| This article appeared in the Shepparton News on Monday, February 6, 1939. Dan and Jack Gorey went to their Uncle Bill's home at Lemnos after fire destroyed their home at Icy Creek. Their story was written down by their Aunt Jemima. In our irrigated district it is hard to visualise what a bush fire means to a mountain township in thickly timbered country. This graphic account comes from two little refugees of Noojee who are staying with relatives at Lemnos. Told in their own language, this account is vivid of the recent outbreak in which one brother perished, and which took their home and all their possessions. At 6 o'clock we got up and had our breakfast and the smoke was very thick. We went out to cut ferns, but by ten o'clock we had to stop as the smoke was hurting our eyes and the heat was terrible. When we were having dinner at noon, a forest ranger came and told us there was a fire raging on the top of Mt McDonald, and we had to go and keep watch as lighted bark and cinders were flying around the house. Soon after, the post mistress rang up and told us to fly for our lives as the fire was only a mile from Noojee, so we gathered up all the clothes that we could and then father, mother and we seven children ran as fast as we could to the big paddock where dad made us lie under a wet blanket whilst he carried water from a dam two chains away. All that he had to protect him was a wet towel on his head. We lay under the blanket for a long time, and to me it seemed to be all day. I could not stand the sound of falling trees and roar of the flames any longer, so I stuck my head out to have a look. The fire was most terrible and yet it was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen — just like fairyland or a huge city lit at night. The flames were hundreds of feet high and when the wind changed to the south we were caught between two blazing mountains and could not escape. Dad was our only protection by keeping the blanket wet. Next time I peeped out I saw our potato shed had caught fire and then the cow sheds went. About five minutes after that I saw that a piece of wood on the end of the house was alight. Soon there was no house, sheds or anything left — all had gone up in smoke in less than five minutes. Just as the house crashed, the cows stampeded into the flames, but they all got through safely though their udders were skinned. Dad had to use a lantern to see where he was going because it was so dark with smoke and ash. When this cleared a little we saw our old mare coming through the burning wood looking for her mate. She found him with us, as dad had covered his head with a wet bag, and the horse was so frightened that he'd just stood still. By this time we were able to breathe without the aid of the wet blankets we'd been under for more than three hours, but it seemed like three days. Our mother was thinking of my two elder brothers who were out in the forest at Saxton's mill. Soon we were joined by our neighbors, Mr and Mrs Cross and their children, who had lost everything, too. Everywhere you looked was black ruins, except our dairy. All the things we had gathered up were lost — our cricket bats, tennis racquets and all our clothes. All we had were our swimming togs, which we had on. We shifted the blankets and mattress into the dairy and the women and girls tried to sleep there whilst the men and boys kept watch on a tree which was showering sparks close to the dairy. In the morning the sun shone through the smoke — it was the first time we'd seen it for two days. My brother and I set off to look for the cows and we saw dead bodies of animals everywhere. Then we met two men coming across the black paddock and they beckoned to dad. Mother saw Jim, one of my elder brothers and called out to know where Mick was, but Jim would not answer. Then dad came up and told her that Mick had been burnt to death. Soon after a policeman came and told her to get us children ready as a car was coming to take us to Warragul, but we didn't need much getting ready as we had nothing left to put on, so we sat and waited whilst the man told us more of the fire. He said Eric Saxton held a wet blanket over the mouth of the dugout for over half an hour, thus saving their lives. It took six men and my brother, Jim, all they could do bringing the men out of faints as they were collapsing all the time from the heat. If the fire had lasted another ten minutes they would have all been dead in the dugout. On their way down they came across a mother and her baby. She had her head bent over as though trying to protect the child. All that was left of them were their skeletons propped up against a tree where she had fallen exhausted. Her husband was lying beside her, just his bones, for the fire had burnt their flesh. They had also found the remains of two baby boys in the ashes of another house. The tank, which another man had crawled into for safety, collapsed and rolled away with him through the flames, but it saved his life. When the car came for us we said goodbye to dad and my brothers, and set off for Warragul where they gave us clothing and opened their homes to us. On Saturday the police brought in the bodies of Mr and Mrs Saxton and my brother, Mick, and he was buried at Warragul. Then aunt and uncle came and brought us to Shepparton, where we will live till dad has a home for us again. I hope I shall never see another bush fire and will never forget the sight of the burnt bodies of all the poor birds and animals strewn along the road to Warragul. |