For me, living on the Gold Coast, 80km from Brisbane CBD, there was a sense of remoteness and helplessness watching the scenes unfold over the past week. After repeatedly seeing the news and becoming fully aware of what the clean-up effort really meant, I decided to volunteer myself for whatever was needed. Driving up from the Gold Coast at 5am a brigade of vehicles; cars packed with brooms and cleaning equipment, trucks, plant and tradies utes, were already on their way north.
Arriving at Mount Gravatt (one of 5 local command points) an hour early, I had expected to be waiting around for officials to turn up to start registration; instead I was greeted with a queue of at least 1000 people already there, fully kitted up, ready to go. I made my way to the back of the queue, took my place and started to realise the enormity of what was occurring. Never before have I seen a queue that long, with the people in it displaying such good humour. Kids, 7 yrs old, walking up and down the line handing out cakes and water, Mums, Dads, Children, Grandparents, groups, singles, people from Brisbane, Gold Coast, New South Wales….. I could go on; the diversity was incredible. The patience more so.
The size of the queue doubled within 30 minutes of my arrival
After standing there shuffling along for over 2 hours, with the Channel 9 helicopter hovering overhead almost continuously, we finally made it to the registration building. By this time there were over 3000 people queuing behind us. Reflective jackets, dust masks, and ID cards were handed out, tetanus shots were given and bus numbers assigned. The efficiency of this process was no less than military in its operation.
House after house looked the same
Once our bus was ready, we boarded and set off; no final destination revealed. The journey into town was a realisation for everyone that the pictures on TV just don’t do the situation justice. Suburb after suburb of destruction. Huge mobilisation of military equipment and personnel. I had found myself questioning the overuse of the term “warzone” during the coverage to date, but now the word seemed inadequate. Apocalypse would be more fitting.
Sunday the 16th had been designated as “heavy lift” day; we needed to clear the streets of all the debris pulled from the houses on the previous day. Only now did I understand that we would not complete this today, or next week. Eventually we were dropped off at Chelmer on the south side of the river, immidiately to be told that they had run out of tip trucks and that we would have to wait for more.
No tipper trucks meant more waiting
A call then came in that some streets in Oxley had just become accessible after some flood water had been pumped away. I volunteered, was placed on another bus and taken to Oxley.
Getting off the bus was our first real experience of the stench. It literally took your breath away. The grass and trees were light greyish brown to at least a height of 3 metres, where the colour suddenly returned to normal, and there were small dead fish everywhere. We were told we would have to walk the rest of the way as the bus couldn’t get through. My boots quickly demonstrated that they were no longer fully water proof – which was nice! We made our way through a part of Oxley; again the devastation was breathtaking, and highly emotional to witness.
Everything had a brown-grey look to it. “Tide” marks were obvious both on buildings and plants/trees
The Army had a heavy presence in this area. Our instructions were simple; to find someone that needs help. So we split into several groups and started offering assistance. It wasn’t long before our group found a house that had not yet had the flood affected material pulled out. So, under the direction of the family that owned it and their extended family, we set about destroying and ripping apart the house that they had lived in for many years. Walls and ceilings were pulled down, flooring ripped up, kitchen demolished, and furniture broken up. It was all just unceremoniously dumped on their front verge.
The thing that struck me from the outset was the amazing spirit and positive attitude displayed by both volunteer and victim alike. What resulted was a strange situation such as where the house owner would drop and entire ceiling on someone’s head:
“Sorry mate, are you okay?”
with the reply “Don’t worry mate, it’s okay, are you okay”
“yeah, but I dropped a ceiling on your head”
“Seriously, I’ll be fine, how are you doing?”
There were several occasions where the owners would make a joke out of the situation, or state of the house, but it could be 10 seconds later when you saw them in a corner crying. The effort displayed by the volunteers was relentless. Breaks were less than 30 seconds, and the amount of material that was coming out of those houses was beyond belief. We worked on that house until there was nothing left but the frame, outer walls and roof. The shift ended at 2pm, so after being told to give up on the final piece of lino that had been glued to the concrete floor with some sort of magical adhesive, we reluctantly stopped, gathered our things and started walking back.
The heart breaking result from a hard day’s destructive but appreciated work
It was hard to feel proud of what we had just done
Looking behind us, the street certainly looked different to when we found it, but definitely not better. This shift may be over, but the clean-up had really only just begun. It was quite obvious as we walked back, that this was going to take months, possibly years. Our walk back to the bus was approximately 4km as we had to make our way to the nearest co-ordination centre for distribution back to the local area point that we had originated from. On that walk we came across group after group of local residents that had set up “stalls” outside their homes, offering free food and drinks to the volunteers and Army. Calls of “thank you” emanated from windows of houses that had groups of people working hard to clean, salvage or repair. BBQs had been set up on road sides for anyone to just help themselves. The out pouring of gratitude was incredible. It took me another 2 and a half hours to get home; but again, the patience and understanding demonstrated by everyone around me was beyond anything I have ever seen before.
Although I have been involved in disaster relief operations during my former life in the Royal Navy, I have never been faced with the aftermath of a flood at ground level. The effect of this kind of disaster is truly humbling; however the response that I have witnessed to this disaster over the past few days, and in particular today, has been even more startling. Being an immigrant, I notice things that are said and banded around a lot, and sometimes wonder on the depth of those terms and phrases. One thing that I have learnt today is that when Australians talk about the “Aussie Spirit” they are talking of something very deep and very true. After this experience I am in awe of this city, this state, this country, and the people that live in it. I have made many new friends today that I will never see again, but will never forget. I am sincerely proud to be Australian.
Please, if you have not yet donated, and even if you can only afford a dollar, just donate it. This disaster spreads wider than can be realised. I saw 2 suburbs today, and that would have been enough to constitute a crisis in my books. This flood stretches across 64 suburbs in Brisbane alone, and that doesn’t include Toowoomba, Ipswich, Gatton, Rockhampton and all of the surrounding Qld localities. The current $50m raised isn’t going to scratch the surface; anything you can spare would be very much appreciated by some very desperate people. Even my daughter has donated $10.
Truly amazing story; I have donated - thank you for sharing this
ReplyDeleteWell done , i donated at Woolworths who are matching every dollar given in , think it ends tomorrow
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