1967
The forecast was for temperature in the mid-30's, a hot day for Tassie. School was to start the next day, and our visiting uncle took us all to Clifton beach. We went early, as a sea breeze can come through and wreck the day, too often.
A bit after midday, the Northerly wind was picking up and no sign of a cooling SE breeze. It was hot, and the sky was darkening. Mum voiced concerns and we reluctantly packed up and headed back to Hobart. By the time we got to Lauderdale, the wind was ripping across the bay, we could see and taste smoke. We pushed on and, coming over the rise into Rokeby, the hills ahead were aflame. Up Glebe hill, houses were alight and telegraph poles had fallen across the road after being burnt. Uncle gingerly steered a path through. At Pass Road, we entered a vortex of swirling embers and thick acrid smoke. The entire valley was blackened.
We crossed the Tasman bridge, the western side of the Derwent was hidden in smoke. We hadn't seen police anywhere, cars drove with headlights on, radio stations had stopped as their tramitters burnt down, and it was hot. The official temp was 42.7°C but in a howling wind it felt like an oven. The Derwent Valley, the slopes of Mount Wellington and the Channel took the brunt of the bushfire; it was said the firefront travelled 60km in one hour.
Next day, we went to school . Lyn Bradshaw was not in uniform as she'd lost everything. Three days later, we went to Ferntree to help a family friend who'd lost his home. Coming into the last bend, everything was totally burnt. The air was still and it rained ash ; everything was black or grey. Driveways led to brick rubble and twisted metal.