SHOCKING SCENES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 9222, 29 April 1908, Page 1

SHOCKING SCENES.

DETAILS BY THE MAIL. The Melbourne newspapers that camo to hand last evening depict by pen and picture the horrors of the calamity that took place at the Sunshine railway station, in Victoria, last week. The " Argus " says that no one who was a witness to the occurrences following upon the accident will ever forget the scene. The magnitude of the disaster wae such that the rescuers could devote themselves only to the mitigation of the sufferings of the injured. The dead were taken out and laid upon the platform. Some were along the kerb, parallel with the iine; others had their feet to the tr,ain, and some were carried out, and lay along the wall. For some hours after the accident seventeen dead bodies were lying on the " down " side of the platform. They had been taken from the debris and carried across the rails and left there. As each was laid out a bearer put a hand over the heart of the prostrate body. But in these cases there was no responsive beat. In most of. them the look upon the- face and the ghastly nature of the injuries told the tale so emphatically that no confirmation was necessary. As these bodies lay there, men .and women picked their way through them, in some cases lookiitg into the still faces, but in most instances passing with averted eyes. One young woman lay near the north end of the platform. She v was dressed in white, and a hat-box was beside her. The box was torn asunder, as though it had been pulled to pieces by horses. A handkerchief was placed over her face, and she lay there with the serene look of a person who had died in bed. Blood oozing from her chest showed how she had met her death. Hours later a/constablte searched her for means of identification. There was no name on the hafcrbox, and neither letters nor papers in ncr possession. There were a few trinkets — a brooch, a heart-pin, and in her blouse a watch. The watch had never stopped.. It showed 20 minutes to 3. , . Amidst the ruins, within sight of the passers, was the dead body of an elderly lady. She had died almost as she sat in the carriage. The recumbent / attitude, with the grey hairs resting upon the back of what had once been a seat showed how swiftly death had come. Within a few feet from her, on the other &ide, a man was being taken

from t_ie ruins. His cries were agonising but in him there was life, and with life there was hope. The shat- ! tered timbers were cut from above- be- . low and round him, and he was lifted out. There was a knot of people about, and as he was lifted out they gave a slight cheer. It had a weird sound amid the surroundings, but it came from men who had their hearts and their minds on one tiling — to save a life if they could. Another young woman is lifted out. She is placed on the platform n.n cushions. There is not a rug available at the moment, and the constable lifts his long coat from the fence and spreads it over her. Then he kneels beside her and looks in her eyes. "My coat can do her no good," he said, and. lifting it off, he spreads a handkerchief over her face. Among the hundreds who were there, if there were some who did not, and could not, render assistance, at least there were none who caused' needless trouble. Elderly women, with tears streaming down their faces, shaking in every nerve, refused even as much as a drink of water. '.' There are others who want it more." Young girls, standing in the cold, bitter morning, hour alter hour, refused to go home, even when the train that would carry them t-o Melbourne at length arrived. " Get the injured and thfc dead away; we can stop here all night," said one girl, about eighteen, as she stood arm-in-arm with another younger than herself. They do nothing, but' it seemed like desertion to take up space in a carriage while the dead and wounded were still on. the field. The courage was not confined to those who escaped sound in limb. " Help the others; they are worse than me," said one young woman after being lifted on the platform. Yet the ambulance man said that both her legs were broken, and the extent of her other injuries was a matter only.for conjecture. ''I know my poor old dad is dead," j moaned another, as she was lifted to I the platform. Someone assured her | that he was not dead. But no one j knew, and she relapsed into unconsciousness without even giving her name. Her last remark was, " Poor old dad." Lying at the wicket-gate was a man, resting on . his elbows. "No fear ; I am all right," he said to the ambulance man. "Go to someone else." The ambulance man took his stretcher elsewhere, and the injured man said, " Now, if there was only someone just to put his, hand under my legs, and another for me to rest on his shoulder, "I'd. get to a carnage, and be in no one's road." Are both your legs injured?" asked a sympathetic bystander. "Both, rather; for, bless me, if I had onesleg I'd hop it to the carriage." But he was in no hurry, there was plenty of time for him, and he hoped that his wife would not hear anything "till he got home, any road, because sometimes women were easy upset." " Nice ending for a holiday," wept a girl whose fair head protruded from the rugs on her stretcher. She was lying ou the side of the line, away from the platform, waiting for the relief train. A young railway porter leaned over, and asked for her name. She told it, and then asked, " Oh. where is Fred?" "Is Fred your brother?" asked the porter. " No, he i 6 the young man I was keeping company with, replied the girl. "I was near the window," she continued. "I looked out just as tlie train came along, «-n<LX siing out,. 'There --is another train . coming.' Fred said, 'It is on another line,' and I thought it was, but just then I saw that the wheels of the engine were on fire, and I screamed, and then we were just thrown every way." In the excitement of her story the girl lifts her head. The young porter presses it down gently, and asks her not to talk too much, or " think about it." The girl was silent for a minute, and then she cried, " I know he is dead, or he would come to me." Her touching faith takes no count of the fact that it is night, and she is lying 300 yards away. The excursionists were made up largely of holiday parties. There were cricket teams returning from the country after a pleasant day's outing. The pressure of holiday travelling had scattered them over the train, and those who had escaped injury were everywhere looking for their comrades. " Have you seen Jack?" called out one. " Archie is all right." Some men were missing altogether, including the father of one of the lads who was injured. "Perhaps he went home by the relief train," suggested a porter. "But his lad is here, and injured," replied the inquirer. The search was continued for some time, and the father of the injured boy was taken from the ruins — dead. " The small band of doctors are here, there, and everywhere," continued the writer. "These are the little oases of cool competence amidst a desert of helpless bewilderment and nervous excitement. In the v early hours of the morning the trained nurses, in the costume of their calling, glide about in their silent way to definite purpose. Scarcely anyone saw them arrive. They were in the midst of their work almost before the crowd had realised it. With them came a detachment of young doctors from the hospitals and elsewhere, and in little time something like orderly arrangement was beginning to evolve out of the melancholy chaos." Some of the most touching scenes took place when the relief trains began to arrive at the Spencer Street station in Melbourne. There were scenes of grief and scenes of joy. One young lady, for instance, was waiting with a male friend, anxiously peering into the ' crowd pouring out of the carriages of the second train. Suddenly there was , a sob, then another, then a paroxysm of tears, as a strong man, who forced his way through the crowd, clasped her in his arms. " Thank God, you are safe," she sobbed, as she hung on his shoulder, and as he ben. his head to hers he whispered, "Thank God." The story of their meeting was pathetic. They were an engaged couple who had travelled together in the Ballarat train. In the crash and the ensuing darkness they had been separated, and she had come on to Melbourne by the first train in charge of some friends, not knowing the fate of her lover, but fearing for his safety. When she failed to find him in Melbourne tears had followed fear, but she had borne up bravely, and now, when her dread was proved to be unfounded, she broke down. Awhile thej' sat on the platform, clinging to one another, unmindful of the gaze of others, until she realised that

I he was really safe, and then they drifted away into the night to their homes. Her tears of fear had been turned into the quiet joy of certain happiness.