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1952 MT STROMLO FIRE REMEMBERED

A recollection of a drama that turned out well for me

Doris Hogg - 1977

It was the morning of 5th February 1952; the dry heat was stifling. My three children had returned to school in Canberra after the long summer break and I had been busy cleaning the house. Following a shower and change of clothes I started preparing lunch for my husband. He was an astronomer who worked long hours mainly at night, and our proximity to the observatory allowed him to come home for lunch and perhaps a fifteen-minute catnap. Mt Stromlo in those days was remote and isolated from Canberra, the nearest town. The closest suburb at that time was Yarralumla, which was just starting to be developed from the small suburb clustered around Novar Street and known as Westridge. The Stromlo settlement consisted of a village of 6 houses and a timber building known as the batchelors quarters and was situated about a kilometre down the mountain from the main observatory. Mt Stromlo was a working pine forest, so was covered in mature pines on most sides. The road up from the Cotter Road was gravel, narrow, rutted and winding.

Having prepared lunch, I was sitting in a chair in my kitchen admiring the polishing I had done on the corridor and the main hall - on my knees, mind you - I had no polisher in those days. Just then Mr Neiberding, the deliveryman from JB Young's, rattled the back door and as he carried my grocery order inside he told me there was a fire approaching Stromlo from the Uriarra side. J B Youngs used to deliver to Stromlo and I suppose other outlying areas once a week, but if we ran out of something and couldn't get into town they would quite happily arrange for a special delivery. We also had a weekly visit from Mr Williams, the greengrocer, and of course the Rawleigh man would also call.

Just then my husband arrived home, explaining that there was an emergency and a bus had been arranged to transport wives and children into Canberra. Apparently the fire, which was started by a bolt of lightning near some sheep yards, had changed direction and was now heading towards Stromlo. As I knew my children were safe in town, I decided to stay where I would have the opportunity to protect my property. Arthur looked a little dubious about this and said I should pack what I could into the car and take it up to the observatory - he returned up the mountain on foot. I rang friends and schools in Canberra to make arrangements for the children. My two sons, aged 15 and 11 were to stay with the Chandlers in Forrest and my 5-year-old daughter with the Ellis family who were attached to the British High Commission. After collecting my daughter's favourite doll and the 20 pounds my elder son had earned during the holidays I drove up to the observatory in our Hudson Terraplane, at that stage about 16 years old. Through vaporisation the engine stalled on a small uprise but was pushed to safety by Mr Wood a forestry officer.

Gathered outside the main observatory building were Mrs Gwynneth Woolley (later Lady Woolley) wife of the Director, Clare Beech (later Wehner) and a lass whose name I cannot remember. The menfolk had disappeared to their various duties. It was calm at first but then with a whoosh the workshop caught alight when a spark from the encroaching fire caught on some leaves in the guttering. We were all stamping out odd sparks on the lawns surrounding the observatory. The workshop was well alight and destroyed at the cost of one hundred thousand pounds or more - valuable, almost irreplaceable delicate machinery with it. Mr Jim Banham - now retired - the workshop manager was almost in tears - as we all were. I did not know where my husband was nor what was happening to my home. There were vulnerable pine trees surrounding it and other houses.

A wood heap close to the observatory burst into flames and we used towels and our feet to try and help the men with their hoses. It wasn't long before the booster pumps for water gave out as the electricity failed. We felt we were all doomed as the fire roared around us but by the grace of God in the middle of a downward sweep towards the Cotter Road a light rain fell and the race of the fire halted.

As the smoke cleared we could see the Woolley's home, which was adjacent to the observatory buildings, so we went across, made tea for the men and carried it back to the observatory. Mrs Woolley and I sat on the concrete wall in front of the main building with wet towels round our necks - exhausted and still anxious about the other houses lower down the mountain. Just then my husband appeared with the wonderful news that all homes had escaped damage. The only casualties seemed to be some pre-fab homes, which had arrived in boxes from the UK only that morning. I believe that some components survived and were used to build houses in Canberra, which still stand to this day.

Soon after we had finished our tea a car drove into the observatory grounds, the men soon made welcome Mr Thorpe, the manager of the Hotel Canberra as he produced a keg of beer to quench their thirst. And I, who had not tasted beer until that day, found the cooling draught delightfully welcome. I understand Mr Thorpe made a practice of this after the many bushfires around Canberra at that time. May I say "God Bless you, Mr Thorpe" he may have died but his memory remains.

Before the fire took hold a staff member had run berserk and was found pulling telephones out of the wall to the extent that the phone in our home was the only one in working order. There was a queue to use it of course, and I certainly wasn't bothered about all the footprints over my newly polished floor! We were all alive and our homes had been saved and our families safe.

The phone rang hot, anxious friends and families and so many reporters. One asked me if it was true that we had been abandoned to a fiery fate. Fire engines were at the foot of the mountain but did not come up. I was compelled to explain to him the conditions of the winding dirt road with pine trees right to the verge. It would have been suicidal to attempt to ascend the mountain at that time.

The people of Canberra were marvellous, sending out sandwiches, tea, coffee and so on. I sat in the kitchen at about 10pm reading those days' Canberra Times and our mail by candlelight when my husband appeared with a sandwich for me; it was manna from heaven. Eventually the bus with the other wives arrived and several congregated on our front porch to mull over the events of the day. The fire had come perilously close to some houses. Our garden trellis was burnt along half its length and the fire had encroached onto the front lawn. Only judicious watering of the grounds around the house and the guttering had saved it.

That evening it was still very hot and when it was finally time to slip into my own bed, I did so gratefully. My husband took a mattress and slept on the front porch. Whilst undressing I found my son's twenty pounds, crumpled but safe. The precious doll was safe in the car.

The next day the children were due home from school and their unexpected overnight stay in town. I wandered down to meet the bus at about 4.30pm and my 5-year-old burst off into my arms, sobbing. She was devastated by the state of the mountain, particularly as sparks from one of the many burning stumps had jumped through the back door of the bus.

A couple of days later I hadn't been sleeping well, so was up early and watering the garden when the 90-year-old mother of a neighbour came by. Mrs Henry was a very erect lady and used to take a constitutional every morning. She told me she had heard on the radio of the death of King George V! - it was 6 February 1952. We both cried, the fear and anxiety of the last days coupled with the passing of a King was just too much for us, we let our tears flow. Then Mrs Henry straightened up, and declared she must continue with her walk.

For some time the mountain looked bleak - blackened pine trees and no wild life. Surprisingly a couple of small stands of deodar had survived the onslaught. Forestry workers from various plantations arrived to clear the debris and ready the mountain for new planting. Some of them lived in caravans and makeshift tents with their families. But before the new planting could begin nature took things into her own hands and pines starting regenerating themselves.

The spring following the fire my husband came home for lunch and persuaded me to come for a short walk. He led me down a steep embankment at the side of a service road and there beside some charred stumps was a feast of glory - wood violets, some yellow flowers, early nancies, maidenhair fern and a pink clover type flower. It's true saying you cannot always see the woods for the trees.