Cyclone Tracy
Hi, my name was Gjoka Nicovic then, now Nicaj. I was 8 years old and remember most of it like it was yesterday.
We lived on McMillans Road in Millner back then. Now I live in Sydney, having been flown out a couple of days after Tracy. It was one hell of an experience.
We started out in our house, but then Dad thought the roof was going to fly off after the ceiling started raising about an inch. It looked like it was breathing. Windows began to shatter, and glass flew around. My parents, three siblings, and two friends quickly jumped into the station wagon. The adults formed a chain gang, passing us kids into the car.
Dad tried driving to an apartment block where one of our friends lived. But after driving very slowly in pitch darkness, bumping into things submerged by floodwaters, we couldn’t get there because of debris. Then Dad decided to drive into what was bushland, where we used to go swimming at a creek at the bottom of our street, near the airport side. Dad used to take me there for driving lessons on the tracks.
The airport development has cleared that area away now.
Dad parked against a huge tree, and that’s where we rode out Tracy for the rest of the night. The last thing I remember was something breaking the back window. After that, I must have fallen asleep. I woke up to a crisp, clear morning in stripped bushland.
When we drove back to the house, much to our surprise, the roof was still intact. All the glass windows were blown out or broken, and the louvred slats of the windows were bent and dented, likely from objects hitting them. The swing set we had in the front yard was gone, but my two-wheeled bike was still sitting against the wall of the house.
Inside, the house was drenched from the rain getting in, and some smaller bits of rubbish had blown inside. It was a mess. Our dog was sitting on my parents’ bed without a scratch. Only God knows where he was throughout the night—he wasn’t at the house when we left.
That’s about all I remember, apart from staying at a family friend’s unit for a few days before being flown out on a Qantas 707 to Sydney. We were met by people, put into a large black Ford, and driven to a family friend’s house in Rydalmere, where we stayed in their garage that had been turned into a little unit.
We were there for a while—I don’t recall how long—before moving to a rental property in Newtown. I remember going to a Salvation Army outlet to get clothing, as we literally left with a very small bag. Everything was left behind.
With all the stories people have provided, you could probably make a mini-series or movie out of it.
Sorry, we didn’t have any photos—I wish we did.
Cheers,
Jack