, we eventually found him at home. He was a stocky looking man, with tattoos and rode a Harley Davidson – looked like someone who was tough! After introducing ourselves to him, explaining why I had been looking for him, I asked if I could pray with him. When I finished, I noticed he was crying. I asked him if he was ok, and he said that no one had ever prayed for him before.
Over the next nine months, I would visit him on a weekly basis, listening to his stories and struggles. The mental and physical scars he carried from his experience of the day became evident. Tom’s property was one of those who got hit twice. The firestorm came up from the rear of his property, giving little warning. After escaping for his life on his Harley, flames lapping at his legs, singed and terrified he eventually found respite with other locals. Later he would discover that the firestorm had been forced back through his street by a wind change, finishing off anything still standing. During our time together, his disposition changed as hope began to shine through, life was beginning to improve for him. He had been granted approval to rebuild on his block, and was able to spend regular quality time with his teenage daughter.
Andrew came into our drop centre on day, looking a little uncertain as to why he was there, what we were about. He told me all he needed was a fork. He had lost his and needed one to eat with. Chatting with him for a little while, providing a few more items than just a fork, he welcomed a visit to his block.
Andrew’s block was at the top of a hill. He described hearing the sound like a jet engine roaring up from the base of the hill. At that, he looked out the window only to see a wall of flames about to engulf his property. He grabbed his wife and daughter and ran outside, which was the only access to a small room attached to their concrete water tank. He described it as only a few metres distance, but it seemed to take forever to get in there. They stayed in there for an unknown period of time, hearing explosions and roaring sounds. In the days that followed, there were 45kg and 90kg gas bottles scattered on his block and the near by road. I remember him describing it as a war zone, dazed and amazed they had survived.
I got to know Andrew quite well, and understood from our conversations that he was ‘at the end of his resolve’. After some months, Andrew disappeared without notice. I became concerned for his welfare, until one day he rang me to let me know he decided to move away from the area to be with his family. When he came back to have some construction work done on his block, he invited me to visit. The challenges were real, as were the emotional scars, but Andrew had found hope manifesting through the construction work on his block to be prepared to rebuild.
Chaplaincy is sometimes referred to as ‘loitering with intent’. Not on the clock like other professions, my time was flexible, and I could talk about God if the conversation allowed it. My role required me to spend time with the survivors and guide them to a personal realisation that there was hope for a better future. Being real, never judging and being willing to talk about more than the firestorm meant I was able to form real bonds with those survivors I met. Tom and Andrew’s stories have encouraged me in my own journey. When it was time to leave that role, in terms of KPi’s you could say I had guided two men back from the brink of suicide to being ‘much improved’. Whilst I left with mixed emotions, I left with a sense of gratitude and satisfaction.
The third story is a little different. Having lived in the north eastern suburbs of Melbourne, my first instinct was to check the list of clients to see if there as anyone I knew connected with our services. I did not see any friends on the deceased lists either. Late one afternoon, a woman’s voice was heard calling out to see if we were still opened. As I went to the door I saw one of my high school & Uni friends. We’d lost contact after Uni and she had married, so I didn’t recognise the name on out list.
Joanne and I both had a sense of normality in reconnecting with an old friend, from days when life was simpler. As we caught up, I discovered that Joanne actually lived across the road from Tom. (Tom’s reaction was priceless when he discovered that Joanne and I had been school mates – small world). Her families story of escape was another that sounded like something from a horror movie.
Joanne’s family had been inside all day watching movies with the blinds all closed due to the heat. Around 3pm, Joanne told told me, that she heard a loud noise and looked out the window to see. What confronted her was the wall of flames coming over from Tom’s house. Grabbing the car key, wallets and children, her and her husband raced into the car to head away from the fire. She recalled looking in the rear vision mirror and seeing flames chasing them. They managed to get out to safety with no major damage to their car. Unfortunately like so many though, they lost their house and all their worldly possessions that afternoon. Joanne said that the previous fire season, a bush fire circled in the Kinglake Ranges for three weeks – no one expected this firestorm to be like it was.
I don’t often think or talk about this time of my life anymore. Where are they now? I don’t know. But when I do think of them, I thank the Lord God for the opportunity to express His love for all peoples, and the changes that season brought in my own life. I have been back to Kinglake once since I finished working there. I needed closure and to ensure that I was not carrying any more vicarious grief.
I choose to remember that what ever disasters occur in my lifetime, natural or man made, personal or global, that whilst I am still breathing there is still hope for a better world. Being a Chaplain and serving these communities after that fateful Black Saturday was an honour and a privilege. Please remember this – the residents of that region prefer to be remembered as SURVIVORS, there was 173 victims, those who lost their lives. It was also an honour to be part of the 1st Anniversary Commemorations and be part of the aerial photo. This photo was made up of survivors, agency and emergency support to thank the Australian public for the response following February 7, 2009.
I also choose to remember those school holidays in 1988 when Joanne and I were watching the swimming events in the Olympic Games, cheering on Duncan Armstrong to win his gold and silver medal. I also choose to remember that day when I got to meet Duncan Armstrong and chat with him about watching his races with Joanne.
People come and go in our lives, seasons begin and end, but how we choose to remember these poignant moments reflects on our values and our understanding of Hope.
Am I O.K? Yes. Are you?
