Cyclonic Storm.

Star (Christchurch), Volume XLIV, Issue 644, 23 December 1932, Page 6

Cyclonic Storm.

Sydney Alarmed

Much Damage in City and Suburbs. (Special to the ” Star.”) SYDNEY, December 16. twenty minutes to five o’clock on Thursday afternoon, after a little preliminary warning in the form of heavy atmosphere, lowering clouds and distant thunder, a cyclonic storm burst upon Sydney. While it lasted—or when it was at its worst—it was one of the most terrifying spectacles that I have ever been called upon to witness, because it produced much the same feeling of helplessness and despair as a heavy earthquake shock. For about eight minutes the wind was blowing at nearly seventy miles an hour and rain was falling at the rate of about five and a half inches an hour. As one inch in twenty-four hours is quite a heavy downpour the rest may be left to the imagination of readers. But the rain, terrific as it was, was by no means the most alarming feature of this visitation. Vivid lightning, deafening thunder an atmosphere absolutely opaque, with swirling clouds and streaming water, a gale of easily hurricane force—it seems that the best thing said about it all was the remark of our Government meteorologist, Mr Mares, that Sydney would have been “ torn to pieces ” if it had lasted much longer. Buildings Hidden by Rain. After the wind had really risen the air above Martin Place was simply thick with newspapers and bills and magazines from the numerous bookstalls careering through the sky like monstrous snowflakes—hundreds and hundreds of them whirling away. And then came the rain. It was not like an ordinary thunder shower. When you looked across Martin Place, you could not see the six and eight-storev buildings on the other side—they were completely hidden by a dense mass of water, falling, falling, just like a cataract, dense and impenetrable, not in the least like rain. And the wind—well, the only way to give any idea of it is to describe briefly something of what it did during the few minutes for which it was expending itself at maximum velocity. In the city plate glass windows were smashed in the Commonwealth Bank, and many of the large shops; a large verandah fanlight was blown in at the Treasury Building; £IOOO worth of damage was done in a few seconds at Snow’s big department store. In Macquarie Street trees were levelled or shorn of their branches on all sides and in the Botanic Gardens £IOOO would not cover the destruction. On Circular Quay and in other open spaces fruit stalls and vegetable barrows were hurled through space, fruit cases were swept down flooded side channels and the hapless vendors were forced to take refuge in the crowded sidewalks where “ thousands of Christmas shoppers screamed ” as the storm with its heavy pall of cloud and rain, pierced by dazzling shafts of lightning, seemed to settle down upon the city. Suburbs Suffer. But the suburbs came off even worse than the centre of the metropolis itself. At Carlingford a solid brick service station was literally levelled with the ground. At Hunter’s Hill a boys’ club containing gymnasium, library and billiards room was razed to the earth; two billiards tables and hundreds of books were completely ruined. At Auburn and at Surry Hills roofs were blown from houses; and at Birch grove and at Balmain two churches were struck by lightning and seriously injured by the cyclone. But the storm seemed to concentrate its utmost fury upon the North Shore. In Alfred Street, North Sydney, a housewife was preparing tea when the roof blew off and hurtled away towards the bridge. The good lady and her son sat under the table protected by cushions piled on top till the worst was over. The wind also tore off the roof of the North Shore Hotel, hurled sheets of iron against a telegraph pole, which therefore fell on to a house nearby, crushing in the roof and convincing the amazed inhabitants that “ the end of the world had come.” But perhaps the most striking illustration of the fury of the tempest is the case—a well authenticated case —of a dog—a large substantial dog—which was picked up by the wind on Blue’s Point Road, carried whirling through the air toward the Bridge, dumped into the harbour and there finally and completely drowned. Lightning and Fire-balls. I have said nothing about the lightning which struck the bridge and ran along the iron girders ” like fireworks,” nor the fireballs which exploded with terrific reports near Milson’s Point, or the electric discharge which threw the Hornsby train out of gear and sent the passengers scampering in terror from the carriages as soon as they got across the Bridge. And I have given no idea of what happened on the harbour, where the ferry boats all stopped dead because they could not see where they were going. And I have said nothing about motor-cycles and cars blown over—by the way. a big hoarding crashed down from Castlereagh Street into the Australia parking ground and smashed tip two or three cars; I have said nothing of casualties. As a matter of fact they were not very numerous—one boy electrocuted by a fallen “ live ” wire, two women knocked down, about forty people treated for miscellaneous injuries. But details of this sort have to be very multitudinous to be really impressive. Anyhow, it was a big storm, and Sydney has much reason for thankfulness that it did not last any longer. A very few minutes' of that sort of thing goes a very long way, both in regard to the sensations of the moment and the material consequences of such a catastrophic upheaval.