Suddenly Homeless

When I was growing up we would make a 10 hour car journey each school holidays to visit my Uncle Bill in East Gipsland, Victoria. He was actually my Mum’s Uncle, making him my ‘Great’ Uncle and I was both scared of, and in awe of him.

Although it was a long journey, I loved to visit as he lived on a farm, much of which was virgin Mountain Ash forest.

We wouldn’t stay long on our visits. We’d be lucky to be there for a few hours. A short time spent with Uncle Bill and the rest of the time exploring the creek and area around his ‘home’. He would then come to the gate and give us a knowing look and wave – indicating it was time for us to go.

We would stay the night in a nearby hotel and then turn around and drive back to Canberra.

Going to Uncle Bill’s was like a whole new world to me. I loved the fresh air, the wide expanses of nature, the million shades of green (that could only be outnumbered in Ireland) and the smell of Uncle Bill’s house. It always smelled like a cosy wood fire.

Uncle Bill didn’t speak much and I never really knew what to say to him, but I really liked him. He was a true farmer, a man of the land. I remember we got a call from his neighbor once telling us they hadn’t seen him for a few days. It turned out he had been bitten by a brown snake and so spent a few days in bed before carrying on like normal.

Uncle Bill was quite a hermit and although he appreciated the effort we made to come visit, I am sure he was just as glad to see the back of us.

His house was tiny and dark. The bed was in the living area and he slept under hessian bags. Uncle Bill did not have a house like most people. His home was more like a shed. He didn’t even have electricity, he would boil water for a cup tea for my parents on a cast iron, wood stove.

You see, his house, the one he had originally built had burnt to the ground not long after he finished it. Sparks from the wood stove had blown up the chimney and started a grass fire. Fanned by strong winds the fire turned back on the house and quickly engulfed it.

All that remained was a tiny shed and the stove. The tiny shed that he lived in for the rest of his life and eventually died in.

My Dad (Jack) loved going on long road trips and he would often take us on little detours for a ‘Sticky Beak’ at something of interest. It is well known within our family that a ‘Jack’s Tour’ involved arriving at the destination, winding down the window (for the ‘Sticky Beak’) and then promptly winding the window back up and hitting the road again.

In 1983, on one of our Victorian pilgrimages our detour involved taking a ‘Sticky Beak’ through farmland and bush areas that had just been ravished by the Ash Wednesday Fires. The land was still smoldering, the sky eerie and scenes for kilometers were incomprehensible. I don’t remember directly seeing any destroyed homes though, my Dad was far too respectful to infringe on anyone’s privacy at a time like that, just for the sake of curiosity.

We never could have believed that almost exactly 30 years later, a similar firestorm event would ravish Canberra. Destroying my parent’s home along with over 500 others and tragically taking 4 lives. Miraculously sparing hundreds of others who like us, had to flee the ferocious fire front.

For weeks after the fire, there was constant traffic up our street. Media, strangers, locals and friends all coming for a 'Sticky Beak'. There were mixed feelings amongst the community about this. However, everyone who witnessed the destruction shared in the tremendous disbelief and shock.

With most of the significant landmarks of my life and everything my parents owned destroyed that day, it would be easy to assume this was my ‘Suddenly Homeless’ experience.

However whilst the most obvious and dramatic, it was by no means the first time I felt that way and it was not to be the last time either.

Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far
& Grace will lead me home....