An eerie dimness was the first clue that something was terribly wrong
It was unusual for me to be napping so early in the day, but we were in the middle of a heatwave and I hadn't slept well the night before. I stretched out and turned towards the window, and that's when I noticed that the light didn't look right. The sky had the appearance of a partial eclipse. I put my glasses on to take a better look. It was smoke.
The wind had been gusting all morning, but now it started making a roaring sound I found unnerving. A heavy knot twisted inside my stomach: something was very wrong. The sky was turning darker by the minute. Then, in an instant, all my senses screamed out, Bushfire!
The fact that I was alone registered like an electric shock. What should I do? Thoughts swam around in my head like a giant stew. I glanced around the house and saw my cats, Winston and Q, asleep in the corner. My heart pounding, I ran out the back of the house to the workshop and grabbed the cat carrier. Outside, the burning smell was overwhelming.
The fire was close. Too close. Black confetti-like flakes were swirling all around me and there was an eerie half-light.
Back inside the house, the telephone rang. It was my husband Nick, who was working at police communications. He knew about the fire and assured me it was a good 8km from our house. "Don't panic," he said, trying to reassure me, but my pulse was already beating in my throat. I desperately wanted him to come home, but I knew he was busy.
Outside, the wind was howling like a road train as I put the cats and our border collie, Bess, into the car.
As I ran back to the house, I noticed the black confetti had turned into glowing embers. Then I froze to the spot as a huge fireball, the size of a wheelbarrow, catapulted through the air and landed in my neighbour's paddock. It exploded on a gum tree, crackling and spitting, igniting nearby bushes one after the other. A hot wind spurred the flames along like long strands of ribbon.
I ran inside and rushed to the telephone, which was ringing again. It was Nick, checking to see if I was all right. I could barely speak, my voice was so shaky. "The paddocks are alight," I croaked.
"I'm on my way," he said. Tears pricked the back of my eyes. Keep calm, keep calm, I told myself. I hastily gathered up the photographs and birth certificates that we kept in a briefcase and packed them in the car along with bottles of water, food and towels. I was just about to make another run when I noticed the paddock on the other side of the house was alight. The sheep!
I could see my flock of pet sheep smouldering in the distance. I grabbed the wire cutters from the workshop and was about to cut the fence when I heard a crunch of gravel behind me. It was two firefighters. One was shouting.
"Get back!" he yelled. "You can't save them."
"But they'll die if I don't get them out," I cried.
"Get back!" he shouted again. "The fire's too hot!"
It was too late to save the sheep. Flames were running like water across the ground and igniting the gum trees around us. The firefighters ordered me to evacuate the property.
I jumped into the car and started down the driveway when I suddenly heard someone scream, "Stop!" Slamming on the brakes, I looked up to see another giant fireball hurtling across my path. It landed in the fir trees halfway down the driveway and they burst into flames. That was close, I thought. A few seconds later and it would have been me. But my relief was short-lived as reality slowly sunk in: we were surrounded now. There was no way out.
"Stay in the car!" a firefighter yelled. My knees wobbled as I reversed the vehicle back towards the workshop. "I think the house will go up," he said. "But we'll try to save the workshop."
I switched off the engine and closed the windows. It was like a furnace inside the car and my skin felt as if it were burning. The smoke became so thick that I soon lost sight of the firefighters. Where are they? Have they left me? Panic rose in my throat.
Finally, one of the firefighters returned. "We've run out of water!" he yelled. The truck was dry and the house supply didn't have enough pressure. I sat with my hands gripping the steering wheel, watching the flames dance closer and closer to the roof of the house. We were going to lose everything. "Dear God, help us," I prayed.
What happened next took only a few seconds, but it was almost as if it played out in slow motion. I watched in amazement as the wind abruptly changed direction and the deadly spiral of flames turned, sweeping away from the house. It was going back the way it had come. But we weren't out of the woods yet. The roof was smoking. And we had no water.
Then I heard aerial water bombers in the distance. It was like music to my ears. Within minutes, the helicopters had dumped several welcome loads on the house. Black, blistered and exhausted, I was too shocked to react. My husband arrived and held me tight, but I couldn't stop shaking.
When it was finally over, I'd lost three of my sheep and my garden was completely destroyed. There was smoke damage everywhere but the house was saved, and so was I. One of the firefighters came over and sat quietly next to me. He handed me a bottle of water and patted my hand. The firefighter never said a word - he didn't have to. I knew that I was lucky to be alive. And he did, too.
Elizabeth Thomas, 57, is a stained-glass artist who lives in Bullsbrook, WA, with her husband Nick. She has two children, Claire and David, and two grandchildren. Her hobbies include sewing, writing and drawing.
