Scorched Earth

On the eve of the 10th anniversary of Black Saturday, writer ELLA HOLCOMBE reflects on losing her family in the tragedy and its everlasting effects. As told to RACHELLE UNREICH.

- Rachelle Unreich

When you’ve had a wonderful childhood, when nothing terrible has ever happened, you assume that the rest of your life will unfold in much the same way. When I was growing up — I am the eldest of my siblings, and my twin brothers are three years younger — we never had a TV, and we spent a lot of our time playing outside in the bush surrounding our Kinglake [Victoria] home. There never seemed to be any danger; even if we strayed a bit too far, Dad had always taught us: if you ever get lost, just head back up the hill and from there you’ll be able to spot our roof. And it always worked out that way.

We grew up surrounded by books and music — Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Neil Young, Leonard Cohen — and our childhood was filled with visits to the museum, the theatre and art galleries. Our parents were always trying to give us a wider world view. But what I remember best was our holidays: it was then that Mum and Dad were the most relaxed, even holding hands,which would make my brothers and I laugh.

By 2009, we kids had all moved out of the family home in Kinglake. I was 26; my brothers were 23. It was February 7, a day that would later become etched in Australian history as Black Saturday, when 173 people died, and thousands lost loved ones, homes, pets and possessions. But we didn’t see any of it coming. Bushfires weren’t much on my radar before then, even though as kids we’d known about the emergency packs at home that were filled with woollen jumpers, bottles for water, first-aid kits. We’d simply never had to use them.