By - 23 Mar 2011
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On 22 February 2011 Christchurch and its surrounding area was shaken by New Zealand's most destructive earthquake since Napier in 1931. The quake was centred on the Port Hills suburb of Heathcote, known to many simply as The Valley. Anthony Russell, Martelli McKegg's employment law expert comes from The Valley. His thoughts on the lead up to the 22 February earthquake and its effect can be read here.
"I come from down in the Valley, where Mister when you're
young, they bring you up to do, like your Daddy done." Bruce
Springsteen, the River, (1979)
I was at home in Auckland when my brother called. He said
there had just been an earthquake in Christchurch and there seemed
a lot of damage. He said it was 6.3 shake. I thought
ok, there will be damage, but it should not be too bad and did not
even contemplate loss of life. Just to check I turned on TV3
and within a few minutes the local reporter was walking down
Colombo Street, approaching the Square from the north. People
were fleeing the opposite way, from the centre of the City. Their
expressions spoke of something awful. But what? In the
distance I thought I could see the Cathedral, but there seemed
something wrong with the camera angle. When it finally came
into shot, it dawned upon me. The steeple was gone, collapsed
inwards and outwards. Rubble piled up around it. Then, my
thoughts immediately turned to my Mum in Heathcote Valley.
I was last in Heathcote Valley in August for the
150th anniversary of Heathcote Valley Primary School.
Heathcote (or "the Valley" as known by the locals) is rather
secretively closeted in the Port Hills on the city side. It
is the entry point for road and rail tunnels through to the port at
Lyttelton and the exit of the Bridle Path from Lyttelton.
The Bridle Path was traversed in the 1850s by the passengers
from the first four ships; the rail tunnel, an engineering feat
from the Victorian era; the road tunnel, opened in early 1960s. The
Mayor, Bob Parker, was there as a former pupil and spoke fondly of
the School and how his parents had just lived across the road from
it. At the time, he was well behind in the polls and most
expected him to be trounced by the challenger, Jim Anderton.
But the first quake changed all that.
They had passenger trains running through the tunnel to
Lyttelton. Something that had been halted in the early 70s,
just after my family moved to the Valley from further down the
Heathcote River in Opawa. The trains went through to the Port
and then came back through the tunnel past Heathcote to a shunting
station outside Lancaster Park (as I knew it, now AMI Stadium) and
then back to the Valley. All the time the kids were kept
entertained by recreations of the Crunchie ad from years ago,
involving an assortment of cowboys, Indians and oddbods. The
kids had, of course, no idea what they were witnessing.
What grabbed you that weekend was the frigid cold. You could not
keep it out. Colder than Queenstown in July my wife
reckoned. So cold, she did not come to the afternoon tea
after the train rides. And dark. Low dark clouds hung
overhead. Foreboding. Two weeks later the first quake
happened.
A book was prepared for the anniversary "In the Shadow of the
Rock". For the dominant feature of the landscape viewed from all
parts of the valley is Castle Rock ("Te Tihi O Kahukura" roughly
translated as the "Pinnacle of the Rainbow'). It is a
reminder of the Lyttelton volcano, now extinct, as it was raised up
from the ground during this eruption six million years
ago. It presides over the valley and surrounds. It is
an attraction for local climbers wishing to scale its face and a
training ground for those who wish to tackle the bigger rocks in
the Southern Alps. I climbed up to it numerous times when I was at
the school, but cannot remember doing it at all past about 12 years
old. After that, as a teenager, other things seemed more important
and interesting.
And it became a casualty of the first quake. A huge chunk of its
Crown broke off and hurtled down a gully, coming to rest at the
bottom. Yet, miraculously away from the tunnel road, the
Valley and its houses. Largely unscathed. Lucky.
A bullet had been dodged. In the middle of the night, centred
west of the city and deep. If that was 7.1, then surely
Christchurch could navigate anything smaller? And the Rock
remained. Slightly smaller, less craggy, but it remained.
I received a final email from the organizing committee for the
anniversary on 7 February. It mentioned that Castle Rock was
now somewhat smaller and that the Valley Inn Tavern was a victim of
the September quake. The Tavern mimicked Castle rock.
It looked directly up to it. It too jutted out prominently. All
narrow and angular in the front with its bulk located in the
back. This unusual wedge shape was due to 4 streets meeting
in an intersection (that enabled people to flow to the station for
transport and the malt works for work). It seemed like the
only 2 story structure in the Valley itself; and it had been around
for a long time. After over a century it was knocked out by
the quake in September. I have been told it was standing, but
damaged, after first quake of 7.1 but an after shock, a few days
later, provided its death knell. The pub was irreparable and
my mum watched it being demolished shortly afterwards.
But still the aftershocks that had delivered the coup de grace
to the Tavern continued. Through October, into November and
then on to December. On Boxing Day, an aftershock sent
facades of buildings into Cashel Mall and brought an abrupt end to
the Boxing Day sales in the city. I rang my brother in Christchurch
that day, while he was staying in the Valley. As I was talking to
him a further shock rumbled through. He found it rather
unnerving coming from untroubled Nelson. But Mum and her
neighbours regarded it as normal. A twitchy and aberrant
normality.
Then they seemed to die off. The reports were less from
family and friends. They were still happening, but seemingly
less sharp and more infrequent. The Boxing Day sales were
re-launched. A roaring success on Saturday 19 February,
apparently. The wrath of the terra firma overcome. Then came
February 22.
It rose from the floor and sides of the Valley. Most
reports say it was Lyttelton. But if you look at the maps, you can
see the epicentre is actually on the city side of port hills,
through from Lyttelton and in the Valley. This is confirmed
by the actual data received of the shaking. Heathcote Valley
Primary School had the highest reading for Peak Ground Acceleration
of the whole of Christchurch (at 220.6 p%). In comparison,
Lyttelton was 95.6 p%.
Out from the Valley, in a moment, a seismic slingshot. The
hardened volcanic rocks of the Port Hills as the merciless
conductor. Accentuating the destructive force as it rollercoasted
through them. Catapulting it out into the soft, sandy underbelly of
Christchurch. Sharpening the impact for some; lessening it
for others, on its own perverted path. Annihilation.
Survival. Saving . Killing. Dependant on nothing. A
whim perhaps. Time, place, moment. Never more
important. My keys? my phone? another cup of coffee? do I
really want to buy that? Appointments kept; appointments
missed. Being late; being early. Being. Then not being.
Nobody really mentions the Valley. Its secret
intact. Tragedy still lurks. A tide of refugees from the
City, cut off from their homes as the road tunnel closed, climbing
the Bridle Path from the Valley to reach their homes in
Lyttelton. A desperate reversal of the trek of the original
European settlers. Rocks raining down on them, like some
biblical judgment day, as the aftershocks continued the destruction
wrought earlier. One of them, unable to evade,
killed.
And Castle Rock. Shattered. Destroyed. A natural victim to
add to the human tally. The work of September finished off in
February. Just a base left where the Rock once sat. The Rock may be
gone, yet its shadow remains. Pervasive. Enveloping the
whole City. All the fortitude and perseverance of those early
settlers will be needed to claw from its suffocating embrace.
Everything has changed. We are back to the
beginning. Go see the Rock.
"All those things that seem so important, well Mister, they
vanished right into the air…" Bruce Springsteen, the
River, (1979)