Random Floods
Mar. 14th, 2012 01:17 amToday I came across this little announcement, and the tone of it caught my attention.
TO THE RESIDENTS OF INVERESK
Without wishing to unduly alarm the residents of the low-lying portions of Inveresk, I wish to notify them that both the North and South Esk Rivers are rising very rapidly, and that there is a possibility of Inveresk being flooded this afternoon or tonight.
If there are signs of water going over the embankment, the Post Office Clock will be tolled for half an hour, and residents living on the lower portion of Inveresk are advised to leave their houses immediately the warning is given.
Originally it appeared in a special edition of the Examiner, although I came across it in a little book The Tasmanian Floods 1929, Compiled for the Government of Tasmania by William Judd. The 1929 Flood was the worst natural disaster to hit Launceston. In order to alert residents in threatened areas of the danger, a special one-page issue of the local newspaper (the Examiner) was printed and distributed to all the houses the day before, as in hours before. The above announcement, written by the Mayor, appeared in this issue, along with a request from other residents to provide assistance. The problems of communicating with the masses, before TV and widespread radio.
The book continues with:
It was a pitiless night. The rain was falling in torrents, and a strong wind was blowing, but the first disaster came before mid-night, in the failure of the electric supply, and the plunging of the whole city into Cimmerian darkness.
The flood waters had submerged the local station – later they destroyed it – and had broken down the Hydro-electric mains, so all hope of securing electric light had to be abandoned.
And then the dreaded summons of the alarm bell.
Launceston is proud of its centenary chimes, and of the deep sonorous notes of the big bass bell, on which the hours are struck, but few who heard it slowly tolling in the very early morning hours of the Black Saturday will ever forget the sense of impending disaster that it created, especially when it was joined by the harsh clanging of the fire bell.
He goes on to describe the arrival of volunteers with their cars, and how they waded through water and rain to rescue the residents, and then later in boats. Fascinating details of an event I'd grown up hearing about, and seeing photos from, but never had it brought to life like this little booklet managed.
TO THE RESIDENTS OF INVERESK
Without wishing to unduly alarm the residents of the low-lying portions of Inveresk, I wish to notify them that both the North and South Esk Rivers are rising very rapidly, and that there is a possibility of Inveresk being flooded this afternoon or tonight.
If there are signs of water going over the embankment, the Post Office Clock will be tolled for half an hour, and residents living on the lower portion of Inveresk are advised to leave their houses immediately the warning is given.
Originally it appeared in a special edition of the Examiner, although I came across it in a little book The Tasmanian Floods 1929, Compiled for the Government of Tasmania by William Judd. The 1929 Flood was the worst natural disaster to hit Launceston. In order to alert residents in threatened areas of the danger, a special one-page issue of the local newspaper (the Examiner) was printed and distributed to all the houses the day before, as in hours before. The above announcement, written by the Mayor, appeared in this issue, along with a request from other residents to provide assistance. The problems of communicating with the masses, before TV and widespread radio.
The book continues with:
It was a pitiless night. The rain was falling in torrents, and a strong wind was blowing, but the first disaster came before mid-night, in the failure of the electric supply, and the plunging of the whole city into Cimmerian darkness.
The flood waters had submerged the local station – later they destroyed it – and had broken down the Hydro-electric mains, so all hope of securing electric light had to be abandoned.
And then the dreaded summons of the alarm bell.
Launceston is proud of its centenary chimes, and of the deep sonorous notes of the big bass bell, on which the hours are struck, but few who heard it slowly tolling in the very early morning hours of the Black Saturday will ever forget the sense of impending disaster that it created, especially when it was joined by the harsh clanging of the fire bell.
He goes on to describe the arrival of volunteers with their cars, and how they waded through water and rain to rescue the residents, and then later in boats. Fascinating details of an event I'd grown up hearing about, and seeing photos from, but never had it brought to life like this little booklet managed.
