The 1939 bushfire

We’re coming up towards the 70th anniversary of the devastating 1939 bushfire. Dozens of people were killed and many properties destroyed.

My uncle Michael was one who lost his life and my father’s family home was burnt to the ground. Dad was aged 3 at the time.

The picture to the right shows Dad (Peter) leaving the Warragul relief depot with a pair of boots way too big for him. The picture appeared in one of the Melbourne newspapers and I discovered it during research for the family history book I wrote in 1999.

This post contains extracts from the book, most of which is published online here.

Michael Gorey

Michael Gorey (Mick) was born at Waubra, the fourth child of Michael and Eleanor. He was educated at Macarthur Street Primary School, Ballarat.

He was short for his age and went to train as a jockey at Holt Stables in Melbourne for a couple of years. However, he grew too big and returned home to the family farm at Fumina.

He worked on the farm for a while and then went road building when the government began constructing a road to the developing timber town of Tanjil Bren. Mick later worked there in a sawmill.

Mick had a serious accident while road building. He spent a long time in Warragul Hospital after a dynamite blast went off too soon.

He was a talented footballer and played for the Tanjil Tigers with his brother Jim. Their sister Mary recalls that Mick was a popular young man who was liked by all who knew him.

His life was tragically cut short at the age of 19 by the savage bushfires which destroyed much of Victoria in January 1939. Mick suffocated in a dugout at Saxton’s Mill (pictured below), Tanjil Bren, on January 13.

In the book “Ordeal by Fire” (1977) former Herald journalist WS Noble outlines the circumstances leading up to Victoria’s worst ever bushfires.

Noble records that 1938 saw Victoria in the grip of drought. September and October were among the driest months on record. January temperatures were regularly above 100 degrees Fahrenheit. By Black Friday (January 13, 1939) it seemed that most of the state was alight.

Noble comments that the heavily forested areas of the Great Dividing Range were obviously vulnerable to fire. Many sawmills operated in the ranges without much thought given to safety or fire prevention. It was in this harsh environment that Mick Gorey worked and found himself on that fateful day. Noble describes it thus:

“Noojee was destroyed without loss of life, but in the hills beyond, the human tragedies were mounting. There were 40 people at a mill settlement at Tanjil Bren who by 1pm could see a fire in the distance. Three-quarters of an hour later pitch blackness descended on the little community.
“Men with lanterns and torches collected their tools, gear and valuables and took them to the dug-outs. ‘It came up like a big ball of smoke, which suddenly burst into flames,’ one man said. ‘Almost like a flash the fire leaped 10 chains right into the mill itself.’
“Thirty-one men, including one of the mill owners (JG Saxton) took to a big dug-out. This was no half-shelter such as had been provided at some mills. It was 50 feet long, seven feet wide, by six feet high. It was stocked with food and plenty of water. A blanket was hung across the entrance and a second one about six feet back. This formed a partial air lock, which helped to keep out the smoke.
“Six other men took refuge in a second dug-out, and another of the mill owners (AB Saxton), his wife and a man named Mick Gorey went to a third. Everyone thought they would be safe there.
“About 3pm the main fire-front came down. Mill huts and a stack of about 350,000 super feet of timber burst into flames. The hot wind drove burning air into the mouth of the main dug-out. So intense was the heat that the men holding the first blanket across the entrance had to be relieved every two minutes. Water was poured over them and the blankets. Time after time the blankets caught alight.
“After a time the wind changed direction and blew across the dug-out, so that men were able to jump out for a moment, take a quick breath of air and get back into shelter. By 5pm it was safe to take the blankets down, but for some time after that it was still too hot to stay outside.
“In the second dug-out six men were going through an even more testing time. The heat prevented them from keeping a blanket over the entrance. They made frantic efforts to smash a water pipe which ran through the dug-out, but it was so hot it scorched their hands. They were close to collapse when a water tank above the dug-out toppled over and the water seeped through the soil onto the dug-out floor. Crawling to the far end, they buried their faces in the wet soil and survived.
“But while this was going on, disaster had overtaken the other three. The Saxton house nearby caught fire and the heat from this swept over their dug-out. It is believed that timber supporting the roof of the dug-out caught alight. Saxton seems to have been struck by some of the falling timber, which broke his neck. His wife and Gorey went to his rescue as he lay near the mouth of the dug-out and tried to drag him back, but were overcome.”

At the coronial inquest in Warragul, Mick’s workmate Herbert Henry Melville stated how he had identified his friend’s body at McGilton’s Mortuary.

Melville gave some background to circumstances leading up to the fire, and recalled: “Prior to the fire catching the mill, the deceased Michael Gorey told me that Mr Alfred Bentley Saxton (Ben), who manages the mill, had told him to go to the tunnel at his house and give Mrs Saxton a hand.

“At about 2.55pm the fire reached the mill and all the men went into the tunnels. The fire was so fierce that we all had to remain in the tunnels for about two hours. About 6pm two of the men came to the tunnel I was in and one of the men that was with me went to Mr Alfred Bentley Saxon’s tunnel at which Saxton, his wife and deceased were in. This man’s name was Jack Morrison, who was employed at the Northern Mill which is close by.

“He returned to the tunnel I was in and said Mr and Mrs Saxton and Michael Gorey were gone. ‘If I had got there a little earlier Gorey might have been saved.’ Later in the night the three bodies were removed from the tunnel they died in to another tunnel. At about 3am the next morning (January 14, 1939) Mr Eric Saxton arrived at the mill from Moe.

“At about 10am a party including myself took the bodies out of the mill to the road from where they were transported by a motor truck and the bodies eventually arrived at Warragul. We had to carry the bodies about 11 miles through the burnt forest.”

The Coroner accepted that Mick Gorey and Mrs Saxton, or one of them, had been trying to drag Mr Saxton to a safer position after he was struck by a falling beam. It seems he was the first to die.

The Deputy Coroner, Joseph Cromie, delivered his finding on March 29, 1939 at Warragul. He found that death was “from suffocation due to a bushfire that swept over the dugout to which he had gone for safety.”

The children

Written by my uncles Dan and John with help from their aunt Jemima, with whom the stayed for several months after the fire.

From the Shepparton News: Monday, 6 February, 1939

In our irrigated district it is hard to visualise what a bush fire means to a mountain township in thickly timbered country. This graphic account comes from two little refugees of Noojee who are staying with relatives at Lemnos. Told in their own language, this account is vivid of the recent outbreak in which one brother perished, and which took their home and all their possessions.

At 6 o’clock we got up and had our breakfast and the smoke was very thick. We went out to cut ferns, but by ten o’clock we had to stop as the smoke was hurting our eyes and the heat was terrible. When we were having dinner at noon, a forest ranger came and told us there was a fire raging on the top of Mt McDonald, and we had to go and keep watch as lighted bark and cinders were flying around the house.

Soon after, the post mistress rang up and told us to fly for our lives as the fire was only a mile from Noojee, so we gathered up all the clothes that we could and then father, mother and we seven children ran as fast as we could to the big paddock where dad made us lie under a wet blanket whilst he carried water from a dam two chains away. All that he had to protect him was a wet towel on his head.

We lay under the blanket for a long time, and to me it seemed to be all day. I could not stand the sound of falling trees and roar of the flames any longer, so I stuck my head out to have a look. The fire was most terrible and yet it was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen — just like fairyland or a huge city lit at night. The flames were hundreds of feet high and when the wind changed to the south we were caught between two blazing mountains and could not escape. Dad was our only protection by keeping the blanket wet.

Next time I peeped out I saw our potato shed had caught fire and then the cow sheds went. About five minutes after that I saw that a piece of wood on the end of the house was alight. Soon there was no house, sheds or anything left — all had gone up in smoke in less than five minutes.

Just as the house crashed, the cows stampeded into the flames, but they all got through safely though their udders were skinned.

Dad had to use a lantern to see where he was going because it was so dark with smoke and ash. When this cleared a little we saw our old mare coming through the burning wood looking for her mate. She found him with us, as dad had covered his head with a wet bag, and the horse was so frightened that he’d just stood still.

By this time we were able to breathe without the aid of the wet blankets we’d been under for more than three hours, but it seemed like three days.

Our mother was thinking of my two elder brothers who were out in the forest at Saxton’s mill. Soon we were joined by our neighbors, Mr and Mrs Cross and their children, who had lost everything, too. Everywhere you looked was black ruins, except our dairy. All the things we had gathered up were lost — our cricket bats, tennis racquets and all our clothes. All we had were our swimming togs, which we had on.

We shifted the blankets and mattress into the dairy and the women and girls tried to sleep there whilst the men and boys kept watch on a tree which was showering sparks close to the dairy.

In the morning the sun shone through the smoke — it was the first time we’d seen it for two days. My brother and I set off to look for the cows and we saw dead bodies of animals everywhere. Then we met two men coming across the black paddock and they beckoned to dad. Mother saw Jim, one of my elder brothers and called out to know where Mick was, but Jim would not answer. Then dad came up and told her that Mick had been burnt to death.

Soon after a policeman came and told her to get us children ready as a car was coming to take us to Warragul, but we didn’t need much getting ready as we had nothing left to put on, so we sat and waited whilst the man told us more of the fire. He said Eric Saxton held a wet blanket over the mouth of the dugout for over half an hour, thus saving their lives. It took six men and my brother, Jim, all they could do bringing the men out of faints as they were collapsing all the time from the heat. If the fire had lasted another ten minutes they would have all been dead in the dugout.

On their way down they came across a mother and her baby. She had her head bent over as though trying to protect the child. All that was left of them were their skeletons propped up against a tree where she had fallen exhausted. Her husband was lying beside her, just his bones, for the fire had burnt their flesh. They had also found the remains of two baby boys in the ashes of another house.

The tank, which another man had crawled into for safety, collapsed and rolled away with him through the flames, but it saved his life.

When the car came for us we said goodbye to dad and my brothers, and set off for Warragul where they gave us clothing and opened their homes to us. On Saturday the police brought in the bodies of Mr and Mrs Saxton and my brother, Mick, and he was buried at Warragul. Then aunt and uncle came and brought us to Shepparton, where we will live till dad has a home for us again. I hope I shall never see another bush fire and will never forget the sight of the burnt bodies of all the poor birds and animals strewn along the road to Warragul.