Cyclone Tracey
Well today I have been given a reminder that I have a blog, and that I should be using it.
It is blowing an absolute gale outside. Storms don't scare me at all - in fact I find them quite thrilling!
On that note, I might enthrall you all with my memories of Cyclone Tracey.
The funny thing is, I was not actually in Darwin when the cyclone struck. I was nice and safe in my grandmother's house in East Maitland in New South Wales. We had left Darwin three days earlier to go on our bi-annual visit to see the relatives. We learned on TV, as the rest of Australia did that Boxing Day, of the utter devastation of the only place I had ever called home. It didn't seem real to me - it was just pictures of a massive mess.
My mother was absolutely beside herself. She didn't care about the house, she was just so worried about her friends. She was crying and irrational. My grandfather couldn't understand her behaviour. I remember him saying to her "What are you worried about? You have all your family safe and sound here". What he didn't really understand is that my parents had built a life there without the safety net of family (except for little old me), and their friends were their world. They had moved to a strange little frontier town in 1964, thousands of miles away from the hustle and bustle of Sydney where they had met. They had moved for adventure, and they had found it. They also found an astonishing warmth and sense of community. A wild and crazy place. A place of big drinkers, beautiful sunsets and lifelong friends.
I don't think it was the first time in their lives that my grandfather George, and my mother Barbara were at loggerheads. My mother was the second of four girls. She was the only one who had sought a career, nursing, and who had continued to work after marriage, and her only child, me. I think that Barbara had quietly broken her own mother's heart when she moved so far away.
When George had returned home briefly on leave from World War II, he brought each of his three girls a present (the fourth daughter was born after the war). To his eldest and youngest, he gave a beautiful doll, and a teddy bear. To my mother, he gave a tomahawk.
I remember crying while watching the TV, but not really feeling anything. Crying more because of the hysteria in the room, and the confusion of having absolutely no idea what lay ahead of us.
George decided to ring the local newspaper. The following day, our story was in print, including a mention of me crying my eyes out in front of the TV. Yay! Officially a cry-baby in print!
Then the phone calls started. People wanting to donate things to us. Other relatives. The Department of Construction looking for my Dad. Three days after the cyclone we received a crackly phone call from Katherine from close friends who had survived. There was not much left of our house, but all of our friends were fine.
Dad was officially recalled to Darwin. The rest of the population of Darwin was being airlifted Hercules by Hercules out, and the government was trying to find a way to get my father in. By the 29th of December, Dad, Mum & I were in Sydney. We traipsed from government building to government building trying to get all Dad's paperwork in order. Dad had vaccinations, and a firm place on a chartered aircraft on New years Day.
I remember feeling very excited and scared at the same time. It was so exciting to be in Sydney - it was the first time in my tender seven years that I had ever spent time in the city centre. Were were staying at an old crummy hotel in Pitt Street called the Mac Hotel.
OK - the night is getting late. I will return to edit this post and finish it off in subsequent days. I will even try to get some scans of photos of post-cyclone Darwin in!
It is blowing an absolute gale outside. Storms don't scare me at all - in fact I find them quite thrilling!
On that note, I might enthrall you all with my memories of Cyclone Tracey.
The funny thing is, I was not actually in Darwin when the cyclone struck. I was nice and safe in my grandmother's house in East Maitland in New South Wales. We had left Darwin three days earlier to go on our bi-annual visit to see the relatives. We learned on TV, as the rest of Australia did that Boxing Day, of the utter devastation of the only place I had ever called home. It didn't seem real to me - it was just pictures of a massive mess.
My mother was absolutely beside herself. She didn't care about the house, she was just so worried about her friends. She was crying and irrational. My grandfather couldn't understand her behaviour. I remember him saying to her "What are you worried about? You have all your family safe and sound here". What he didn't really understand is that my parents had built a life there without the safety net of family (except for little old me), and their friends were their world. They had moved to a strange little frontier town in 1964, thousands of miles away from the hustle and bustle of Sydney where they had met. They had moved for adventure, and they had found it. They also found an astonishing warmth and sense of community. A wild and crazy place. A place of big drinkers, beautiful sunsets and lifelong friends.
I don't think it was the first time in their lives that my grandfather George, and my mother Barbara were at loggerheads. My mother was the second of four girls. She was the only one who had sought a career, nursing, and who had continued to work after marriage, and her only child, me. I think that Barbara had quietly broken her own mother's heart when she moved so far away.
When George had returned home briefly on leave from World War II, he brought each of his three girls a present (the fourth daughter was born after the war). To his eldest and youngest, he gave a beautiful doll, and a teddy bear. To my mother, he gave a tomahawk.
I remember crying while watching the TV, but not really feeling anything. Crying more because of the hysteria in the room, and the confusion of having absolutely no idea what lay ahead of us.
George decided to ring the local newspaper. The following day, our story was in print, including a mention of me crying my eyes out in front of the TV. Yay! Officially a cry-baby in print!
Then the phone calls started. People wanting to donate things to us. Other relatives. The Department of Construction looking for my Dad. Three days after the cyclone we received a crackly phone call from Katherine from close friends who had survived. There was not much left of our house, but all of our friends were fine.
Dad was officially recalled to Darwin. The rest of the population of Darwin was being airlifted Hercules by Hercules out, and the government was trying to find a way to get my father in. By the 29th of December, Dad, Mum & I were in Sydney. We traipsed from government building to government building trying to get all Dad's paperwork in order. Dad had vaccinations, and a firm place on a chartered aircraft on New years Day.
I remember feeling very excited and scared at the same time. It was so exciting to be in Sydney - it was the first time in my tender seven years that I had ever spent time in the city centre. Were were staying at an old crummy hotel in Pitt Street called the Mac Hotel.
OK - the night is getting late. I will return to edit this post and finish it off in subsequent days. I will even try to get some scans of photos of post-cyclone Darwin in!
posted by Cathy at 10:51 pm
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