Everyone in Christchurch will remember exactly where they
were and what took place at 4.35 am on Saturday 4th
September, 2010.
I was visiting Christchurch and attending a medical
conference being held at the Christchurch Convention Centre
in Kilmore Street. My accommodation was at a hotel directly
across the road.
When they showed me to my room on the Thursday I was
delighted to have been allocated a lovely corner room on the
10th floor with an immediate view of the city and further
afield to the Southern Alps.
I did note that the emergency exit was right outside my room
as I had asked the staff earlier in day if I could walk up
the stairs instead of taking the lift. I was told that this
wasn't possible and that the entrance to the stairs was
locked and could only be used in an emergency. I remember
thinking -"Well, I hope we don't have one of those while I'm
here."
It was a really cold day in Christchurch on Friday 3rd
September; horizontal rain at some stages and an extremely
cold wind. I laid aside my plans to go for another nice walk
around Hagley Park and the Botanical Gardens which I had done
the previous day.
I was invited for dinner with some colleagues, but decided
instead to stay in my hotel room, relax, enjoy the view and
take advantage of Sky television.
I turned off my light around 10.30pm. The next thing I was
aware of was a thundering roar followed almost immediately by
the most violent shaking I have ever experienced. But over
and above the shaking and the rolling roar was an almost
pained guttural sound of the hotel creaking and groaning as
the building swayed from side to side; it was almost as if it
was screaming in pain.
It continued for what seemed like minutes, but it was
probably not much more than 30 seconds or so. The building
was still shaking and swaying as I desperately clambered of
bed, but as I tried to stand up, I was thrown to the floor.
I stayed there and curled myself into the foetal position
alongside the bed and waited until the shaking stopped. I
could hear glass crashing and objects falling over, but
because of the blackness I had no idea what destruction was
taking place around me.
And then the hotel alarm system suddenly came on. It made me
realise I had to get out of that room, and fast. Was that the
big one? Or was it still to come?
I think the shaking had stopped as I headed towards the door.
I could feel broken glass under my feet and just hoped that
it was the wine glasses and crockery from the cabinet and not
glass from the massively high windows surrounding the room. I
managed to open the bathroom door and grab a robe, but then
as I began to make my exit I tripped over the ironing board
that had been violently flung out of the wardrobe and was
blocking the door. All this in a matter of seconds, and I
knew I was still in danger.
Finally, I made it out of my room and thankfully the exit
door was unlocked. I remember thinking "Get your shoes" but I
had no idea where they were - I just wanted to get out.
I think the emergency lighting must have been on in the
stairwell as I don't remember having to watch my footing. All
the way down the stairs I was joined by frightened, terrified
people, all in shock and mostly dressed in white hotel robes,
who were making as fast an exit from that hotel as was
practicable.
The worst part of the exit expedition was going through a car
park, I think, around the 2nd or 3rd floor. It was quite hot
and stuffy, the hotel alarm sounded a lot louder and there
was almost an eerie feeling as the sound resonated around the
car park, bouncing off the walls and the very low ceiling.
Walking across this confined space, I had this sudden
realisation that there was a lot of concrete masonry above us
in that hotel and we were all in an extremely vulnerable
situation. There was also the fear of the unknown, as we had
no idea when the next quake would strike.
They say there is safety in numbers, and I have to admit that
I certainly felt a lot more secure being surrounded by other
people all in the same predicament. No one seemed to be
injured; everyone was surmising about where we should go and
what we should do; all of us waiting, I think, for someone
from the collective "they" that we all talk about to come and
give us directions, reassurance, hot drinks - and socks for
our cold feet!
There was still no power, just blackness, and all we could
hear were sirens all around us. It really was quite a
terrifying feeling. I didn't even think of trying to locate
my phone before I left the hotel room, but already one of the
guests was on his phone relaying to us from a Facebook
contact in Ireland that we had just survived a 7.4
earthquake. This was later downgraded to a 7.1.
Eventually hotel staff arrived, asked if anyone was injured,
and told us to move through to Victoria Square and await
further instructions. Our feet were still cold. After about
45 minutes I borrowed someone's phone and called my sister on
her landline as I didn't know her cell phone number (another
thing to add to the survival kit - list of phone numbers).
Luckily she had very minimal damage and they still had power,
so she was able to answer my call. I asked her whether she
was OK and could she come and pick me up? And please, could
she bring some socks!
Like all of us outside the hotel my sister also had no idea
of the damage that had taken place. In hindsight I realise
that it was very foolish and selfish of me to ask my sister
to come and collect me; after all, who knows what dangers and
perils she might have encountered on the way?
It seemed like hours before she arrived and by then the
survival adrenaline was starting to wear off - My God, I
thought, I have just survived a 7.1 earthquake. What else had
happened? I wonder if people were hurt or killed?
We were surrounded by high buildings, but as far as we could
see they were all still intact, so we assumed that everything
was probably OK. Little did we know then that just around the
corner some buildings had already been laid to rest, so many
more were to be demolished in the coming week and it would
take days to learn of the devastation and destruction and the
tragic stories that would come to light.
My sister finally arrived, bringing with her two bags of her
husband's socks. She stood there amidst a growing crowd of
white-robed guests as they heard her call out in the dark
"Who wants some socks?"
"Me! Me! Me!" they answered, so relieved that their cold feet
were about to be warmed ... she was like a guardian angel. It
was amazing to witness such gratefulness at something
normally so insignificant and so taken for granted in our
everyday lives.
On her way to pick me up, my sister had driven past her
daughter's (my niece's) flat in the middle of the city to
find her and all the other tenants huddled together outside
in the street. Her 5th floor flat had been totally destroyed
by the quake. She was extremely lucky not to have been
injured or killed with broken glass from a double sliding
door that smashed into her bedroom.
Her flat has since been condemned and earmarked for
demolition. That was the first inkling we had that the
earthquake had caused some serious damage.
I was only in Christchurch for two days of aftershocks, but I
am still having flashbacks from the initial quake, waking up
suddenly from nightmares where my house is violently shaking
and it takes a little while to realise that it was only a
dream.
I jump every time my house creaks or there is a loud noise
anywhere. I find myself inspecting buildings as I walk past
them, especially older ones, and think to myself "That
wouldn't stand up to an earthquake."
I am very aware that my experience of the Christchurch
earthquake and its aftermath pales in significance to what
thousands of Cantabrians have experienced since the quake and
the psychological effects of this disaster will far outweigh
the devastation and destruction of the houses and buildings.
Christchurch will never be the same again and my heart and
thoughts go out to everyone living there.
I now have a pack by my front door and in it, a sleeping bag,
torch, batteries, a couple of cans of food, a Swiss army
knife, small first aid kit and a few other essentials that
would enable me to survive for a day or two - and of course
some socks.
Anita Fogarty
