It’s the brooding presence that dominates our sense of Hobart. We know it as kunanyi, or Mt Wellington. Mostly, we know it as the Mountain. It is a constant reminder, whether it is framed by clear blue skies, wrapped in soft mists or covered in a blanket of snow, that the elements of the natural world are potent, and close.
On cloudy days the vertical columns of the Organ Pipes flicker with patterns of light and shade and, in the pre-dawn light, the dark rock is infused with a pink glow. To the south-east lies Storm Bay, the Tasman Peninsula and the Tasman Sea.
At four hundred metres above sea level, Fern Tree, Hobart’s most elevated suburb, nestles between these two evocative scenes. Surrounded by native forest, and with every shady nook populated with man ferns, Fern Tree is home to about 700 people.
Mountain living offers a unique lifestyle, but living close to nature, especially at high altitudes, is not for the faint-hearted. Tasmania is known for its four seasons in one day and nowhere is this more evident than in Fern Tree. The weather extremes may create great beauty but they can also bring danger. Changing weather patterns can generate snow, ice and strong winds at any time of the year, but there is a greater latent menace, the summer dragon, which, given the right conditions, will rise and breathe a fire that consumes all in its path.
The 50th anniversary of February 7, 1967 – Black Tuesday – brought back memories for many Tasmanians. They shared their stories with the younger generations and newcomers to the state. They reminded each other of the terrors of that day. Some shook their heads in wonder; others shed tears along with those telling the story.
It was a Tuesday, that seventh day of February in 1967. It was the first day back at school for some students after the long summer holidays, and for others it was the last day of the holidays. For children at home in Fern Tree, it was a day that would be fixed into their memories forever.
Fifty-three people died on that fateful day in 1967, and another nine died later from their injuries. There would have been more deaths if those sheltering at the Fern Tree Hotel had not been evacuated.
Torquil Canning’s book, Black Tuesday – Memories of a Mega Fire, recounts the stories of many of Fern Tree’s residents at that time. This is a little-known story about the evacuation of about 200 people, mostly women and children, from outside the Fern Tree Hotel, where the Fern Tree Tavern stands today.
On that fateful day, fire swept across the Mountain towards Fern Tree. It started in Glenorchy, close to where I lived at the time. I was nine years old and I will never forget it, watching the Mountain burn. Strong winds ripped tiles off the school roof and, through the thick, stinging smoke, I could see houses alight on the adjacent hill. Looking through the archive folders in the State Library Reading Room 50 years later, I find a collection of loose-leaf reports from Tasmania Police and other authorities that recount the astonishing story of the Fern Tree evacuation.
Clive Calver was 11 years old at the time, and he still lives in Fern Tree. He recalls that it was early afternoon. It was hot, windy and smoky, and there was a lot of ash falling around the house. He was at home with his mother in Pillinger Drive and they weren’t too concerned. There was no indication on the radio that there was a threat to Fern Tree. However, after Clive’s mother spoke to a neighbour, she decided to evacuate and Clive and his mother joined the growing number of people assembling outside the hotel.
Georgina Waterhouse lived in Summerleas Road with her family. On the morning of the fires, she says there was smoke from a bushfire in nearby Neika. Before leaving home, to take five-year-old Ruth to school in Hobart, Georgina checked with the fire warden and was assured there was nothing to worry about. She left her two younger daughters with her neighbour, Jean, while she took her eldest to school. By the time she tried to return to Fern Tree, the police had blocked the road.
“Imagine,” said Georgina, “what that felt like. Two kids up there and not being allowed to go home.”
As wildfires threatened their homes, more people gathered outside the hotel. Police records show that by 2pm there were at least 200 people sheltering as fires closed in. One policeman wrote in his report, “There was flying debris and the smoke and heat had become intense. Children were crying and the people were becoming frightened.”
Clive Calver remembers people milling around wondering what to do. The sky was very dark and there was a lot of ash falling. Firefighters connected the hoses to dampen the crowd, but no water came out. “By now I was getting very frightened,” Clive said, “and I suggested that we should take refuge in the church. No one listened then, but the church still stands today.” He remembers seeing the cheery grin of a school friend, Michael Redmond, which cheered him up.
. . .
Further down the Mountain, the archives reveal, members of the police and the Civil Defence (now State Emergency Service) were trying to break through to Fern Tree, but they were held back by fires and the lack of equipment. Civil Defence headquarters ordered two men to proceed to Fern Tree to pick up a large number of trapped people. Taking two trucks, these men picked up volunteers and issued them with overalls and helmets. They travelled up the Mountain road, only to be stopped by police and turned back because of fallen power lines.
Georgina’s neighbour, Jean, had her own baby and Georgina’s two children, two-year-old Rebecca and 10-month-old Rachael, with her. Jean knew she had to leave. They left the house and walked up Summerleas Road. Rebecca remembers following Jean to the hotel. “We walked quite a way. I wasn’t even three, but I remember Jean’s skirts, and the birds dropping from the sky and this huge red sun through the smoke. When we got to the top of the road, there was fire all around.”
Many years later, Jean told Rebecca that at the time she had believed that no one could possibly get through and that they were all going to die.
While people waited outside the hotel, police officers moved amongst them, giving out wet blankets and encouraging them to stay calm. The fire was about 30 metres from the hotel. The shop across the road and the surrounding houses were already on fire.
In South Hobart, the police were still trying to clear the road. They were finally issued a chainsaw to clear fallen trees and it was confirmed that the power lines were no longer live. Police headquarters encouraged officers to try to get through again and, at 3pm, police contacted the Civil Defence asking for vehicles and personnel.
With fire on both sides of the road, the convoy of police, and volunteers from Civil Defence and St John Ambulance, worked their way to Fern Tree. Reassured by the arrival of the convoy that the road was now passable, a number of people left in their own vehicles and the remaining women and children were quickly loaded onto the trucks and taken to a safer location at the Strickland Avenue/Huon Road junction.
Clive remembers several trucks arriving and loading people onto the back of the vehicles. He remembers passing burning houses and cars on the way down the Mountain. Rebecca remembers being thrown onto a truck under blankets and racing down the Mountain. She was still with Jean, but they were separated from 10-month-old Rachael. Jean had her own baby, so Rachael was given to someone else to hold.
“I had nightmares for years after,” Rebecca says.
. . .
According to Civil Defence reports, their truck returned to the Hotel at 4.30pm to pick up the remaining men. The final evacuation took just eight minutes. The driver reported, “Arriving back at Fern Tree, the hotel had just gone. I loaded some personal belongings and picked up some people and returned to Hobart.”
The people of Hobart opened their homes and took in many fire survivors. While some families were reunited quickly and offered refuge for the night, there were many, including children, who suffered the anguish of separation and searching for their loved ones.
Georgina spent an anxious wait at a friend’s house in Sandy Bay, listening to the radio. The police announced that there were some unclaimed children at the Town Hall and she left Ruth with her friend and rushed into the city. “I was in a daze – there was smoke everywhere. I was walking down Princes Street and there was a red brick house that exploded.” Georgina arrived at the Town Hall to find her Becky, “sitting in just a nappy, nothing else,” but 10-month-old Rachael was not there. Someone advised her to try the Red Cross where a number of babies were being cared for. But Rachael wasn’t there either.
Georgina returned to Sandy Bay. Eventually police came to the house to tell her they had found Rachel. “I had all three children again,” she says.
There had been 156 homes in Fern Tree; by the end of the day 56 remained. No lives were lost, but many lives were shattered. Both Clive and Georgina’s family homes were destroyed. Clive’s family rebuilt their home, as many residents did, but many more people left the Mountain. Those who returned to homes that were still standing felt exposed and vulnerable – the surrounding gardens and forests were gone. Georgina and her family returned to live temporarily in her parents’ holiday cottage, which had survived the fire. Georgina recalls that “there wasn’t a blade of grass anywhere”.
Half a century ago, the fires left the Mountain a stark, charred mass. Today the only remaining signs of that inferno are the dead trees that stand above the forest canopy. The forest has regenerated, although some fire-sensitive species no longer exist and others, such as the myrtle, are greatly reduced. On summer days, when hot winds blow from the north, my childhood memories stir and I’m reminded that the Mountain remains vulnerable to another terrible visit from the summer dragon.
This article was first published in issue 84 of Forty South magazine.
Janette Smith, born to Irish parents, moved to Tasmania when she was two. She recently, a few decades after leaving school at the age of 14, completed an arts degree. She lives with her husband close to Mt Wellington, which she says inspires her creativity, ideas and dreams.