Courage

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It’s a shame that the situation in Christchurch is descending into a state of argie-bargie with some insurance companies reverting to tight-wad form, some house-owners bitter about not getting what they think is their full pay-out and politicians almost having to wear the blame for the tragedy. That’s human nature.

Once the shock of having survived the greatest catastrophe in living memory in New Zealand wore off, it was always going to be that way.

So, among the growing number of niggles and rising anger over the way some aspects of the aftermath is being handled, it was refreshing to be reminded of the quiet heroes who really made a difference on that sunny mid-February afternoon in Christchurch.

The Press newspaper recently told the previously untold story of one of the great unsung heroes from that day — Rob Mackle.

I was safe in Auckland on that day, but as I watched TV3’s live streaming of the events that followed the 6.3 shake I wondered where all the rescue workers had come from so quickly. I’m not talking about the people in uniforms, the Police, firemen or St Johns people I am talking about ordinary looking people who appeared from nowhere and simply got stuck in.

I’m sure that the perfectly natural reaction from most people who were in Central Christchurch that day was simply to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. But not Rob Mackle nor dozens, possibly hundreds of others like him.

Rob was with his wife are sharemilkers and they were on the dairy farm at Rakaia, 30 to 40 minutes south of Christchurch when they felt the quake hit. They knew it was a big one and they were immediately concerned for the well-being of one of their daughters who was a student at Canterbury University.

Shortly afterwards they received a text message from her saying that she was alright, so Rob jumped into the family car, drove to Christchurch, found her and took her to the house belonging to family members out in Halswell, well away from the danger-zone.

But, having dropped her off, instead of continuing south to Rakaia, Rob did a U-turn and headed back into the devastation of Central Christchurch, knowing the people would be in need of help.

He drove through two cordons and just kept going, finally he parked and carried on on foot through the torn and bleeding heart of this once most beautiful of all New Zealand cities. The streets were choked with collapsed buildings, but eventually Rob found himself staring at the collapsed pancake of the Pyne Gould building and knew there were people in there that needed help.

This was just a couple of hours after the quake and while there were other rescuers there, it hadn’t yet become an official rescue site, so untrained people like Rob were carrying out heroic rescue efforts as best they could.

At first Rob entered the back of the building, but after a short period of time he found it too difficult, too scary and it started to do his head in. So he got out, took a breather and went around the front where he joined a small team burrowing their way into the wrecked building inch, by inch, clearing rubble, and glass out of their way by hand to gain access to impossibly tight places in the pitch black, using only a small camping torch for light.

He had to cope with the distressing site of bodies and people jammed into impossibly tight places.

His story as told in The Press brought me to tears. It was harrowing and gut-wrenching, but also incredibly uplifting to think that this man simply rolled up his sleeves and got on with it.

A man who had escaped told Rob where he thought his girlfriend was and if he could find her, give her some comfort and tell her that he had got out and was OK. Rob did manage to locate her and touched her hand, telling her that her partner was fine.  

At one stage he sent his wife back in Rakaia a text to say he was in the Pyne Gould building to which she replied “You’ve got to be bloody kidding . . . .” or words to that effect.

Taking a break, Rob reflected on what he was doing and came to the conclusion that it was worthwhile and that after rescuing one or two people, it didn’t really matter if the building came down on him, because a person has to do what a person has to do.

After the break, he returned to the back side of the building as he had now become used to the terrible and incredibly dangerous conditions.

Somewhere after midnight he decided to call it a day and alone left the building and went to find his car. Unable to locate it, he was finally given a lift out to Halswell by a sympathetic lady police officer.

Rob Mackle, by himself saved the lives of three people that day and was involved in the joint rescue of several others. But during nights that followed, he was haunted by the feeling he could and should have done more. So he headed back into town and to the Pyne Gould building. By now, the rescue attempt was organised and official. A British team was in charge and they had everything under control and doing things by the book. Rob wasn’t needed. So he took a shovel and went out into the suburbs to shovel silt . . .

You brave, wonderful human being Rob Mackle.