Night of the Trapdoor

In my first year of college I stayed in residence at the Gillies Street campus, surprisingly I was part of an experiment in co-ed housing on campus.  Traditionally this residence had been all-girls until I showed up in early 1977….(crazy is it really that long ago???)   And an experiment it truly was, having only one set of showers and toilets made it a rather interesting situation for me as well cos’ in those days I was a shy country lad who got embarrassed if a girl so much as spoke to him let alone run into them in a shower or going to the toilet! 

I can still remember waking up extraordinarily early (like 5:00 am early) each morning to have a shower before anyone else as I didn’t want to either embarrass myself or anyone else in the process.   To say I was nervous taking my three-minute shower each morning was a massive understatement – in and out and back to my dorm room with footprints down the hall.   Wow, it would be a rather different tale if I knew then what I know now - but that’s another story.  :-)

It was in these halcyon days that I met my best mate Craig – as its been well documented in previous blogs.   Craig and I got on like a “house on fire” from the first and over the course of the year became lifelong mates.  

Clunes to St Arnard is about 60 miles apart 

As our first year was winding down he asked me if I’d given any thought as to where I was going to live in second year, he explained that his older brother Alan had been accepted into the School of Engineering the following year and that they were going to get a house and wanted to know if I wanted to join them.   I jumped at the chance and readily agreed.  

The school year in Australia is from February to December with our summer holidays being over the Christmas & New Year break, so when school finished I went home to work on one of the local farms as did Craig who lived in the town of St Arnard some 60 miles from Clunes as the crow flies.  

In those days communications was much more tenuous that today, as an example we didn’t have a telephone at home when I was growing up and if we needed to make a telephone call you had to go down the street to the local Post Office (about a mile away) and call from the red phone box.   The operator would connect you to the central exchange or town you were trying to get in touch with…. “ancient times” but not that many of the people I knew actually had a telephone at home.   It’s impossible to fathom given the connectedness of world only 35 years on.

Craig and I worked in our respective jobs all summer long without communicating, but toward the end of January I received a letter from him saying that he would come by my place in Clunes and pick me up on “such & such” a date so we could go find a place to rent for the coming year.   True to his word he and Alan picked me up on our way to find our house rental as per his letter.

By the end of the day we had secured a large three-bedroom house - 507 Norman Street which was relatively close to campus… with an underground garage no less!   Not that I owned a car, but both Craig and Alan did and so with a large driveway and spacious house we felt more than prepared for the year ahead and from that point onwards we became affectionately known in College circles as the “Norman street boys”.

507 Norman Street - as it looks today.  There was no
fence in 1978, but other than that it looks the same

I can't remember how we chose who got which bedroom but  Craig ended up with the master bedroom with a wall-to-wall built in wardrobe (so very stylish even in those days), I was lucky enough to get the front bedroom which was reasonably large and particularly bright and Al taking the smaller third bedroom.  Now you might feel a tad sorry for Al being the much older  brother (we still rib him about his "advanced age" even today!) and that he got the short end of the stick (in reality I think its only 3 years difference in age) but given Al’s soon to be legendary nocturnal habits he hardly ever slept at home anyway.

Al was one of those guys that would go to a house party and eventually fall asleep, once asleep he was out cold and almost completely un-wakeable so we’d often leave him find his own way home which was generally the next morning.

The other interesting fact about our place on Norman street was that it was directly across the road from the Cemetery….which had a large stand of tall pine trees surrounding the grounds.   At night the wind would make the trees sway and groan which to be honest used to make my skin crawl especially late at night after a big night out.

I remember it was about mid-year and Craig and I had been studying hard but Al (notoriously distracted with anything to do with school) had decided to head out to a party or “visit” one of his many admirers.   Craig was a bit of a night owl and so would often work late into the wee hours before going to bed, whereas I would get cranky if I didn't get at least 8 hours a night.  

I was sound asleep but was woken by a blood curdling scream, I initially thought I was dreaming, but then there was another more forceful scream emanating from Craig’s bedroom as I got up and bolted down the hall towards his door.  The light was on and Craig was continuing his tirade as I tentatively entered the room not knowing what to expect.  There was Al standing in Craig’s bedroom, the wardrobe door wide open and he looking rather sheepishly down at his feet.  Craig's palor was a ghostly white, clearly with a mix of fear and rage as he continued to curse Al "up hill and down dale" in a tone reminiscent of a cheering football fan - yes it would even make a sailor blush as I recall!

Craig explained that he had been woken when he heard a door creak open, looking up  sleepily expecting to see the bedroom door open with either Al or me framed in the doorway.  Nope still closed, strange he thought as the creaking continued, his eyes and ears trying to focus on where the sound was coming from, however he now noticed that wardrobe door was slowly swinging open and that a white silhouetted hand was emerging from the darkness…this is the part where he sat up and had involuntarily screamed.  

I was completely confused as to what the hell was going on until Al began to fill us in…Craig was finally calming down as Al cheerfully (him seeing the funny side of this only made Craig madder) explained why he was coming out of the wardrobe in the first place during the middle of the night.  


Al apparently had lost or misplaced his house key (again) and rather than wake us, had decided to enter the house through the trapdoor in Craig’s wardrobe.   Okay, clearly not the best option, but that was 100% Al.

What trapdoor we said almost in unison?   Al was laughing hard as he explained that he had been rooting around in the garage the week prior looking for something for his car when he had discovered the trapdoor, being inquisitive he had opened the door to find that it exited  directly into the built in wardrobe in the master bedroom.   Al had then failed to pass on this info to either of us, until he got the bright idea of using it in the middle of the night.   

It took Craig a few days to see the funny side of the “night of the trapdoor”, but now that night lives squarely in the folklore of our Norman Street days.   Man those were fun days and I really can’t believe it was that long ago now….cos’ to be honest it feels like yesterday!

Lessons on the pitch

This weekend has been a series of life lessons for Zach and Sami.   Earlier today they both played in their final soccer tournament for their local house league.  


As of Friday night Zach’s team was sitting at the number 7 spot out of 8 teams and his team had to win their final game of the season leading into the tournament to move up to number 6 spot and so get a chance to play a lower ranked team.  Prior to the game they were destined to play the number two team, who having beaten them on each occasion during the regular season was pretty intimidating to say the least.   To move out of this bracket they needed help from the team above them who had to lose for them to move up, but given the situation it didn’t look good.


Watching Zach play his heart out in that game was inspirational.   He knew that a lot depended on the game and so he had steeled himself to do whatever it took to win.   He played an awe inspiring game scoring both goals in a 2-1 win.   I was both proud and impressed by his strong work ethic and focus in delivering his team a much needed win!   

Zach Wallis U13 North Toronto
House League 2012

Sometimes life throws you a curve or two, and although they had won it wasn’t enough. The other team had lost, but on closer examination both teams ended with the same number of points so the tie-breaker was the goal differential…the other team had scored more goals over the course of the season and so Zach’s team were destined to play the number two team on Saturday.   My advice to him was that these types of tournaments are rife with upsets and surprises so for him to go play his best no matter what and to leave all his energy on the field and see what happens.   
I could tell he was all business as he warmed up for the game earlier today, attentive and crisp in his passing drills and generally well prepared mentally…just like I had advised him (wow am I having an influence on him?) 
Sami’s season was a complete contrast to that of Zach’s; her team had outscored their opponents by a large margin all season long and had sailed through the regular season well ahead of all the other teams.   They were the number one seed and would be playing the number 8 team with an apparent easy first game.   When I asked her about the other team she was all smiles and supremely confident – her response was “dad they are the number 8 team we’re the number one team….really?”.   


Something about her cockiness bothered me, but as her dad I know there is a fine line between questioning her confidence and planting self-doubt so I didn’t push it.  I must admit I was feeling just a little apprehensive but tried to push it from my mind.
This morning dawned and it was going to be another hot one in Toronto with the temperature hovering around 30C at game time and the humidex reaching into the low 40C’s it was going to be a brutal day to be out playing in full sun for 40+ minutes.


Zach’s game was first at 12:30 pm, arriving at the game 30 minutes before hand to warm up and get last minute instructions from the coaches.  His team had a full squad with three substitutes and as we got closer to game time the other team seemed to be one player short.   Perhaps things were starting to spin in our favor?   It was a hectic start to the game with the first five minutes played at a relentless pace under the hot sun and by the first substitution break at the 7-minute mark it was pretty even with neither team overpowering the other.   However, disaster struck soon after with some indecision in defense which saw the other team score, five minutes later the defender tried to clear the ball over the goal, but unfortunately slipped under the crossbar to make the score 2-0.   I could tell the boys confidence was shot and so at half time they came off with all their heads all hanging low.   


The other team were riding high at the half, but also tiring mightily in the heat and as the second half started Zach’s team took the initiative and began pouring on the pressure and shortly thereafter broke through to make it a 2-1 game, suddenly the team came to life.   They had more of a spring in their step but another unfortunate mix up in the box enabled the other team to push one past the goalie to make it 3-1.  With only minutes remaining all seemed lost, but the boys quickly scored again to make it 3-2 and within striking distance!    They might have been the seventh team but they were playing like the number one team….  Unfortunately there were  no Hollywood endings to this story today and although they played well it just wasn’t quite enough to see them advance, even with the last minute heroics.

Sami Wallis U11 North Toronto
House League 2012

Fast forward an hour and a half at a field about five miles away in a neighboring suburb, yes Sami’s game was a 2:50 pm start – could it get any hotter????
Her U11 team were pretty chatty as they warmed up to play the eighth placed team, none of them really considering anything else but another win for them and guessing who they would be playing tomorrow in the semi finals.
It was a scrappy start to the game, with not a lot of leeway for either team, but Sami was playing well in the center mid position and while not as dominate as she normally is I put it down to the heat and condition of the field (yes, it was bit of a cow pasture with big ruts, longish grass and some bare spots).    At the half I could tell a lot of the girls were starting to feel the effects of the extreme heat, but felt that they just needed a single break to get them into the next gear.
I had a quiet word with Sami at the half but she was very emotional, tears filling her eyes as she complained about the bad breaks and the poor play.  I tried speaking to her softly and calmly so as to help her bring down her emotional state (almost entirely due to the possible heat exhaustion), but with another half to go the coaches tried rallying the team and giving them very specific instructions.  


The second half started at a cracking pace, with the ball not able to break through and Sami’s team being stymied time and again by the gaggle of girls in front of the opposing goal.   They had a number of good shots but nothing that the goalie wasn’t able to handle.   
As the final whistle blew the final score line was 0-0, and now the game was going to a five minute overtime followed by a penalty shootout if a winner had not been secured.   Sami and her teammates were incredulous!   What was going on here – these guys are the number eight team for goodness sake!!!!    The harder they tried the more frustrated they became – it was a train wreck in the making….   


Again Sami’s team just couldn’t break the deadlock and so at the end of the overtime period the score was still 0-0….now for the penalty shootout!
I’m not sure if you’ve seen or been a witness to a penalty shootout, but in U11 girls soccer just like at the World Cup or Europa 2012 it’s both exciting and nerve wracking, especially when your daughter is participating.   The teams huddled to choose their shooters and Sami was up first (no pressure!)    

Sami in full flight and dominating play
earlier this season

As the referee blew his whistle to signal she could take her shot it was as if she was in slow motion, she made great contact but the goalie made a terrific save and the ball had somehow stayed out of the net.   Sami was crushed!  Tears streamed down her cheeks, large sobs wracked her body as she slowly walked back to the team….  I could physically feel her pain (as parents I think we all can).  Everyone was in disbelief as they assumed that her goal would be a certainty given her powerful kick and proven ability to score.   The other team scored a miraculous goal and unfortunately didn’t relinquish the lead, each team had a couple of misses and saves but it was done.    
The number one team had lost!
Alas today was not going to be the day miracles or certainties for either of my kids, there was to be no glory or opportunity to play in the semi finals tomorrow, their seasons were done!   
As a parent it was painful to watch your children lose out on something that they want so badly, but deep down, although they may not agree with me I believe today was a life lesson in humility, hard work and being in the moment.  


Each of them were clearly disappointed but I hope in the days that follow and as they read this blog (which they do religiously) that it will become apparent that winning or losing is not the issue at hand here but how they each handle and react to the loss that will dictate who they become in life….

Life

When do the routines of life start?   This weekend I’ve been reflecting on the many routines I have in my life and particularly the ones I have with my kids.   The first one with Zach started innocently enough at the ripe old age of 6 months, yes he’s 13 now so it’s been a while.  He and I would go to Lick’s at Yonge & Eglinton (a famous hamburger joint in our neighborhood which is no longer there) every Wednesday night for “boys night”.  

TW and Zach - March 2007 - Caribbean Cruise

After a short while the staff began to recognize us and always chat while our order was being prepared, I’d always leave the name “Zach” for our order and I guess over time they assumed it was my name.  We always had a whale of a time – him eating his hotdog (yes, I’d cut into very small pieces) and put on his high chair tray along with a few French fries. In those days I traveled a whole lot less so it was easy to make it a regular thing.  We had that routine for a number of years and I’m not sure who looked forward to it more – Zach or me.

Of late Zach mostly wants to discuss world history, geography or some topic that he’s been boning up on.   This afternoon we walked over to a nearby sports store to buy a new pair of running shoes, I must admit it was a warm day and I had to use my powers of persuasion to convince him to join me, but he did.   As we walked home the conversation became quite philosophical (I’m getting used to these with Zach) I asked him what was on his mind, (remember he’s 13) his response was that “for every second he was alive it was a second closer to death.”  

Normally that would be the type of conversation that would freak out most parents, but because Zach is a deep thinker I wasn’t so worried and honestly wouldn’t you want your kids to tell you how they really felt about such big topics?   The follow on conversation was what really floored me though.   He said that he had been thinking about something I had told him a few of weeks ago and that the advice I had given him had made it much easier to accept what he’d just told me.   I asked inquisitively what advice had helped him with it, but I knew exactly the conversation and what my response had been. 

He had texted me at work one day and said that he was very worried about something and that he wanted to talk about that night.  No worries – was this going to be the “big conversation” about sex (nope, we’ve already had that one)?   I could tell that something was on his mind, and so when he suggested that we go to the park and toss the rugby ball around after dinner I quickly accepted.   On our walk back he said that he was really worried about dying.   I asked him which part of dying was worrying him, he said that not so much the actual dying part but the finality of it all.  

Sami fallen asleep in my arms - 2007

 I told him that the most important thing I could do for him, and that one day he would do for his children, would be to love them unconditionally and to be as good a role model as possible for them to follow.   I explained that we each have an obligation to do the best you could every day and to try and make the world around you a better place for your being there.   And if you did that well you would leave such a strong and positive impression on those that knew and loved you that your memory would actually live on – just like Grandfather Conolly (Zach’s middle name is Conolly….case in point).   Grandfather Conolly died the year before I was born (1958) but his memory lives on quite strongly in his grand kids and indeed the generations since.

Later this evening I was barbequing dinner when he came up and hugged me and told me he loved me, the best part was he did it for no particular reason.  It made my heart swell…

Sami and I also have our set routines, and although she’s only 11 she is already a confident conversationalist and networker.   She’s the sort of person who can come into a room full of people and within ten minutes would have introduced herself to most of the room and made friends with her infectious personality.   I wish I had her confidence and ability to connect with people the way she does – it’s truly a gift!

Fran's Restaurant - since 1940

Anyway, Sami really enjoys eating out, she always has!   So one of our regular routines is to go for breakfast either Saturday or Sunday morning to a Fran’s diner downtown.  Fran’s on College Street has been a Toronto institution since 1940 and adjacent to Police headquarters.  We get up and leave early, usually downtown by 7:45 am (about 15 min from home).  She loves to make the playlist on my iPhone or at the very least choose the radio station so she can sing along (she loves to belt out a good tune!).   Always sitting in a middle booth of the front section has become our favorite hangout.   Her drink of choice – you guessed it – a vanilla milkshake with whipped cream…after all it is Saturday morning!   The staff knows her order and begins making the shake when they see her at the counter, its such a warm and familiar feeling

To this day I still really enjoy reading her a story at bedtime, I realize I won’t have her attention much longer but I love the time we have together, me reading and her snuggled up to me.  Sometimes if I’m really tired its me who falls asleep mid sentence and its Sami who tells me its okay and that I need to go to bed and get some sleep (I guess the roles are reversed, but I love that she looks after me so).   Our little ritual, as I leave her room each night I always tell her I love her and to “sleep tight and not let the bedbugs bite”.   Perhaps she’ll do the same for her children – here’s hoping so!

Happy Fathers day to those of you in the Northern Hemisphere!

Bill and the ferret...

Okay I grew up in the country and we had lots of animals, what can I say?   In fact it might better be called a menagerie if you’d seen our acre block.  Of course we had a dog (Rowdy – named by my sister Glenda after the 60’s TV star of Rawhide (Rowdy Yates who was by the way played by Clint Eastwood).   Eh, how good’s that for a memory.  We also had a myriad of cats of one color or another always mooching about as well as a rabbit (Bugs….yeah original I know).  He was snow white except for his ears (one floppy and one regular) that were brown.   We also had birds – Rosella’s, a canary and a number of wild magpies that had been hurt and couldn’t fly so we fed them as well.    One big happy pet family!

Ferret's teeth - yikes memories of being bitten!

However, all these animals pail in comparison to our pet ferrets.   Our ferrets like most people know are ornery at the best of times, with exceptionally sharp teeth and lightening quick reactions and reflexes.  Any momentary lapse in concentration while either carrying or feeding one had dire consequences… most often you had two razor sharp teeth embedded into the closest body part and let me tell you from personal experience that it was painful beyond belief, having been bitten and nipped at least 25 times during my formative years.

Our ferrets were hunters so we put them to work hunting rabbits; many an afternoon was spent out in the bush looking for rabbit warrens (multiple rabbit borough openings).  The art to “rabbiting” as we called it, was locating a large warren, placing out nets that fit perfectly over each one then placing a ferret or two in boroughs either side of the warren and letting him loose to do their thing.    Free and unencumbered by their carrying box, they was free to run the length of the boroughs chasing unsuspecting rabbits from their homes into our nets; where we would grab them and break their necks (did I say I lived in the bush where this is common practice?).  

I grew up eating “lapin” (see my French is impeccable after all these years living in Canada), and still love the taste to this day.  My mum had a special recipe that she called “braised rabbit”.  Mum’s secret sauce for this dish had bacon in it…don’t ask, mum was an excellent cook and devised some tasty recipes and twists on recipes for the mundane food we had.

The best ferret story has to be dads though (he told me this story shortly before he died).  

Dad and his grandmother
Clunes - Australia - circa 1947

His dad had recently died and he was now the bread winner for the family at the ripe old age of 12 (his mum and three younger siblings); times were tough - it was the final years of the war with most of the able bodied men away fighting in the Pacific and so kids became the labor force.   Dad would use his ferrets to not only catch rabbits for the family for food but to also sell for a penny a pair to the local ice works who in turn sold them in great quantities to the Melbourne based meat wholesalers.   Times were tough for everyone and rabbit was an everyday staple for many in Australia at that time.

He and his best mate (“Snowy” Webb) were out in the horse and jig ferreting one afternoon out along Creek Parade at the western edge of town where the steep cliffs rise up from the narrow creek below.   This part of town had been the heart of the gold mining area or “diggings” during the 1850’s (Gold was first discovered in Clunes in 1851 and triggered a gold rush of enormous proportions.  At one point rumour has it that the town had swollen to over 30,000 people with 90 pubs…. yeah you do the math on that one).  All well and good until the gold ran out in the late 1880’s – much of the town is now completely abandoned, so perfect for rabbits and other wild animals.  

They came across, in dad’s words the “largest warren I’d ever seen” and so they set about placing nets over as many of the boroughs as they had nets for.  When completed they only had a handful of nets left of the 100 between them that they had started with.   Great - the stage was set to really clean up and catch the day’s quota in one fell swoop.

They each carefully took their ferrets from the carrying boxes and nodding to each other as the signal to place them into their respective boroughs.   It shouldn’t be long now they thought as they congratulated themselves for finding the “mother of all warren’s”.   After a couple of minutes of silence they began to lots of thumping and muffled noises coming from the holes… but still no rabbits.   How perplexing?

Fifteen minutes went by – nothing.  They agreed they should put in two more ferrets, hopefully that would smarten things up and get a result – after all this was the “mother of all warren’s”.    Thirty minutes and still nothing had come out….    The boys were getting just a tad frustrated and annoyed by this stage.

African Boxthorn bush
(the thorns about an inch long and razor sharp)

Just as there hopes were beginning to fade about 20 yards to the right up on a small rise a rabbit came shooting out from under a large Boxthorn bush…    Bugger they thought, we must have missed a hole, dad quickly grabbed another net and ran to the Boxthorn bush, but it was so thick he couldn’t see the hole clearly.  Dad was pretty short, but wiry so Snowy encouraged him to get down on his stomach and slide under the bush and find the hole and get a net over it before they lost any more rabbits. 

No worries thought dad and he went to ground and slithered under the sharply festooned bush.   As he got under the bush he noticed the hole about 5 feet away by the base of the hedge.   Sliding closer he heard a rabbit approaching fast and with no time to put a net over the hole or protect himself from the quickly exiting rabbit it ran full speed into the prostrate dad bouncing off his face.  I’m not sure who was more surprised the now dazed rabbit or my battered father?   Dad had quickly regained his composure and gabbed the rabbit by the scruff of the neck and quickly broke it, tossing it behind him toward the opening from whence he’d come.

Rabbits in plague proportions in Australia
during the 1940' - 1960's

Dad was now focused on the job at hand, putting the net over the hole but as he slid closer to the hole what should appear out of the darkness but one of the ferrets.   His two beady eyes illuminating the inside the borough as dad called softly to him hoping not to startle him too much.  As the ferret exited the borough it was completely covered in blood having I’m sure killed a number of rabbits on his spree inside the borough.   I’m not sure what was going through the ferrets mind at this point, was he angry with dad, pissed off or just on a Charles Manson (chemical high) from killing the rabbits but he came nose to nose with dad and looking directly into dad’s eyes he opened his mouth slowly and took a large chomp directly into the meaty end of dad’s nose.

Dad’s squealing and quick backward retreat didn’t deter the ferret one bit; as it held on tightly to dad’s nose, blood beginning to seep from around the wound.   As he exited backward and at speed from below the Boxthorn bush Snowy was concerned that dad had been bitten by a snake, but as dad turned with the ferret securely wedged right on the end of his nose Snowy broke into uncontrollable laughter, and was literally rolling on the ground, tear streaming from his eyes as dad danced around trying to un-wedge the ferret from his nose without causing more damage.  Not sure whether it was dad’s swearing or pleading with Snowy that finally brought him round to help but by this time the ferret had been biting on dads nose for a good two or three minutes with no respite.

Snowy’s response was quick and unrelenting – he just grabbed the ferret by the hind legs and yanked as hard as he could.   You guessed it, it ripped a large chunk of skin and flesh from the end of dad’s nose and that’s when the blood really began to pour…   

It became Snowy’s favorite story to tell others – “did ever I tell you about Bill and the ferret?”  As you can imagine the story became bigger and better with every telling, but Snowy’s best exhibit was the scar on dad’s nose as proof of his misadventure. 

I remember how dad’s eyes sparkled as he told me that story, and how he laughed out loud at Snowy’s action filled response to his predicament.   

I love that story dad – thanks for telling me!

The Obligation

The summers in Australia where I grew up were hot, often reaching into the 40’sC (over 100 F for those in the US) on a regular basis.   I always laugh when someone ask me if it was clear heat?    Like that makes it any cooler…always infinitely better than humidity I suppose (certainly more bearable than living in Toronto in the summer) at least in Australia it was pretty consistent.  Summers were long and hot, but as we got older there was an ominous coming of age responsibility that we all had to accept.

Growing up in rural Australia we each had an unwritten obligation that as soon as we reached the ripe old age of 16 you became a volunteer fire fighter.  In those days, yes the mid 70’s (no sniggering now!) the rules were fairly lenient and the training was pretty sparse although we did congregate at the local fire station every Sunday morning for an hour or two to practice coupling and uncoupling the canvas hoses, hooking them up to the pump on the fire truck and generally hanging out with the other 16 year olds.   To say it was relaxed would be somewhat of an understatement.

Bushfire - Bunyip State Forest
Victoria - Australia - 2009

Well, this was all well and good until the actual fire siren started to wail that Saturday afternoon, now normally I would have been working on the farm but as luck would have it, I had taken the day off as the harvest was done, I was two weeks from getting my acceptance letter to University - February 12^th - just another hot, dry and dusty Saturday in the "bush".

It’s strange, when I first heard that siren I had to stop and listen more carefully – was that the fire siren?   We lived about a mile or so up the valley from the fire station, the distance between was heavily treed and so depending on the way the wind was blowing it was sometimes hard to hear.   That afternoon was accompanied by a strong and gusty, hot north wind.  Not just any windy day, the wind was really howling that afternoon and the countryside was tinder dry from a prolonged drought – the perfect recipe for a bushfire.

A mix of excitement and danger made my senses come alive as I jumped on my bike and headed off at full pace down the hill toward the old government bridge and the fire station.  In fact, like every small town in Australia not only me but also pretty much every able-bodied man over the age of 16 would generally respond and congregate at the station before setting off toward the fire.   Not a lot of planning really – “whose on the truck?”   “Whose got the knapsacks?” (the old metal ones with canvas straps no less – seriously they felt like a 50 kgs when filled with water)   “What trucks are available?”   “How many guys do we have?”

Fire truck - Australia - circa 1960's

The captain had gotten the call that the fire was North West of town about 10 miles out but moving fast in the tinder dry paddocks.  So the convoy set off, I was fortunate enough to be on the back of the tanker as we headed out of town toward the billowing gray-black clouds looming in the distance.  It was an old truck (1960’s vintage), so it top speed fully loaded with water was not much more than 50 mph, and it laboured as we got on the main road. 

Lots of excitement on the back of the truck as we began to close in on the fire front, it was moving at a menacing speed toward us taking everything in its path – hayshed’s, livestock (sheep mostly but a few cattle).  I’d never experienced anything like it, the heat was tremendous almost like a blast furnace in a steel mill it was so hot.  The smoke was thick and choking as the ash, sparks and debris began to fall all around us setting off smaller fires ahead of the major front, linking up with the wind gusts.  The wind was fanning the huge flames as they leapt and danced high into the air (sometimes even as high as 30+ feet).  Fires like this were unpredictable at the best of times, but in this gusty wind they were downright dangerous.  

One of the guys on the back was trying to jump off the truck to open a gate so that we wouldn’t be caught on the road and incinerated, but the truck was moving too fast and he face planted onto the road with a sickening thud, gouging large chunks of flesh and skin from his face and virtually skinning his hands to the bone, he lay in a pool of blood on the road as the truck tried to stop.   A couple of other guys jumped off to go help him, but the fire in all its fury was baring down on us at an unbelievable speed.   Fortunately there were a large set of bolt cutters under the front seat of the fire truck (thank god someone had the foresight to put a set there), and we quickly cut the fence and roared off across the paddock at top speed to evade the closing front.   Luckily we were able to out run the front as we sped across the face of the fire making it to the edge  just in time as it barreled over the farmland taking everything in its path.  The fire seemed to accelerate as it jumped and cut the roads on its way forward continually pushed ever faster by the gusty, hot north wind.

Bushfires - Incredibly dangerous and powerful 

Now that we were behind the fire we could follow it and attack it from the rear, but keeping up was going to be difficult as the fire made its way toward heavily treed state park and with limited water we continually had to find dams to refill.  Even with a heavy duty pump on the truck it still took 10 – 12 minutes to fill the tanker, and clearly time was of the essence in a situation like this.   Fire trucks began to appear out of the smoke and haze from other nearby towns, so we weren’t alone now but the fire was growing exponentially and headed directly toward a town of about 3000 people some 15 miles distant through a pine forest.

It was about this time that three of us were reassigned to moping up duties along the perimeter of the fire and to ensure other fires didn’t restart.  This was the least dangerous place to be – we each were allocated a pump action knapsack and left to make sure that there were no flare-ups in this sector.  

Fairly quickly the fire and the trucks moved on to continue the fight and we were left alone in a blacken landscape.   As we walked the length of the sector the devastation was complete – 100’s of sheep had been badly burned and were either dead or dying a very painful death.  There blackened coats and blistered faces said it all – such a horrible sight and their mournful cries haunted me for sometime afterwards.

About 9:30 that night the wind changed and the fire flipped and back-burned onto itself, but not before four people died and over 400 houses and out buildings were lost.  Just another day in the country…

The Kinglake fires devastation
Victoria - Australia - 2009 

I’d like to tell you that I was incredibly brave that day and did something exceptionally heroic, but to be honest I was frightened by the size, magnitude and ferocity of the fire.  It made me wary and respectful of the fury and unpredictability of the bushfire.   This was the real deal (life and death so to speak) and each subsequent time I rode the truck to a fire I had to steel myself against my fears and hold it inside so that no one else could see that I was scared shitless, but I’m guessing I wasn’t the only one.

Brave faces one and all…