Summer continues to bite down hard on us woebegone denizens of this great brown land and we continue to swelter through the exorbitant heat that is suffocating the life out of all but the hardiest of souls. And there is no relief on the horizon yet!
Like a cavalry detachment pinned down by hostiles, scanning the surrounding hills for signs of reinforcement, so too have I been scouring the weather forecasts, hoping for a break in the continuing warm patch. It appears the “injuns” may get my scalp!
Today, Canberra will rise to the unpleasant maximum of 37 degrees and although it will be slightly more comfortable for the next couple of days with temperatures forecast to peak around 30 degrees, it is due to get really hot again towards the end of the week. Oh for a few days of rain!
Of course such temperatures won’t be par forever but summer is certainly having it’s way with us this year.
Bushfires have been burning all over the nation, a not uncommon thing in Australia at this time of year but when the temperature climbs and we get durable winds as we did a few days ago then the danger factor rises and the country erupts like a tinderbox.
There are two fires burning in my local region, both uncontrolled but generally away from the populace, save for the odd farmhouse but there have been no reports of homes or lives being lost in this region but stock losses are reported to be heavy. Heartbreaking.
These catastrophic events always have a resonance for my family as my grandfather was lost fighting a grassfire near Wangaratta in the 1940’s and if you are ever in the vicinity of that town, more precisely, travelling the snow road to the mountains, you may notice the memorial obelisk on the right not long after you leave Wangaratta.
On this obelisk is my grandfather’s name, immortalised forever along with the appellations of nine other men and boys who perished in the same fire on December 22, 1943. As I understand it the house which stands near the memorial is one they were trying to save on the day of the tragedy although the disaster itself took place just a short distance away up the Beechworth road.
Most of those who perished were on a CFA fire truck which arrived on the scene just as the wind changed and increased and about forty or so men who had gathered to receive instruction on what to do next were caught out by what became a firestorm in the trees.
Some ran for open ground and the firetruck tried to do a three point turn and instead bottomed out it’s chassis in a table drain and the fire fighters on board were caught out and paid the ultimate price.
I understand my grandfather was found fifty metres or so from the truck, alive but critically burnt and he died the next day in hospital.
One would struggle to comprehend what Christmas 1943 was like for my grandmother and her five children but I daresay in the most stoic Australian fashion of the time she battled on and made the most of it.
I guess the comfort of distance and time makes the tragedy fairly abstract for me and for my mother too as she was only a baby when it happened but I know it plays on her mind on days such as this and she of course had to endure the hardship of growing up without a father, not an easy thing in any age but I think particularly so in the era concerned. But she seems to have endured pretty well.
So I take my hat off to volunteer firefighters. I know what they are risking every day when they are on the fire front and although tragedies such as befell my grandfather and his colleagues are rare, they are still a possibility which I am sure plays at the back of their minds and that of their loved ones every time they go out to face the flames.
Alas, we are facing another total fire ban day but the winds appear to be light and we can only hope the day turns out to be easier on the land and those in the path of uncontrollable fires than predicted.
So, as we laze back under our air conditioners, flick on the telly and watch the tennis or spend the day wasting time on the Internet, just take a moment to remember those volunteering to keep the homes and hearths of others safe and wish them all the best. They are often all that stands between home and heartbreak.
Have a nice day.
Like a cavalry detachment pinned down by hostiles, scanning the surrounding hills for signs of reinforcement, so too have I been scouring the weather forecasts, hoping for a break in the continuing warm patch. It appears the “injuns” may get my scalp!
Today, Canberra will rise to the unpleasant maximum of 37 degrees and although it will be slightly more comfortable for the next couple of days with temperatures forecast to peak around 30 degrees, it is due to get really hot again towards the end of the week. Oh for a few days of rain!
Of course such temperatures won’t be par forever but summer is certainly having it’s way with us this year.
Bushfires have been burning all over the nation, a not uncommon thing in Australia at this time of year but when the temperature climbs and we get durable winds as we did a few days ago then the danger factor rises and the country erupts like a tinderbox.
There are two fires burning in my local region, both uncontrolled but generally away from the populace, save for the odd farmhouse but there have been no reports of homes or lives being lost in this region but stock losses are reported to be heavy. Heartbreaking.
These catastrophic events always have a resonance for my family as my grandfather was lost fighting a grassfire near Wangaratta in the 1940’s and if you are ever in the vicinity of that town, more precisely, travelling the snow road to the mountains, you may notice the memorial obelisk on the right not long after you leave Wangaratta.
On this obelisk is my grandfather’s name, immortalised forever along with the appellations of nine other men and boys who perished in the same fire on December 22, 1943. As I understand it the house which stands near the memorial is one they were trying to save on the day of the tragedy although the disaster itself took place just a short distance away up the Beechworth road.
Most of those who perished were on a CFA fire truck which arrived on the scene just as the wind changed and increased and about forty or so men who had gathered to receive instruction on what to do next were caught out by what became a firestorm in the trees.
Some ran for open ground and the firetruck tried to do a three point turn and instead bottomed out it’s chassis in a table drain and the fire fighters on board were caught out and paid the ultimate price.
I understand my grandfather was found fifty metres or so from the truck, alive but critically burnt and he died the next day in hospital.
One would struggle to comprehend what Christmas 1943 was like for my grandmother and her five children but I daresay in the most stoic Australian fashion of the time she battled on and made the most of it.
I guess the comfort of distance and time makes the tragedy fairly abstract for me and for my mother too as she was only a baby when it happened but I know it plays on her mind on days such as this and she of course had to endure the hardship of growing up without a father, not an easy thing in any age but I think particularly so in the era concerned. But she seems to have endured pretty well.
So I take my hat off to volunteer firefighters. I know what they are risking every day when they are on the fire front and although tragedies such as befell my grandfather and his colleagues are rare, they are still a possibility which I am sure plays at the back of their minds and that of their loved ones every time they go out to face the flames.
Alas, we are facing another total fire ban day but the winds appear to be light and we can only hope the day turns out to be easier on the land and those in the path of uncontrollable fires than predicted.
So, as we laze back under our air conditioners, flick on the telly and watch the tennis or spend the day wasting time on the Internet, just take a moment to remember those volunteering to keep the homes and hearths of others safe and wish them all the best. They are often all that stands between home and heartbreak.
Have a nice day.
Strange Notations From a Laborious Life 