One incredible sight of horror we awoke to find ourselves surrounded by fire; two large blue gas plant stations, one on either side of the house was ablaze. The roaring flames were leaping a hundred feet into the air, and the crackling and crashing of falling trees was terrifying in the extreme.
In the confusion, as we were hastily flinging on our clothing, my eldest sister Greta, remembered her pet lamb, which was tethered to a post on a patch of grass in front of the house, and she dashed out to rescue it; this she did at her peril and was almost cut off by the flames as they swept through the dry grass. Though she remembered nothing of it, part of her clothing, torn and scorched, was found the following morning hanging from the top strand of the barbed wire surrounding the lambs' paddock.
Neighbours rode in from surrounding farms when they saw the glow of the fire in the night sky, and helped to fight the flames. All through the night forty men toiled to keep the fire away from the house, and the crops, which were almost ready for harvesting, and to get the frightened horses out
of the stables to a place of safety. Narrow trenches were hastily dug from the water race to bring the water to more accessible points, but it seemed an almost impossible task, and we felt that a complete “burn out” was inevitable The heat was almost unbearable, and my sisters were kept busy making tea for the thirsty men who fought the flames like demons through the long night. By dawn, all that could be done had been done. The crops, miraculously, had been saved and so had the house, though the walls were too hot to touch; the horses were safe, but some of the buildings and farm equipment had been lost.
The men sat in groups, dirty and red-eyed, many with singed hair and aching burns which were silently bound up by my sad faced mother. No-one spoke; my father sat with his head in his hands. There was no hope of saving the plantations, and they were still alight, bereft of leaves and branches, and glowing like huge red hot pokers against a back-cloth of smoke– they smouldered for days and nights, bursting into sudden flame from time to time, and dying down again quickly.
Here and there as the fires went out, a great branch-less tree stood out black against the sky, making the general state of destruction appear more complete. For days men found small dead animals that had been trapped in the fire, and once, a hen, charred and blackened, still sitting on her eggs.
It was a terrible picture of desolation, but we were lucky to be alive, and the only thing to be done was to start putting things together and in order again as soon as possible. A task my father, characteristically, threw himself into with all his energy, sparing himself neither anyone else.
One remembered incident makes me smile still. During the height of the chaos, the German music master, who was spending the night with us, was to be seen marching round and round the house, immaculately attired, even to a carefully knotted tie, and carrying a walking stick. He remained solemnly on guard all through the night, and in spite of the intense heat and danger, and then retired to bed again.
In our splendid climate, things grew quickly, and it didn't seem long before the bright new green began to cover the blackened earth, and the buildings were soon repaired or rebuilt. A fine new granary was my father's special pride, and while it still stood empty we held a grand dance there all our friends and neighbors came, and a specially warm welcome was given to those who had risked much to help fight the fire, which could so easily have ruined us. Heavy rain had fallen during the day, making the yard wet and muddy, so a long line of planks was laid from the house to the granary, and the guests had to walk the fifty yards in single file. It was a jolly party, and continued till dawn. The band was a motley affair, anyone who could play an instrument joined in. The leader and first violinist was my Uncle William, and my mother played the piano. One of the stable boys thumped happily on a home-made drum, and Andy, the head shepherd, added vocal talent.
Years later I was to be reminded of that terrible night, when in South Africa the veldt fires got out of control, and swept through the long dry grass in a roaring flood. The hot breath of the flames on my face sent my mind racing back over the years.
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