2 January 1936

DISASTROUS CHRISTMAS EVE FIRE IN RUNDLE STREET 

Two Firemen Killed: Others Have Miraculous Escapes

There was enough excitement in Rundle street on Christmas Eve as it was, but what would have been the case had a large block of buildings opposite Stephens place been gutted by fire in less than half an hour? This is actually what happened just 49 years ago. Not only was an enormous amount of damage done— about £50,000 worth— but two firemen lost their lives in fighting the flames. 

Between 7 and 8 o'clock on Christmas eve, the crowd usually begins to collect in Rundle street to make merry and to make last-minute purchases. At about 20 minutes past 7 o'clock on Christmas Eve, 1886, an assistant in R. C. Castle & Co.'s drapery store was lighting the old-fashioned gas lamps in the window when a piece of taper fell off, igniting a piece of muslin. The piece of cloth flared up, and Christmas decorations ignited the window. 

Men in the Globe Hotel on the opposite corner of Stephens place and Rundle street, saw the fire start, and wondered whether some parasols they could see would ignite. They did, and although the assistant had called for water at once, the flames soon gained a hold in the drapery which was hanging up, and spread with startling rapidity. As the fire went through Castle's shop nearby firms put up their shutters, and the Christmas Eve crowd, estimated at about 20,000, gathered on the other side of the road. By 20 minutes to eight, firms had got out their own hoses, and were concentrating on preventing the flames from spreading. 

At Marshall's drapery store opposite, water was sprayed on the wood-work of the shutters. One small hose from Marshall's was being trained on the fire, but was useless. Burning fragments were being blown a great distance, and some went as far as the Adelaide Club on North terrace. The crowd in the street, noticing how quickly the fire was spreading, became very excited, as they could visualise the whole block being burned. 

Almost half an hour after the out break, the first fire reel in charge of Deputy Superintendent Shearing dashed up, closely followed by the No. 1 reel. It was explained afterwards that no-one had informed the brigade of the fire, although someone who had gone to a fire telephone in the Adelaide Arcade had found it out of order. Al though there were 20 telephones in neighboring business establishments, none was used. 

When the brigade arrived, firemen were powerless to save Castle's shop, as the ground floor was a blazing mass of wreckage, and the fire had burst from the eastern windows, and was menacing the roofs of Calder's pastry cook shop and Harvey & Walker's fruit shop. The fire had spread quickly to the Academy of Music, which had been gutted three times in as many years, and was supposed to be fireproof, and was menacing Cunningham's glass warehouse. 

By about 8 o'clock the North Adelaide and other reels had arrived, but they could do little to stop the flames. The interior of Castle's fell in about 8 o'clock, and the flames leapt up with renewed vigor. It was certainly an awe-inspiring sight, and what with the roar of the flames, the noise of the water on them, and the cries from the crowd, it was a Christmas Eve which was not likely to be forgotten. 

In 25 minutes the whole of a drapery store had been gutted. The wind freshened and drove the fire back from Calder's, and extra hoses were rushed inside Cunningham's to fight the on-coming flames. A few men from the crowd rushed inside, and, eager to do something, smashed the windows. Suddenly there was a crash of crockery and a cry that two men had been buried in the debris. Firemen and onlookers rushed to their aid, and removed broken glass and rubbish from them in desperate haste. One hose was working badly— the water pressure was not good — and this added to the difficulties of the rescuers. One man was quickly pulled out and taken to the rear of the fire and treated. An engine-driver was pinned also, but he was extricated and treated for a cut and swollen arm, which was bleeding profusely. 

The bare walls of the Academy of Music gave the crowd little indication how the fire was affecting it, but the glow told its own story. It was not long before the Academy was a burnt out shell. There was another loud crash as portion of the wall of Cunningham's fell in and broke through the already burnt first floor, and carried the whole mass of debris with it. The cry arose that there was another man buried. 

Actually there were two firemen beneath that fallen floor. In an endeavor to quell the approaching fire which was taking toll on the ground floor of Cunningham's, Deputy Superintendent Shearing ordered a permanent fireman named Gardner and a volunteer named Clark, who were at work on Castle's building, to go with him into Cunningham's. Gardner led the way with the hose. Shearing followed, and then Clark. At the door way was an ex-fireman named Shaw. 'All right, turn on the water,' called Gardner, when he had gone in about 15 to 20 paces, but the instant Shearing turned round to carry out the instructions, there was a crash without the slightest warning. Shearing had his hand on Clark's arm, and received a blow which threw him towards the doorway. He caught hold of Clark's arm, intending to pull him to safety with him, but a piece of timber made him release his grasp. Shearing received another blow, and was thrown towards the pavement stunned. 

There was no sign of Gardner, and a quivering hand was all that could be seen of Clark. Rescuers worked desperately to extricate Clark, and soon his head and shoulders were clear. The lower part of his body, how ever, was pinned by a beam, and the flames were but a few feet away. There was not time to lift the obstacle, so the firemen had to be dragged from underneath it. He suffered extreme agony, and is said to have exclaimed, 'Knock me on the head.' He was taken first to the Globe Hotel, and later to the Adelaide Hospital, but died at 4 p.m. on the following day. 

The fire prevented any attempt to rescue Gardner, who was in the midst of the ruins, and his body was not recovered until the following day. A search was begun at 1 o'clock the following morning, but the tottering walls resulted in the search being abandoned. About the same time as the two fire men were fatally injured, Dr. Morison and Mr. Dobson, an assistant in Cunningham's, were engaged in taking glassware from a showcase. Suddenly they heard a cracking sound. Dobson smashed his way through the glass of the showcase in which he was standing, and bounded out, only a second or two before the wall crashed on to the showcase, smashing it to matchwood. The change of the wind to the north-east drove the flames back, and a good supply of water there precluded any chance of the fire breaking out to the east. Cunningham's was well alight, and the premises of Cornish, a jeweller, and Raphael, who sold American novelties, were threatened. By half-past 8 the firemen seemed to have made little progress. 

Shortly afterwards two of them climbed on to the balcony of Cunningham's, within a few feet of the windows from which flames were shooting, and poured water into the first floor. The No. 2 reel had gone back to the head fire station in Flinders street for scaling ladders, and these helped the firemen to use the water more effectively. The fire had been definitely checked by 9 o'clock, though was not considered to be under control until about midnight. There is still a link with this fire in Adelaide, as a memorial fountain was erected through a shilling fund to honor one of the firemen who died, Gardner. This fountain is in Elder Park, quite close to King William road.— H.

An All Night Watch 

He had an Aboriginal name when I first got him, a young semi-myall of about 16, whose knowledge of pidgin English consisted of little more than beef and damper. The station from where I was lifting a mob of cattle had made arrangements for the boy to be signed on by me, as was necessary with Aborigines. 

For the first few weeks the boy assisted with the horses, not doing any watching at night, and so quiet was he that we christened him 'Dummy.' In a couple of weeks the cattle had quietened down, and one man on watch at a time was quite sufficient. 

Water had probably been the cause, but, whatever it was, three of the men became affected with dysentery, and, in order to shorten the hours of watch of the unaffected men, I decided to let Dummy do a watch. To add to our troubles, the only timekeeper we had in camp had also become affected internally, so, pointing out the evening star to Dummy, I told him to keep on riding round the cattle until the star set. Dummy said he understood, and I left him at it, all of us turning in before the star disappeared. 

When on the road with cattle, I usually awakened half a dozen times during the night, but, for some unaccountable reason, this night in particular I slept like a log, not stirring until the first tinge of grey was showing to the east. 

Wondering why I had not been called to do the last watch, I put on my boots, and, mounting the spare night horse, rode out to the mob. Great was my surprise to see Dummy still in charge. To my query as to why he had not come in and called the man who should have taken the second watch, Dummy, pointing to the sky, said the star 'no tumble down yet.' I could not quite fathom whether all stars were alike to the blackboy, or whether he had thought I meant him to remain on watch until all the stars had disappeared, but from then on Dummy bore a new name; we christened him 'Daylight.' He held the fort all night, possibly afraid to ride in when he felt sleepy.— 'Drover.'