How Will All This Be Remembered?

I was only a wee fella when the two great disasters of 1968 happened. The Wahine sinking and the Inangahua earthquake. I do remember my dad showing me the cracks in the walls following that earthquake, but as I slept through it, I don't remember the quake itself. Those cracks remained in the house for the rest of the time we lived there.

Apart from the odd snowfall and some flooding, the only thing that got close to a disaster for me when growing up was "The Big Blow" of 1 August 1975. I was nine at the time and looking out our window over the road from the petrol station on Riccarton Road (now McDonald's), we saw a boy trying to walk into the wind but not making much progress. Some workmen on the petrol station trying to climb a ladder and after about three rungs, deciding to call it quits. The trees in Deans Bush bending over. Following that there was a torrential downpour but the whole thing was over by mid afternoon.

My children were woken up violently on 4 September 2010 by the 7.1 earthquake. They saw the aftermath and some of the wrecked buildings. They also dashed outside on 26 December 2010 with the infamous Boxing Day earthquake, that although it was only 4.9 on the Richter scale, provided a potent reminder to the danger of localised and shallow events. They will accurately remember the aftershock that shook the car as it stood parked outside Alice's Video. Then there was 22 February 2011.

In the distant years to come, they will relate their own experiences of that day to their descendants. My son will tell about how he was on a chain bridge and he raced to the open field away from the buildings. He will also tell how his cousin, who was also on the chain bridge, stayed where he was; still playing.

My daughter will tell how she dived under her desk as she was having lunch in the classroom. She still had her chocolate chip cookie to go as she was saving it for last. She will also remember how a lot of her friends were petrified by what had happened, but she remained calm.

They may also be able to relate to their descendants my own story of being thrown off my feet and diving under a table. Then emerging to seeing a cloud of dust rising from the city in roughly a grid pattern. Seeing a small girl being carried to hospital by three men. Jumping into the middle of the road when the biggest aftershock happened. Walking through broken and creased roads where the curb was separated from the footpath and silt volcanoes were bubbling up. Of buildings, now just heaps of rubble. No doubt with trapped and dying people inside. Of picking a wee boy up and helping him over a large silt volcano so he could keep up with his mum. The walk across Hagley Park and the wind and drizzle sweeping across, making me wish that I had my jacket instead of a hot chocolate stained shirt.

What I hope my children can tell their own families is this was a point in our city where we made the correct decisions. Where we created a sustainable city. How we honoured our heritage and honoured those that died. Why we are held up as a shining example of rebuilding a city. Why Christchurch is a great place to live.