Student Worksheet

Thought-starter: "Language is the road map of a culture. It tells you where its people come from and where they are going" - Rita Mae Brown.

1. Parts of Speech

2. Story of the fires - close analysis
Highlight the nouns, verbs, adjectives and adverbs in the story below in four different coloured highlighters.

Title: A crowd of us watched in a numbed silence as houses exploded.

On December 30, our family of four — my partner and our kids aged 14 and 12 — had just arrived in the small beachside town of Mallacoota, a popular holiday vacation spot. We knew bushfires were affecting other communities about 60 kilometers away, but we believed we were fine.

While out fishing, a couple of hours from shore, a work colleague also holidaying in Mallacoota called. “Mate, this is serious,” he said. “That fire is heading here and we’re getting out now.” With a single road into and out of town through heavily wooded terrain, we realized our window of opportunity to get out was closing.

It was a painfully slow trip back to Mallacoota on the hired fishing boat. Our discussions about options grew a little heated. The likelihood of being cut off and trapped in Mallacoota was high, but the consequences of being caught in a firestorm while driving out were more significant.

When we got back to our Airbnb, we packed up everything. We believed the safest option was to move swiftly to the town’s wharf. We found an ideal spot by the water’s edge with a low rock wall and parked the car. To protect ourselves from hot embers flying through the air, we wrapped ourselves in woollen blankets. Others nearby did the same. In the event of a firestorm, our final escape option was to jump in the water, shielding ourselves behind the rock wall.

We waited on the water’s edge all night. The smoke was dense. Even though we were wearing swimming goggles, our eyes stung. Our throats were raw. To help us breathe, we used medical masks and a torn-up sarong wrapped around our faces.

The next morning, a Mordor-like darkness settled over us. Hours later, it was replaced by red light, the firestorm hitting the outskirts of town. We heard loud, sharp explosions in the distance and realized they were gas bottles exploding. As they started to increase, we knew more houses were being hit. Across the water, we saw 30-meter flames jump from one section of bushland to others. A crowd of us, both locals and tourists, watched in a numbed silence as houses exploded. Many of those who had lost homes and animals were middle-aged sea changers who, just a day before, were enjoying their near-retirement. Now they were watching their hopes disappear.

Once Mallacoota’s firestorm had passed, we looked around the town. Small fires were still burning. Many houses were completely flattened but some stayed intact. Strangely, there never seemed to be a half-burnt house — it was either completely destroyed or still standing. Our lovely little weatherboard Airbnb holiday home had also burnt to the ground.

Over the coming days, we became accustomed to a war-zone-like atmosphere. Volunteer firefighting trucks continued to race around town suppressing spot fires. But there was an easygoing selflessness between people marooned in Mallacoota. Despite their personal tragedies, local workers and shop owners focused on the needs of others. The local IGA grocery store kept open, running their generator, feeding the community, and restocking their shelves as soon as the immediate danger passed. The pizza and coffee shop kept going right through, stabilizing community morale. The staff of the Mallacoota’s only hotel cooked meals for teams of firefighters, provided accommodations for many in need, and kept the bar open to help many settle their nerves.

Over those dark, smoky hours on the shorefront, we had made a little community built out of small kindnesses. When you’re cold and you haven’t eaten in a day, it means a lot when a complete stranger hands you a warm coffee or cold pizza. And when you can do that for someone else, that generosity quickly becomes infectious.

Three days later, the Royal Australian Navy evacuated our family from Mallacoota. The evacuation was calm and well-planned. Though the ship was cramped, basic, and cold, the Australian Defence Force staff did their absolute best to make things as comfortable as possible for everyone, especially the pets. We felt lucky to be out of the elements. We knew families were still out there in other towns, sheltering on beaches in the open. Others inland were facing even greater uncertainty.

Stepping off the vessel in Melbourne, we felt grimy, tired, and stunk of smoke. Lines of service buses and support welcomed us. We were truly grateful.

—Jonathan Vea, environmental planner, Darwin, Northern Territory
https://www.vox.com/2020/1/24/21063638/australian-bushfires-2019-experience

3. Poetic Responses to the fires

The Cinquain:
Line 1: One noun (the subject of the poem)
Line 2: Two adjectives (that describe the noun in line 1)
Line 3: Three -ing verbs (action verbs that relate to the noun in line 1)
Line 4: Four adverbs (that describe the verbs linked to the noun in line 1)
Line 5: One word/phrase (a synonym for the noun in line 1 or a phrase that sums it up)

For example:

Midnight
Dark, cold
Descending, creeping, echoing
Softly, silently, cautiously, stealthily,
The witching hour.

Craft a cinquain in the space below, based on the story you have read and highlighted above. Feel free to use any of the nouns, verbs, adjective and adverbs you identified that resonated with you.

4. Reflection
Swap your worksheet with a partner, and have them read your poem and provide two stars (things they really liked) and one wish (something they wish you had included).

5. Story (optional)

Title: We received a text message from our neighbour that her house, along with ours and many others, were gone.

Our Mallacoota holiday was broken the moment when our neighbour informed us that the impending fire could not be stopped. With our only firefighting resource being three garden hoses supplied by town water (which historically fails in a crisis) and a house full of guests not used to this type of situation, we decided to follow government recommendations and evacuate early.

We sent four of our guests into a hired vehicle toward Melbourne first. With four remaining adults and three dogs, and only a small pickup truck to get to our farm 500 kilometres away, we loaded only our essential travelling bags. We didn’t take any family possessions because, in our hearts, we truly didn’t think our house — built by my father with the help of my grandfather in the early 1970s — would burn.

By 8 am, we were heading out of a town humming with anxious people and fire engines. As we left, I couldn’t help but wonder: Was it the right decision? Should we be staying to defend our property, or was that as foolish an option as the authorities would have us believe? Could I help others? Would I be putting the lives of my partner and friends at risk by leaving or staying? Was I acting cowardly?

Throughout my career in natural resource management, I have attended quite a few large fires, saved houses, and have even been stranded in front of a fire, but never had I felt such confusion as trying to resolve what seemed the sensible thing to do when my gut feeling was to stay and defend. Now I live with the knowledge that while all of my family and crew were evacuated safely, and we avoided being stranded on the beach with thousands of other tourists and residents, some people who stayed not only saved their homes but were instrumental in saving others.

That night and the next morning saw the weather acting savagely and heard constant warnings of the fire approaching Mallacoota. We sat helplessly glued to the Emergency+ app, watching the fire’s progress. First reports came in of an individual house burning in the town, then another, and another. Then it seemed the fire front swept in on both the northern part of town and the far southwestern corner, where our house was located. We waited and hoped. There wasn’t much else. Around 2:30 pm, we received a text message from our neighbour who had reliable news that her house, along with ours and many others in the same street, was gone. The hope evaporated.

With a weird numbness, we phoned our boys and told them the sad news. The rest of the afternoon and evening, which was New Year’s Eve, vanished in an avalanche of phone calls and text messages regarding the fate of our house, neighbours, and friends. The depth of concern and commiserations were a tangible reminder of how important that house had been for so many of our friends and family, as a place of escape and sanctuary, laughter, warmth, revitalization and relaxation, an almost spiritual-like home base. Gone.

Three weeks later, despite multiple road closures and long detours, police checkpoints and traffic controls, we have been able to return to Mallacoota. As we made the journey through hundreds of kilometres of blackened bushland, we were immersed in the reality of the extreme weather associated with warming and changing climate. Between the mountains and the coast, from endless burnt forest to emerald green pastures and back to ash-covered moonscapes, we experienced temperatures of 37°C accompanied by howling hot winds that filled the sky with ash, burnt leaves, and bark. Smoke from nearby bushfires mixed with dust blown off overgrazed paddocks. Then further down the road, it was back to green fields and fruit still on the trees.

What we had witnessed on our journey was a good preparation for what we knew would be a difficult visit. Yet our breath was still taken away at the sight of the destruction to our neighbourhood. A scene that we generally associate with bomb attacks or the worst cyclone was laid before us. At our driveway, the sight of our truck completely gutted and distorted, and with its chassis laying on the ground, was immediate proof of the finality of the destruction. At first glance, all that remained where our house once stood was the iron roof, split and awkwardly draped and twisted over bent steel uprights. The walls and contents were completely swallowed by the fire.

After a moment or two, we gathered ourselves and began to recognize the remains of our family home. Among the ash and debris, we found the most unlikely assortment of distorted household items: melted window glass laying in puddles stuck to tiles, forks and spoons welded together, delicate feathers of ash that were once books, light fittings hollow and black, rocks in the garden split and singed from the heat, and nothing that would adorn a table or serve a useful purpose again.

As the rain stopped, we ended up with a handful of items salvaged that could help remind us of what was lost. A long walk along the empty beach and a nude swim in the beautiful green ocean began the process of washing away the ash, dust, and tears — of mending our hearts and helping us to begin the rebuilding of our new family home.

—Neil Ward, natural resources and conservation manager, Chiltern and Mallacoota, Victoria
https://www.vox.com/2020/1/24/21063638/australian-bushfires-2019-experience

Resilient Australia - Real Stories About Fire and Flood

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