Fools' Harvest. Erle Cox

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СКАЧАТЬ had, apparently, not heard of my loss, but was too preoccupied with his own trouble to notice ray silence. It was a nightmare drive. Behind us all the time we heard the crash of the great guns from the sea, which were echoed by the explosion of the shells in the city, from which dense smoke was rising. We went by back streets as the tram line was practically impassable.

      Eventually when we reached the Pacific Highway and tried to turn south to the Harbour Bridge, we found the road blocked by a dense volume of outward bound motor traffic, frantic with haste, which would stop for no man. We had to leave the car, and move on foot as best we could. It was a risky walk, because in their panic the cars were taking the footpaths. No man stopped for word with his fellows. Near Mount Street we came on a solitary policeman who was seeing more traffic violations in a minute than he had seen before in his life. But he was sticking to his post. He warned us that we were mad to go on, and that the city was in ruins. So far as he knew the Bridge had not been hit or the road traffic would have stopped. He told us he had tried to get news by telephone, but could tell us of nothing but what had passed before his eyes.

      By this time Gage was almost frantic with anxiety. My attempts to try and reassure him that his people might have already got away were useless. Suddenly the motor traffic thinned out. It was only then we noticed what should have attracted our attention before: there were no people on foot coming from the city. We hurried on towards the Bridge. As we approached we could see that it was still intact. The firing had died down. It had taken us nearly an hour to cover the mile from where we left the car to the bridge head. It was absolutely deserted. When, between running and trotting, we were half way across we saw the reason for the desertion. A shell, probably intended for the bridge itself, had completely wrecked the steel approach between the pylons and the causeway. Beside the wreckage a block of buildings in Lower Fort Street was burning furiously. Behind, vast clouds of smoke were rising above the city, and were blotting out the sun.

      When we reached the spot the spectacle was sickening. Among the wreckage, and beyond on the unbroken bridge, were remains of motor cars and humanity that had been caught by the blast of the explosion. We were able, however, to crawl down among the broken decking, and reach the ground near the Mining Museum, where George Street turns under the bridge.

      Here we paused to discuss our plans. I had no heart for anything. To me, even the destruction in the city was at the moment a lesser event than my own grief. I was ready to fall in with anything Gage wished, to take y mind off my own troubles. Finally we decided to try to reach the Town Hall, where perhaps there might be some kind of organisation. I looked at my watch, and it was then ten minutes past three, but it seemed three days since I had parted from Don Ringfield.

      From where we stood, except for the wreckage behind us there was no sign of the effect of the bombardment, the thick smoke that overhung the city hid everything. Just as we turned to go we were halted by the sound of planes racing towards us. Turning, we saw them in wedge formations of five. There were five of them, flying at not more than 2,000 feet, as though to show their contempt. I don't think Gage knew he was shaking his fist at them and cursing them. From somewhere came a clear bark of a gun, and we saw the burst of a shell among them. That was the first shot of defence that had been fired. There were a dozen or fifteen bursts, very close, but the planes were passing almost overhead before the smoke of the shells drifted away.

      We turned and hurried towards the city. We had not gone 200 yards when we heard the crash of explosions behind us. "They're after the Cockatoo dock," gasped Gage. But we knew later they had other targets. They were bombing the great fuel tanks belonging to the oil companies on Ballast Point, and Berry's Bay. Again and again came the crash of their devastation that turned the harbour beyond the Bridge into an inferno as thousands of gallons of flaming oil spread from the wrecked tanks over the water, and blotted out land and water alike under rolling masses of black smoke.

      The desertion of the street was its strangest feature. Four trams stood in a line, empty, opposite the Mining Museum. It was not until we reached the intersection of Harrington Street that we encountered a human being. Here a well-dressed man stood beside a car in which was a young woman, evidently in a state of collapse. With him were a dozen men, apparently labourers. They were talking in low voices as we joined them. One was saying, "But where are our fighting planes, even if they have knocked out the guns?" They took little or no notice of our arrival.

      Gage asked if the way were open towards the Town Hail. One of them said, "You might get as far as Grosvenor Street, boss, but unless you're thinking of suicide you won't go any further."

      The car owner put in, "I've tried every way, and they're all blocked."

      "Are the ferries running?" I asked.

      One of the men spat and laughed shortly. "There's nothing running in Sydney but the people who had the luck to get while the going was good, and I'll bet they're running yet." Then he added, "Wish I'd the luck to be with them."

      While we were speaking the planes came overhead again through the smoke. They made towards Double Bay, evidently to avoid the anti-aircraft gun. In a minute or two they were invisible in the smoke towards Bondi.

      "What about Macquarie Street!" asked Gage. The car owner looked over his shoulder at the moaning figure huddled in the back seat. "I tried that," he said in a low voice. "Thousands of people made out of the side streets into the Botanic Gardens and the Domain. Twenty or thirty of the big shells burst over and among them." He passed his hand over his eyes. "It's a shambles. God! It's awful! They are spread out in masses, and the injured are shrieking. The Mitchell Library and Parliament House escaped, but one wing of the hospital is down, and the State Insurance building and the Law Courts are flat. There isn't a building standing on the West side of the street."

      Gage turned to me. "I am going to try for the Town Hall by way of Clarence Street; we might get through."

      I nodded. It was a matter of indifference to me.

      One of the men called out as we turned away. "You're a pair of lunatics. You won't get through."

      We hurried along Harrington Street, meeting only a few people who scuttled by and who took no notice of us. As we went the smoke grew denser. As we reached Wynyard Square, and turned up to York Street, we could see it ablaze from end to end. People lying on the pavement by St. Phillips Church cried to us for help, but we pressed on.

      Gage's had been a good guess. Clarence Street seemed clear, but it was a mad journey. Between Barrack Street and Market Street, there were burning buildings on both sides, and we were almost suffocated by smoke. Three times we had to scramble over piles of fallen masonry. Again and again we encountered what had been human beings. At. King Street there had evidently been a traffic jam, because a tangled mass, the remains of motor cars and trams, was still smouldering, where a shell burst had hurled them into a common chaos. It took us a quarter of an hour to pass over the dreadful heap of debris. And from the sounds we knew many people were still alive and suffering among it.

      Gage's instinct served him well, because a little after four o'clock we reached Druitt Street, to find the Town Hall miraculously untouched. St. Andrew's also seemed to have escaped damage.

      After the horrible experience of our journey, the peace of the Town Hall seemed almost too good to be true. In the vestibule there were thirty or forty men in small groups. They were all talking quietly, but with intense earnestness. I left Gage to his own devices for I felt sure I could be of no help. Actually, I heard later that he had recovered his family two days afterward at Katoomba. From what I heard in the following January, I feel he would have been happier if they had been among those lucky ones who were under the ruins of the city.

      In the little groups I recognised many a good man I felt that here would be the beginning of order from the chaos around. Talking to a Supreme Court Judge, who was taking notes, was the chief of police, who СКАЧАТЬ