Earthquakes, Wind and Fires
- Details
- Written September 2020
Most of my early years were in Port Elizabeth, known as The Windy City. It was hard work cycling up Cape Road after school each afternoon, heading straight into the west wind. Dangerous though it was, we could catch the slipstream of the number 5 bus. Cape Town, with its howling southeaster was no better. At least it was known as the Cape doctor. ‘It blows all those germs away,’ we were told. Really? Cape Town still managed to have the highest incidence of pulmonary tuberculosis in South Africa, and the Western Cape seems to have had the worst of the coronavirus pandemic. But neither city could compare with our first experience of a cyclone on the east coast of India in 1990. Power pylons were blown down, roofing was lifted off, buildings were flattened, then the torrential rain, leaving us with a million pound rebuilding scheme on our hands. These days I listen to the UK shipping forecast as they drone on with details of gale force here, and limited visibility there. But I’m safely snuggled in under the duvet.
Our first experience of earth tremors had been in Zambia. The world’s largest man-made lake of Kariba was a mere thirty miles away. We were told that’s what caused a shift in the tectonic plate. We hardly noticed them, but a visiting doctor told us he’d dived under the bed in fright. Johannesburg had them too. Did mines have something to do with them? And I woke one morning in India with the bed rocking. The earthquake was several hundred miles away in Maharashtra. It was felt in Andhra Pradesh.
But my first real encounter with an earthquake was in 1980. A congregation in South Italy was part of the community affected. A Salvationist medical student had reported that services were severely disrupted and appealed for help. The newly-arrived medical adviser at the international office was ordered to set up a ‘field hospital’. We worked around the clock to assemble two van-loads of basic supplies with a couple of nurses to help. They drove across the Alps in deep snow. I flew out, ready to receive them and get started. But by the time I got there, things became clearer. The Italian health services were coping. We stayed for ten days, providing practical support and encouragement. We heard more about community aspirations. They might not have got a field hospital, but in years following a factory was constructed with funds from The Salvation Army in the US. It was a steep learning curve for me. Don’t always believe those first reports; make your own assessment. And simply being with people in their time of crisis can be as useful as providing them with material aid.
‘We must go,’ Margaret told me when there was a major earthquake in Gujarat 20 years later. ‘We need to be there.’ But our colleagues in India assured me they were coping perfectly well, and gave regular updates on what was happening, so much so, that when TSA was asked to contribute to the early morning television news show Good Morning Britain, I had second-hand facts at my finger-tips.
What about fires? There was the bush-burning of our African days, reducing the tick population we were told. Perhaps most notable were those that happened on the slopes of Table Mountain. Sometimes it was arson; sometimes accidental (sparks from a barbecue, a match or cigarette) sometimes a lightning strike. Devastating to the forests and threatening housing, but Cape fynbos seed needs the heat for its shell to crack open and germinate.
The fire in TSA Men’s Hostel on Simmonds Street in the early 90s in Johannesburg made the headlines. We were away in Cape Town when it happened. chief secretary, June Dwyer, did a superb job managing operations. Community response (spearheaded by the Gauteng newspaper, The Star) was magnificent and a few years later a purpose-built modern building stood on the property. SA international leader, General Paul Rader opened the new facility. ‘I’ve always imagined a lovely geranium garden in the central courtyard, I told him. ‘It’s not there yet.’ ‘I’d like to pay for that,‘ he replied. He did. I wonder if the residents have kept it looking good? I like the motto of the City of London, adopted after the Great Fire of 1666. I keep it mind and think of places like St Paul’s Cathedral as we live through this pandemic – Resurgam - we will rise again!
While thinking about fires I must mention Margaret’s passion for fire engines and its firemen. She would invariably rush to the window when she heard a siren. Colleagues marked her retirement with a toy fire engine. I still have it. One of her delights was the visit of three firemen, complete with their red engine parked outside. They’d come to inspect the house. They explained the importance of the three-monthly check of the fire alarm they’d installed. ‘Are they coming back to do that?’ I asked her with a wink. She smiled. ‘That’s our job.’ Come to think of it, I need to get round to doing that now.
September 2020