You don't have to connect with a blogger to always read what they write do you? I am obliged to Middle Child for pointing me to the link.
I looked at the link she posted, photos of the fire deceased, trying to see a commonality. I could see none. Just people who you may come across. No connection. Nothing in common. All different. All victims of the same. All joined by one thing only. All cut short before their time.
From today's Age online.
Some people driving out of Kinglake this afternoon angrily gestured at cameramen filming police removing the roadblock into town.
Others chatting to police before the reopening appeared glad they would no longer need a wristband to get and from their homes.
Seems there is some conflict there. It is over a month since that terrible day. No doubt some people are still very emotional, but I am not sure people in the past were allowed such an indulgence. All this public spirited fund raising has been a marvellous. I wonder what the survivors of the Cockatoo fires in 1982, which I recall vividly, received. I don't recall such fund raising. I don't recall police protection. I don't recall benevolent insurance companies. I don't recall counsellors. They just got on with it and went on to build their lives. They could have been severe and the worst case victims or survivors and probably did not have media mouthpieces. I am not denying the impact on present victims.
I would hope that some of the money raised for victims and survivors of this last fire is kept aside for future survivors.
As is should be, we taxpayers are kicking in, aside from the massive personal donations.
Then there is the glorified destroyed communities. I am sure there were communities in these country towns. But before you get all too warm hearted about country communities, they can be nasty and vindictive places for those who 'do not fit'.
When I was a young kiddie, our family never fitted. We were way too posh city slickers. 'City slicker' was a valid insult term. Mother wore modern fashions to country dances and was derided. Father drank too much for what was the norm in country towns and he never really fitted. My Uncle who lived with us was a very attractive guy and he was popular with the lasses, so the town overlooked his drinking. Girls of the country town fell at his feet. Fell at his feet is one way of putting it. Sleazing up to him with desperation is another.
Country towns have probably changed since I was a participant in them. I hope they have moved on from being gossipy and cliquey places.