ROCK ‘N ROLL ISLAND
When your life is turned upside down repeatedly by Mother Nature’s forces, it can be hard to settle back into your old ways
What do you do when your life is turned upside down by Mother Nature’s forces?
HI STORY is dated BC and AD. In Canterbury, New Zealand, our time is dated PreQuake and Post- Quake. Such was the massive affect those moments of terror, and their aftermath had on us seven years ago.
The Christchurch I grew up in featured sturdy Gothic Revival buildings, which I loved. The cathedral in the square; St Johns, where we were married; my Teachers Training College and old University where I studied, all seemed immoveable. My father had a shop in New Regent Street, in the city centre, one of rows of quaint Edwardian and Victorian buildings. Between these old familiar buildings were glass and concrete blocks of commerce.
Then came the pre-dawn tremor of September 4, 2010. Our quiet world rocked in a prolonged shuddering from a 7.1 quake. Power was cut, and liquefaction bubbled up all over the east . Walls were mangled, chimneys toppled, and drains flooded. My city was utterly broken.
On our North Canterbury farm, my husband, Geoff, and I struggled out of our lurching bed, knelt with our arms wrapped around our dogs, listening to the smashing of crockery and glass bottles, mirrors and framed pictures. It felt like an eternity before our world quietened.
Geoff was weak with leukaemia, despite the destruction all around, his treatment had to continue so I had to drive him to Christchurch Hospital for frequent blood trans– fusions. After the quake these became nightmare journeys, with gushing pipes, broken roads, dangling powerlines, liquefaction, detours and impossible parking.
Almost everything was in short supply as trade routes were damaged. Petrol at our rural garage was rationed to just 3.7 litres per customer, with queues forming before 7am for the precious liquid. My bank closed due to quake damage, so retrieving money was another challenge.
The hospital basement flooded, and over-worked nurses pushed beds together so patients could comfort each other during the frequent swaying of aftershocks.
Just eight weeks later, on October 28, I cradled Geoff though his death-rattle and in his dying moment another quake jolt occured. The quake destruction broke his heart and he gave up the fight. Even his funeral happened between aftershocks.
I cleaned up the mess of each shock, with cracks in walls, and water and power outages. We had a well with an electric pump and I lugged many buckets of water from a storage tank to the paddocks for my llamas and sheep, as frequent aftershocks continued. I was pouring boiling water when one quake hit, and scalded my stomach as the house lurched.
The aftershocks continued for over a year. Then on February 22, 2011, I was in a supermarket when a shallow 6.3 quake shattered our lives. A loud rumble and vibration led to a mighty boom; I thought the train had jumped its tracks and slammed into the building. I was thrown several metres onto the floor, and my laden trolley left the ground and lurched metres sideways. Continuous shaking sent cascades of tinned and bottled goods bouncing off me and smashing onto the floor. I curled up, covering my head until the juddering and screaming ceased. Battered and bruised, I struggled to rise from a mess of shattered glass, oil, and sauces until a staff member helped me to my feet.
The quake destruction utterly broke his heart and he gave up the fight
Another big quake rocked the building as the store manager ordered an immediate evacuation. Tills were left open, goods abandoned as we rushed outdoors.
I headed for home, but my electronic gates were inoperable as power was out. So I climbed a tree and dropped into the llama paddock, rushing indoors to comfort my dogs and cats. From my transistor radio I listened to dreadful news of the unfolding chaos as choppers whirred overhead, and the dust of a century of broken masonry was thick in the air. More cracks appeared in my walls, and landslides of books and breakages were in every room. I was unable to get in touch with family, but I was one of the ‘lucky’ ones. That day, 187 people died in Christchurch, and over 12,000 were injured. Many lost their homes and businesses, schools and workplaces. Seven years later, Cantabrians are still struggling to come to terms with their losses.
My chi ldren persuaded me to move north to Blenheim, where my son, Nick, and his family live. I found new homes for my large animals and poultry, sold our home of seven years and moved north, with three Labradors, three cats, six white doves; and a trailer load of pot plants. Like many who had survived the horrors of the quakes, I was diagnosed with PTS disorder; and was hoping to find a peaceful refuge away from seismic activity.
But, sadly, Mother Earth had different plans. The Marlborough region sits on another fault; lying at the boundary of the Kermadec Trench and Alpine fault. My new-found peace was again shattered with the Seddon quake, which occurred on
August 16, 2013. At 6.6 magnitude it caused land slips that blocked roads, and damaged buildings.
But life continued, with occasional reminders that we live in the shaky isles. One aftershock happened when I was showering; the door jumped its track and jammed. I was stuck for some time, until another shock to dislodged it so I could escape. I now ‘speedshower’, and sleep in a tracksuit, with sturdy shoes and torch nearby. Then on November 14, 2016, just after midnight, our region was racked by a 7.8 magnitude quake, changing the area in dramatic ways. The force shunted parts of our island five metres closer to the North Island. A tangled skein of 21 faults, one of them previously unknown, had ruptured across two active domains. In two long minutes, the quake travelled 180 kilometres, causing 12 metres of horizontal displacement. Parts of the east coast around Kaikoura rose over two metres, exposing water-dwelling paua and crayfish. Water was sucked back in the dreaded tsunami warning; at Goose Bay, the tsunami tide run-up reached seven metres.
An hour after this drama, I was cleaning up breakages when my son drove up with his wife and two frightened children in the car. They were heading for higher ground as tsunami clarions sounded. He urged me to also leave but I chose to stay with my traumatised animals. It was a long, dark and terrifying night, but eventually, it passed.
Everyone who has lived through such tumultuous events has a unique story. Mine is a tumble of grief and loss of my husband, home, farm, treasures, and destruction of my safe places.
The aftershocks continue and in the 18 months up to May, 2018, there have been 22,552 aftershocks. Those of us who live here, accept that we are between grinding tectonic plates, so we need to adjust to the restless earth, learning to work with Nature, not fight against her.
The force shunted parts of our island five metres closer to the North Island