Bushfire (A True Story)

by Michele de Bes

Verna de Winter sat by the window nervously twisting a hanky in her fingers. The smell of a bushfire always makes her nervous. The light through the white gauze curtains softened her features and made her appear more youthful. Always dressed stylishly, she wore a turquoise jersey knit over black tailored pants, a flash of red in a small scarf at her throat. A graduate of the fashion course at East Sydney Tech in the 1950’s, she earned a good living hand sewing ladies lingerie and smocking for babies wear, for shops in Chatswood after the war. With the 500 pounds she saved, she bought a block of land out at French’s Forest, on a little a dirt road intersection in the bush, called Sorlie Village.

Bras were very scarce after the war and she hand made them for a very good profit. She eventually made enough to be able to divorce her first husband, she married at 16. In those days the only respectable way a girl could leave home was by marriage and she leapt at the chance to escape her unhappy home life.

She moved out of his Aunt’s house where they lived, to his ringing words. “You’ll come crawling back.”

Verna knew she wouldn’t. She moved into a garage on her bush block with her two children. It was her first home of her own and she enjoyed her hard won independence.

A tall blonde Dutchman moved to the area, a 25 year old migrant escaping Europe and the war. He was a carpenter working with a builder who lived across the road. Verna, with her black hair and hour glass figure, always dressed in some brightly coloured dress she’d sewn up on her Singer, caught his eye. Jan was handsome and tanned from the outside work. His European manners and gentle ways won her over. They had a lot in common, loving music and dancing and the bush. It wasn’t long before she was happily married with two more children.

It was 19 December 1957 and bushfires threatened northern Sydney and French’s Forest. It was also Jan’s birthday and so the day has gone down in family history.

Verna was at home with her four children Ross twelve, Keith seven, John three and a half and Michele 6 weeks, a baby in her arms.

The pregnancy had been a hard one and she spent three months in hospital with a liver disorder caused by 50’s anti nausea morning sickness tablets. She thanked her staunch Irish ancestors for her strong constitution and was feeling healthy and happy.

The garage had been expanded by the addition of another couple of rooms, thanks to Jan, and she kept the children inside playing records on their new record player and listening for fire reports on it’s radio. It was a big sideboard size wooden radiogram and the first big purchase for the family. With its striking woodgrain surface and slide out record player it was the centre piece of the living room.

All the windows were closed against the fog of smoke. As the day wore on the smoke became much stronger. Jan was at work in the city on a bank on George Street. When the fire looked like it was coming up the valley she rang up the Jan’s boss and asked him to get Jan to the phone. She saw a red glow through the windows and felt the approaching heat. When she noticed the flames at the fence through the windows she cried into the phone.

“Don’t call him any more, just tell him the flames are at the fence and I’ll have to get the children out.”

She had been bathing the baby to keep her cool and didn’t have time to dress her. She gathered her up in a blanket. She remembered her grandfathers words, an old Irish farmer who was worried about his girl living out in the bush.

“When a fire comes make your way to the first brick house.” he kept reminding her.

She wrapped everyone in the damp woollen blankets and she was ready. Her plan was to leave by the only door and go down the front of the house to the street. She gathered everyone together and holding hands as she opened the front door. The blast of heat knocked them all back. She saw a wall of flames leaping up as tall as the gumtrees, 10 feet above the wire fence at the front of the block before she slammed the door shut again.

The children were screaming and sobbing and she had to quickly settle them. Ross the oldest knew he had to be brave for the smaller ones. Keith didn’t want to leave the ‘Radio Shram’ and was panicked. Verna knew they would be lucky to escape with their lives and they had to leave everything behind.

She gathered everyone at the door and gave instructions. Out the door to the back of the house and away from the fire, run fast and don’t look back, and over the back fence into the neighbours. Make for Mrs Deans brick house up the road. It took two more attempts to get out the back door the heat was so intense. She finally made it and they raced around the back. It was cooler behind the house but the smoke was thick. She just hoped the baby was alright beneath the flap of blanket in the bundle tight in her arms. The fence was a 6 foot paling.

Ross went over first, he was big for his age, blonde and agile, he was up and over with well practised ease, Verna noticed. She climbed up with one arm and handed the baby over first, it was a heart wrenching moment but Ross’s hand were steady as he took the precious bundle. Keith next, he was still whimpering but knew what he had to do and scrabbled at the fence as Verna hauled him up and dangled him down into Ross’s hands. Johnny went over easily, they had the team work going.

“Six weeks after giving birth and I’m climbing a fence.” she muttered as she hauled herself up on to the fence to a chorus of “Come on mum, mum you can do it. Mum!” The flames were red above the house and the roaring was load. She heaved herself over and jumped down the other side. She gathered up the baby and adjusted everyone’s blankets. They ran across Mrs Erentals backyard, and headed down the side of her house that opened out on to the street. The smoke was billowing but she couldn’t see flames on the street. The smoke was thick now and being buffetted by the gusts of wind from up the valley, but the dirt street was wide and she headed up the middle. Michele in her arms, Johnny on one hand, Keith holding his hand, and Ross riding shotgun on the outside, all running down the centre of the road, the roar of the flames behind them.

Through the smoke she heard a car engine and a white van screeched to a halt beside them. The local paper delivery man jumped out and said.

“My god where did you come from?”

“Out of the corner house, 44.”

“We evacuated every family at ten oclock this morning and took them down to the showground.” he said as they bundled the children into the van.

“Well you forgot about me!” she said.

Back at the road block the firemen were very apologetic. They said they hadn’t seen any kids playing in the yard, so assumed she had gone already.

Verna is particularly indignant at this point and her hazel eyes flash. “What woman would let her children play outside in a bushfire!”

The paper man took them back to his shop on the corner of Bantry Bay road and set them on the floor with cushions in the back of the shop. The baby started to cry and Verna immediately breast fed her. She had been good as gold through the whole adventure. As she rocked the baby she noticed her dress was covered in tiny holes where sparks had singed through the fabric.

The boys were given Coca Cola and it was the first time they had ever tasted it. When Johnny, now nearly fifty years old, tastes Coke, it still brings back the smell of the bushfire.

Jan arrived later on in the afternoon and they rang their house out at French’s Forest. The line was good so they when back. The house was safe but every blade of grass and tree was burnt around it.