13 August 2013
What did I forget yesterday?
Oh, yes. One of the stories
we heard at Quake City. This one was told by a cop. He was on duty at the court
house and had got into one of his occasional cleaning modes and had just
finished getting the staff canteen spotless when the earthquake hit. He stood
in the doorway and watched as a tin of coffee flew across the room scattering its
contents all over his nice clean floor, along with all the dishes and
everything else. Then he, and the one other policeman on duty had to decide
what to do. Most of the prisoners had already been taken to the prison, but
there were still a couple to be shipped out and some on remand. There were
about six in total. One was a woman, one was a youth who’d been remanded into
the cells over lunch for being lippy to the judge, and one of the men had been
separated into special detention to keep him separated from the other inmates.
So, what were they going to
do with these prisoners, who were understandably frantic to get out of the
small cells with only a tiny window in the door? They couldn’t leave them as
the cells were underground. Not only underground, but also under the waterline
and water was coming in through the cracks. So they got a lot of handcuffs,
cuffed the inmates together in Indian file and walked them through the
building.
Now, normal practise is to
load prisoners into prison vans and drive them out of the courthouse through
two sets of roller doors, but with no power the doors weren’t rolling. So they
marched the prisoners outside to where the rest of the courthouse staff were
waiting. A couple of the prisoners were already remanded for prison, but the
others hadn’t been before a judge yet. So the cop found a judge and they
processed them in front of the courthouse in the middle of an earthquake scene.
By all accounts they were mighty pleased to be taken to the ‘safety’ of jail.
Two of the prisoners had to
have bail hearings and the cop didn’t oppose bail in one case, so he got a
scrap of paper, the only piece anyone had, and made up some bail conditions and
wrote them on that, before getting the judge and the prisoner to sign that bit
of paper. He was convinced that at that point the guy would have signed over
his house just to get out of there. As soon as bail was approved and he was
un-handcuffed, he was gone.
These are the types of things
that you don’t think about where you hear of these disasters.
Another story we heard was, after
the 22 February earthquake, a lady was in town. As the population of Christchurch
was wont to do after the September 4th quake she’d asked a lady
sitting on a seat: “What was that?” meaning, what magnitude?
The lady on the seat, obviously
a tourist, responded with: “That – was – an – earthquake!”
Another recounted how, as she
was in the CBD, she became aware of the smell of gas. She passed two ladies
having an argument. One wanted to have a cigarette and there was no way the
other was going to let her light it while there was a chance of gas about. The
story teller said she kept on going so that she wouldn’t be anywhere nearby if
there was an explosion.
Right, today.
It could have started out
very interestingly. I went into the toilet here in the motel and heard a ‘chink’
sound. Thinking that something must have dropped to the floor, but not knowing
what, I looked around. Then I looked in
the toilet.
There was my bone carving
eternal friendship necklace that D.C. had given me.
Fortunately I hadn’t used the
convenience at that point, so I fished it out, but I’ve given it more of a wash
that Grandpa did with his specs once.
Okay, so this tale has nothing
to do with Christchurch or earthquakes. We were staying at our bach on
Rangitoto Island. There were some interesting clouds, possibly lenticular, that
were heading towards us from Achilles Point and D.C. and I were watching them
when we heard Grandpa go: “Oh, damn and blast it.” We went outside and found
him coming down the path from the long drop without his spectacles. He’d been, eh
hem, using the facilities when a mosquito had buzzed about his head. He’d taken
a swipe at it, as you do, and had knocked his specs off his face and down the
hole.
I hope you’re not eating at
this point.
D.C. got a torch and together
the pair of them peered down the hole to find the AWOL spectacles. “There they
are!” exclaimed Grandpa. “On a pile of….”
I’m sure you’ve got the picture.
So we got a length of good ol’
Kiwi Number Eight wire, fashioned it into a hook, and managed to pull them out.
D.C., being prepared like a good Girl Guide, had a bucket of disinfectant ready
to soak them in. Grandpa grabbed his glasses, gave them a quick swirl about in
the disinfectant, and stuck them on his face!
Ewwww.
Back to 2013; not 1993 or
thereabouts.
Needless to say, my necklace
is going to be cleaned a bit more than that before I wear it next. Once it’s
dry it’s going to have a good going over with hand sanitiser.
We headed into town,
retracing last night’s footsteps so that we could try to find the things we’d
photographed last night.
The vacant section in the background was the site of the CTV building where 115 people lost their lives. |
The new cardboard cathedral
costs the Anglican Church $600 per day to run and they were requesting a donation
of $5 per entrant (Turn off the lights at
night and see how much money you’ll save.) We refused to give them
anything, except to save the old cathedral. Not that we stayed in the new one
for long. Just long enough to get a couple of photos.
I thought I’d seen a man on a
roof yesterday…
They are real people standing behind him. |
We had lunch in the same
place as yesterday. I had a Bombay chicken burger, which was nice.
Even the toilets are housed in containers |
Refreshing the topiary |
We got some photos of the
Bridge of Remembrance and the scene we’d photographed two years ago when down
there with Pen. Hopefully you'll be able to use the attached links.
2011 |
2013 |
2011 |
2013 |
Then we managed to find the museum
and the local i-SITE / Information Centre and bought tickets for the
Double-decked sight-seeing tour. We could have bought the one hour ride or the
three hour one. We decided to splash out on the three hour one. ($69 for me,
$65 for D.C. – except the ticket said Adult $69, Child $65.)
The bus was an old 1967 Routemaster
RML that had finished service in England in 2004. When we arrived and gave Carl
our ticket, we were the only one on board. This was great because it meant we
were able to get upstairs and have a front seat each. Then a family with
several boys got on and I shifted next to D.C. so they could enjoy a front seat
view. Only one of the boys sat there. After another family with young children
had boarded we were off.
We travelled along many
streets that we’d already seen, but it was interesting to hear the stories
behind them. Except that the boy in the other front seat seemed to get bored,
and the other family’s youngest had a tendency to squeal for no reason and then
that family all got bored and the started playing music and singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Thank
heavens the bus had a good sound system and we could still hear what Carl was
saying.
After once around the CBD
both families got off *Yay!* and only
D.C. and I were left.
I reclaimed the other front
seat.
Carl came up to ask if we
could hear it all okay. He’d been aware of the kids and had been talking louder
than usual to make sure he could be heard over them.
Then he reclaimed his seat
and we set off on our double-decker bus tour. Where else could you hire a
chauffeur-driven vehicle for two hours for only $134?
“Drive on, Parker… I mean
Carl.”
Our first stop was Mona Vale
gardens. We didn’t have long here, just long enough to walk through. We found the
old tea rooms, where we remember lunching back in 1992. It’s looking in much
worse shape now.
Crocusesssss |
Modelled on the Treaty House |
We had lunch here back in 1992 |
The old gardener's cottage |
Next stop was The Sign of the
Takahe. I think we had scones here back in ’92. But now it too is closed,
although Carl said that he thought it was okay and would reopen. From here, up
in the Cashmere Hills, we could see out over a rather damp-looking Christchurch.
The Sign of the Takahe |
Christchurch CBD |
Tower Junction |
Back into the Routemaster and
out to Sumner Beach. Once again there were plenty of shipping containers evident.
This time to stop cliffs from collapsing onto the road and squashing
pedestrians. When you see all the damage both here and in the main city, you
wonder how it was that more people weren’t killed.
Carl was telling us how the September
4th quake had a rolling motion, but that the February 22nd
one, having a vertical motion, was more like an explosion. He’d been listening
to a new CD when it happened and things, like the TV, were thrown across the room
at him. He went outside and his neighbour was there trying to retrieve her dog
who had slipped his leash. Every time they caught the dog and tried to
re-collar him, he’d slip out again. They lived by the tide and the water was
coming up higher and higher, until it was waist height and it receded again. He
spent over the next six weeks without water, electricity and sewerage, and
since then he’s tried to play that CD, but can’t bring himself to listen.
But he did enjoy his steaks
on the BBQ and the free beers that the supermarket were giving away because
they couldn’t sell it.
He also had to go for miles
to get petrol for his car because they had to shut all the service stations to
stop petrol leaking everywhere.
We enjoyed the tour,
especially the last two hours, and commented to Carl once it was over, that now
we had to walk ‘home’. He asked where we were staying and when we said Bealey
Ave, said he could drop us off close to the motel. So we had a longer ride in
the double-decker than most, riding shotgun behind Carl.
Thank you, Carl.
Time to find something for
tea again.
The motel had recommended a
nearby Thai place that was operating out of a container. I’d seen it on our
lift home, so we decided to go there after dumping all our gear.
Fortunately it was only four
blocks away. Unfortunately it was only a takeaway, or eat outside on picnic
tables. We decided to takeaway, until one of the other customers started
smoking and then another joined her.
There may not have been gas
about, but we went in search of something else.
The motelier had said that
there was a Speights Ale House two minutes in the other direction from the
motel, so we hunted that out and ate there. We both had filo packet chicken
(very nice), but didn’t realise how big they were and D.C. ordered two – one is
currently residing in the fridge here at the motel. We had an apple crumble for
dessert that was very artistic. D.C.’s got photos on her camera, but she’s
asleep at the moment so I’m not going to download it.
I’m just going to upload
mine!
Girl Guides National Headquarters - Herrick House |
Do they mean the concrete's lifted, or the leaf needs to be? |
A bookstore - 2011 diaries |
Cafe - just as it was when the customers ran out of it on February 22nd 2011 |
But they are trying to beautify the place. |
Container protection in case the building collapses |
"Daisy" |
Cherry tree close to the Bridge of Remembrance |
Guarding the art gallery |
The former Canterbury University and latterly the arts centre. |
Part of the John Britten memorial |
Penguin alert! |
Pallet pavilion |
The bricks fell, but the wooden structure remains standing. There is a saying in Christchurch now: "Wood is good." |
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