By EDITOR MELISSA MEEHAN
IT’S hard to believe it was five years ago.
Black Saturday will forever be planted deeply in my memory.
Not just because of the devastation left behind – but the people I met along the way and the way it shaped me as a journalist and a person for the rest of my life.
I was a relatively young reporter, only just having completed 12 months as a cadet and still a little wet behind the ears when news of the true devastation of Black Saturday broke.
Senior journalist Kath Gannaway was on holidays up north, and the bulk of the coverage fell onto me.
I remember being already on my way towards Healesville when my then editor Garry Howe called me telling me to hit the road and see what I could get.
Our chief of staff Narelle Coulter was already on route, small plane ready for a bird’s eye view.
Driving through Healesville, the air was tense. Many looked alarmed, worried and sleep deprived.
The blackened treelines along the Black Spur gave me my first insight into the devastation left behind by the raging wall of fire.
Narbethong was ravaged by fire.
What was there before no longer existed; the only things left standing were power poles, some still alight.
As I walked through the bare streets, the rubber on the soles of my shoes melted thanks to the heat of the road, still burning from the flames that attacked them.
Abandoned cars, burnt out and ripped apart by flames were scattered along the highway as I made my journey to Marysville.
There were things I saw that I will never leave my memory and others I try to forget.
Faced with adversity, the strength of the community really shone through.
As a family hurriedly removed items from their Narbethong house, thankfully untouched by the fire, they invited me into their property and seemed far more concerned about me than their town.
They were worried about things I had seen, things I had heard – rather than themselves.
I made my way back to our office in Healesville, where our trusty local woman about town and Mail advertising representative Barb Honan had started making calls to ensure people she knew were OK.
With her assistance, we were able to gain access to Chum Creek – one of the hardest hit towns this side of Marysville.
We were taken into Chum Creek by residents who felt it was important enough to have local media on the spot. They not only knew the Mail, but they trusted us too.
This allowed us access that others were denied.
These people wanted to show their community what was left of their town, and tell their amazing story of survival.
That is one thing I learnt during this whole event – the importance of local papers in a community.
I thought I understood it, but until I had people coming into the office, who were now left with only the clothes on their back, wanting us to write a story confirming that they survived – I realised its true importance.
The phone rang non-stop. People were calling to see if we had heard from their neighbour down the street and whether we knew if they alive.
Those fighting the fires also needed an outlet, and came to us to debrief.
Some of those stories gave me nightmares – other tales of survival brought a tear to my eye.
In the days, weeks, months and years since those affected continued to invite us into their homes to tell their stories.
Some stories will never be told.
Black Saturday will be remembered as one of the worst days in our history, and I, like thousands of those affected will never forget.
