Our Cyclone Tracy Memories (The Night from Hell)
Michelle Walker Roberts (aged 21), Deb Walker Hendry (aged 14), and Jannine Walker Hardy (aged 12)
It was Christmas Eve 1974, and Michelle’s 21st birthday was pending on Christmas Day (luckily, we had the party the weekend before). Our interstate relatives staying with us that night were Nanna, Pop, and an uncle. Our family consisted of Mum, Dad, us three girls, and our three pets. Our home was in Ambon Street, Wagaman. We were all in for more than we bargained for—a night to remember.
As daylight faded and the rain and winds picked up, Dad decided to take heed of the warnings and started to tie all the loose objects down. When he came back inside, his eyes were red raw from the wind and salt water that had pounded him. Around 9 pm, our elevated house began to leak, mainly through the louvres, which were bowing and couldn’t keep the water out. We moved the Christmas tree and presents further away, but after half an hour, the water was all over the floor, so the presents went up on the table. Later that night, Jannine opened the back door to get the mop to clean up the water. Dad panicked and told her to leave the mop, as it was too dangerous outside.
By 11 pm, all power was off, and just after midnight, we could hear the sounds of screaming metal, nails separating from the roof, and other items hitting our house. We were all huddled together in the hallway, just near the entrance to the bathroom. Mum and Michelle were panicking and having some sort of shouting match—thankfully, not much was heard by anyone, and God knows what was said, except that they were both hysterical. Dad told them to hold it together and not panic.
Next thing, our neighbours were shouting and banging on the back door. Dad let them in and found that their house had exploded—God knows how they made it to our place with minimal injuries. Not long after that, the men decided that everyone should evacuate downstairs to the brick storeroom, as it seemed more secure.
We had to go down the stairs on our bums, one at a time, everyone close together. Dad was the last to go down. He looked into their bedroom, which was the room near the stairs, and saw their bed being sucked up, spiralling out of what was their bedroom—the roof had gone. Dad, being a collector, had several large drums, all the leftover booze from the 21st, pots, pans, and goodness knows what else packed in the storeroom, which was not a big area. We all squeezed into it, huddled together, and tried to stay dry, but we got drenched anyway! For safety, we put pots on our heads. We have never been so cold. No one could talk above the screaming sound of the wind, flying roof tin, and other debris. We did not get the ‘eye’ that others talk about, so it was relentless until around 6:30 am. Apparently, there was thunder and lightning, but we don’t recall seeing any. We sang “Happy Birthday” to Michelle while in the storeroom.
When the wind eased and dawn broke, Dad attempted to open the door, but there was a big steel post against it that had to be moved. When we went outside the storeroom, many of the besser blocks were coming apart at the mortar, and we don’t know how much longer we could have endured the battering. We were so frightened and amazed that we actually came through it alive and physically unscathed.
Our emotions are hard to describe—we were scared of what we would find and that we might be the only survivors, while at the same time feeling guilty but grateful to be alive. Luckily, we were spared from seeing anything other than our neighbours and friends, dazed and just sitting in their cars, and the total devastation for miles. From our house, we could see the ocean and the water tank several kilometres away at Nightcliff/Rapid Creek, which we couldn’t see before. A short time later, someone came to tell us to go to Wagaman Primary School, as Tracy was coming back. Upon arriving, people were already there or arrived after us—many had various injuries.
Later, we were invited to go to the ‘farm’ at Noonamah. Getting there was an adventure in itself, which took hours as the debris choked the roads. Mum drove the car while Dad and others walked beside it to clear a path. We had only the clothes that we stood up in and odd shoes that we found. We bathed all together in the Elizabeth River once a day. When the mass evacuation of all women and children started, Deb drove out to Karratha in one of our cars with an uncle, aunty, cousin, and our dog Lassie, as he would have been shot if he stayed due to fear of spreading disease.
The rest of us were evacuated to Perth. It was amazing landing in Port Hedland, where the Salvos and Red Cross workers gave out packages to everyone—inside were disposable knickers, a toothbrush, and toothpaste. What a wonderful gesture, and we have been grateful and supportive of these groups ever since.
This uninvited experience that we all shared changed the old Darwin as we knew it—a lifestyle we loved—and our lives forever. Fifty years on, so many survivors are still struggling, but sharing our stories helps to heal our individual emotional and physical scars.
