Rosemary's Ramblings

Tuesday 22nd February. Excerpt from my journal

I used to remember this as Thinking Day, the Founder's birthday when I was in the Girl Guide movement in Britain. Later I discovered it was George Washington's birthday for which it was remembered in the States. From now on in New Zealand it will be remembered as the day of the horrific Christchurch earthquake. Nowhere near as horrific as the Haiti earthquake, but devastating for our 'civilized' nation. Nicola has written in the Blog of her experience. Mark has taken pictures of the effect in his house. Fortunately the house sustained no structural damage, and greatly more fortunately none of the family was hurt.

It was the day I was booked to travel to Christchurch for two weeks, mainly for Jonathan's party. Ray took me to Rotorua. The plane was an hour late taking off. I was not pleased about that because Mark would be waiting for me, though I hoped he would have checked online to see if the plane was on time. I suppose it was about half an hour before we were due to land that the pilot came on the intercom. “There is bad news,” he said. I thought that if there was something wrong with the plane he would not make that bald announcement, so I was not unduly worried. Then he said that there had been an earthquake in Christchurch and the airport was out of action. At that point I thought the airport had sustained damage and that Mark was there somewhere under or amongst it. So I was duly worried. The pilot next said they had lost contact with air traffic control, and he would let us know as soon as he heard anything. A little later he said we were now flying with Dunedin air traffic control. Being hard of hearing, I thought he might have said we were flying to Dunedin. Not so. We found we were to continue on to Queenstown. That was reasonable, as the flight continued to Queenstown anyway.

We flew over Christchurch, that being our flightpath. There was a break in the clouds and I could see part of the city, but from our altitude I could not see any damage, even though as I found later I was looking down at some of the worst hit suburbs. It was less than an hour's flight to Queenstown. Just before we landed, an announcement was made for the Christchurch-bound passengers to to wait inside the airport, where an Air New Zealand representative would meet them and tell them what to do, where to go. Whether this happened or not I do not know. If it did, I missed the briefing. Next to me, on the aisle side, was a wheelchair passenger. She offered to let me out, but I did not want to leave her alone in the plane. Everyone else had disembarked. So I said I'd stay until she was helped out. By the time that happened everyone else had disappeared. The employee who came to fetch Norma did not know anything about any arrangements. So we two, with me pushing her, were rather lost. I must say how helpful all the airport staff were. It was just that their helpfulness was uncoordinated.

Even I could remember accurately the sequence of events that immediately followed, it would just sound confusing. In short, Norma and I were booked on a later plane to Christchurch which not surprisingly did not fly. That would not have mattered had they not taken away our luggage to be put on the non-existent flight. Then we were directed to Koru lounge to rest, take refreshment and await developments. I could not relax and enjoy the experience for wondering if Mark was all right. The rest of the family too, for I supposed they could have been anywhere in the city. I was happy to nibble a few biscuits and cheese and have a drink of hot water. It was getting to be a long time since my early breakfast! Meanwhile, I watched, as did everyone there, the news coverage on the huge TV screen. That was when I found out the extent of disaster. We were told the phone lines were down in Christchurch, so even could I have found a land-line phone and some change, I would not be able to contact Mark.

Norma and I wondered where the rest of the Christchurch passengers were. We were glad when Julia came in. She was a member of the Koru Club, she was not looking for us, but when we found she was 'one of us' we latched onto her. That was the best possible thing we could have done. She was by profession an organizer of conferences. Over the next 30 hours or so she willingly used her talents on our behalf. We went down stairs to see what was happening, found Debbie and her daughter, and gathered them into Julia's retinue. What happened to all the other passengers bound for Christchurch was a mystery. There surely must have been more than five.

When it became clear that no one was going to Christchurch this day and we began a search for our luggage. I absolutely cannot speak too high of the young woman in the Baggage Enquiries booth. She was prepared to turn the airport upside down to find our bags. Waiting as she made many phone calls, Debbie let me use her cell phone and at last I contacted Mark. Hearing that my family and their house were all right, I did not really mind whether I had luggage, or even whether I had a bed. My heroine gave me overnight packs for Norma and me and we went join the others. (Actually it was Debbie and I who were looking for the bags. Debbie's teenage daughter stayed with Norma. Julia was rushing around finding out about accommodation and getting a chit for a shuttle to the Heritage hotel.) We were just about to leave the eerily empty airport when my heroine (I do not know her name) came rushing up with a trolley on which were our bags. How had she found them? “Magic” was her reply. Magic indeed. When I tried to return our emergency overnight packs, she told me to keep them, “a present.”

So out into the rain we went and got into the waiting shuttle. It was quite a long drive from the airport to the Heritage. I enjoyed the scenery. I had forgotten Queenstown had so much beauty . The Remarkables tantalizingly seemed to be about to unveil themselves but never did. The lake was calm, dark and mysterious. We checked into the hotel. Our names had been given by phone by Air NZ, and I appeared as Mr Petteley. No problem about that. I was the only one with a name remotely similar. We were staying in the Villas across the road. A cheerful and obliging young man drove us over in a “golf cart” and told us to phone him when we were ready for him to come and get us for dinner. We had two villas, which meant a bedroom each upstairs and a large comfortable lounge downstairs, with drinks etc at the kitchen end. Julia and I worried that Norma could not manage the stairs, but by clinging to the banisters she did fine. She was not crippled, but very frail, in between chemo treatments for cancer. We gave her the best room, which had an en suite.

We later went over for dinner and spent two hours in the dining room, mostly waiting for our meals. Debbie and her daughter waited and waited and found their order had been lost! They were given extra credit. We were each allowed a $45 dollar dinner. I made sure I used up all my allowance! I had roast lamb followed by a fancy kind of baked Alaska. It was all delicious, but the portions were small. Perfectly adequate, but we were rather surprised. That we supposed is gourmet dining!

Wednesday 23 February
Breakfast was buffet style, and we could have eaten heaps, but none of us had that much appetite. Julia got busy on her phone and organized for us a 10.00 am flight to Christchurch. It seemed not a straightforward operation. Debbie, Norma and I were only too thankful for her efforts. We got a shuttle back through town to the airport, and somehow got checked in. As we were waiting in the departure area, a reporter from a Southern newspaper interviewed us. She assumed we were all together – people were doing that all the time. By now we were indeed almost a kindred group. She tried to sort out who was from where and why. She made skimpy notes. Now I know why reporters so often get things wrong. How could she remember all we said and who said it? She took a photograph or two and told us not to smile, we were supposed to be sad!

And so to Christchurch. We were late taking off. As we approached the city we were told there would be another delay, we were being shoved out of the way for a 747 with VIPs from Auckland – or was Wellington? So we had a tour out over the sea for a bit. A weary Nicola was waiting. Mark had the car somewhere around, and picked us up when we came out of the airport. Home to Norah Street. There was little to be seen en route to indicate the earthquake. Inside the house the kitchen had been cleared, and the lounge mostly so. Mark's office was a shambles. Nicola's was not so bad, just scattered books and papers, the furniture stable. The garage looked discouragingly tossed up. Mark's neat wood piles, either side of the back entry to the garage had fallen over and blocked the entrance – again! By the time I got there, William had moved the fallen wood and piled it on the grass. Mark had dug a neat toilet behind the garage. The power was back on. Life was on track.