literally another aussie in london

It’s weird being in London while a piece of your old home burns.

A place where i did a great deal of my growing up.

Looking at the fires in Victoria, especially those north of Melbourne, is like looking at a list of places i played tennis, cricket and golf at in my youth.

Wandong, Kinglake, Kinglake west, Whittlesea, Strathewen, and Broadford were all places i spent time.

Not sure i can ever truly explain what it is like to see your home turf burning up from the other side of the world.

Watching BBC, Sky and CBS explain the utter devastation that people you know have to face upto.

The helplessness you feel, and it feels worse knowing that if you were there you would be just as hopeless.

A fire fighter saying its the worst he’s ever seen, with the words of your home town on the fire engine behind him.

Looking at the google earth maps with flames all around your state, working out har far from your parents the little digital flames are. .

Sifting through the photos, seeing the horror, and hoping like fuck you don’t see anyone you know, unless it’s in one of those amazing survivor stories.

Then the calls, no one answering, knowing that your parents are surrounded by an almost impenetrable suburban bushfire wall means nothing when you can’t get them to answer their phones.

Finally reaching them, only for your dad to be out shopping.

He assures you he is in no danger, and that one of his friends has lost everything except his house and his family.

You have to push him before he mentions that he can’t get a hold of some friends.

Hearing that close family friends are unaccounted for, one man who was like an uncle to you, another who was one of the first adults who encouraged you to swear, is tough, even if you were there, you could do little, but being half way round the world makes you feel selfish, useless, and angry.

Then your dad reminds you of your friends family, so you hang up from your dad, after agreeing to keep each other updated on people unaccounted for, and ring your mate.

He doesn’t answer, probably because he is busy, but you fear the worst, the very worst, you text him, and after 20 or so painfully long minutes he gets back to you, his family are fine, and thanks to a sudden change of wind direction, their home is saved.

You breathe again, but are reminded there are so many you don’t know about yet.

Rereading the text you notice something that stops you dead.

“Kinglake is gone”

How does a place just go?

I always hated Kinglake, west and proper, but I never wished the place burnt down, taken from the map, or anything of the sort.

My memories of Kinglake were of snakes, long grass where snakes could be, crappy asphalt tennis courts, big trees, a national park, and playing on stinking hots days as a kid.

The place always shitted me, and nothing more than the fog. Driving through kinglake at night was a fucken pain when i first got my license, like natures own driving test, survive it, and you must be able to drive.

As a kid, i always thought it was the most haunted place on earth. Tall trees, dead mans fog, and dangerous winding roads, I used to hate that fucken place.

I always had trouble sleeping after driving through there at night, but now, there is no Kinglake, but plenty of ghosts.

I will continue to wait for calls.

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