“Smoke on the water
Fire in the sky”
Deep Purple, Smoke On The Water, 1971
“Melbourne girls don’t cry.”
Paul Kelly, Melbourne Girls, 1993
Scrambling to find Christmas this year; it seems to have got lost in the haze of smoke hanging over Slobart.
The East Coast of Tasnarnia is burning, and here at the pickle factory we have been slaving away at rolling coverage, fire updates, and all the sorts of services the Corporation has been keen to embrace in recent times. We on the ground are of course the ones putting it into action, and apart from a bit of a practice run with Beaconsfield (which was an ‘event’ but without any real public service element) it's been some time since I have done this for an extended period. Plus, the nature of what we do, how we do it and so on is in constant evolution, so each time is like new. Only faster. And faster.
The fires have been bad – fast moving, intensely hot, savage. The East Coast, as Miss MP and I saw only a few weeks ago, is dry – there's never much rainfall on that side of the island, but recently I saw parts looking as bald and dusty as western NSW.
In some places like Four Mile Creek, the fire burned right to the edge of town and people took refuge in the sea. A fireball exploded over Irish Town, at Scamander they endured what the Firies called a ‘horrific firestorm’.
It’s draining broadcasting, but ultimately satisfying stuff – it justifies what is essentially fluff that fills the other 48 or so weeks, to make radio that may save people’s lives and property, or radio that really helps people through the uncertainty and loss.
Mind you, you would not know it’s been hard for some; people have an ear for the ridiculous and play up to it, with sometimes impressive results. We diverted the Morning Program from the Giving Tree Walk to the coastal town of St Helens where they did the show for the rest of the week.
Back here we had taken a call from a young woman in Queensland who could not contact her parents in Scamander and did not know if they were all right; as it happens, the mother had gone to St Helens and the Mornings crew had bumped into her, so we had an impromptu on-mic, on-phone reunion. It was quite emotional to begin with (“I love you, tell Dad I love him”) … but sanity and that wry outlook eventually prevailed. The mum was invited to finish the interview with the offer, “Is there anything else you want to say to your daughter?” To which she replied, “Have you got clean underwear on? Have you got a job yet?”
Although several hundred kms away, the smoke blows east to the city. It’s cast a pall over Slobart the past few weeks. Just as well I’ve been chained to the studios and my desk.
But I reckon it’s for the better. I have not had the time to Christmas shop, and so have not endured the cloying commercial sentiments of the season, crowds of harried consumers – all the things that suck any meaning out of Christmas or other end-of-year celebrations. Bah, humbug.
Instead, I’ve received with pleasure a few heartfelt thoughts from friends, sent out a few of my own, watched the ABC’s Giving Tree charity overwhelmed by gifts and donations for the needy and the fire victims, and will tomorrow be heading across the water to spend some time with my Dad. Hopefully we will have a better Christmas this year, even if Mum won’t be there and my sister has to stay in Brisbane. I have packed Dad a hand made Christmas pudding from Salamanca, and some other yummy things from around the island.
Merry Christmas, and may 2007 dawn clear and bright for you.
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