One day in early Autumn, my partner and I were working in the office when I thought I smelled something burning.

Venturing outside, we were assaulted by thick smoke, urgent shouts, grinding engines and loud crackling noises. All screamed that a bushfire was close… too close. 

My partner went to investigate while I retreated to the house. 

Heart pounding, I pulled a suitcase down from a high cupboard. My mind raced as I grabbed clothes and threw them into the case. What if we couldn’t leave? We’d have to stay and fight the fire. I stopped packing. 

I filled every bucket and bowl I could find with water. I dashed to the shed and collected a pile of hessian sacks, dumped them in the laundry sink and turned on the tap. They’d block gaps under doors, or beat out flames.

I pulled a couple of woollen blankets out of storage. Somehow I’d absorbed one or two details from somewhere about what to do in the event of a bushfire, never really thinking I’d need to know. Trying to stay calm, I considered what to do next. 

Surrounded by tall trees, our wooden house wouldn’t stand a chance if the fire spread to the tree canopy. We’d have to leave.

I phoned friends who live in a less bushy area to ask if we could evacuate to their place. They weren’t home. I tried to sound calm as I left a message, failing to stifle a laugh. I felt unhinged.

Where the hell was my partner?

I ran from room to room, gathering things: photo albums, passports, birth certificates, insurance policies…

A fire truck pulled up out front. They’d come to tell us to leave. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the knock on the door. None came. Seconds later they drove off. 

Hot on their heels my partner dashed in. He said that the fire crew had been looking for access to the big dam, on a neighbouring property, to fill the tanker with water. They’d found it.

He also reported that the police had closed the road in both directions. At that time of day the school bus normally travelled along it. A small crowd of anxious locals had gathered near the roadblock. 

The police had also advised, my partner said, that we prepare to leave. He started flinging clothes into a suitcase. I leaned on mine and closed it. 

I checked the back deck for embers, grinding a few to particles with the heel of my boot. I also found a can of paint.

Paint! That’d go up in flash. I hurried to the shed with it. I then trundled garden furniture to the shed, retracing my steps with a box of kindling, and bottles of turps and meths from the laundry. I was furious that we’d stored things like that in such a stupid place.

Someone shouted my name. I spun around to see a friend emerge from the smoke. Dressed in thongs, tee-shirt and shorts, he’d been helping fight the fire. He looked all done in.

We plied him with water while he told us that the fire had started across the road, in front of a neighbour’s place. The neighbour, a member of the Country Fire Authority, had been called from work to attend a fire. Turned out to be at his place. Our friend left to check on his own house.

While I drove the car from the garage to the front of the house, my partner raced down to consult the police, to make sure we could still leave. I ran inside to collect the suitcases. 

Just as I was about to drag them down the path my partner came back, smiling. The fire was under control, he said. Dazed, I put down the suitcases, adrenalin yielding to exhaustion.

Fourteen fire trucks and a bulldozer had attended the blaze, some from far afield. Most had attended another, bigger, fire towards Castlemaine. We were lucky that so many fire crews had been in our area at the same time. 

A few of the trees in the pine plantation were burnt, as well as a row of eucalypts skirting the road. The bush on the other side of the road had been burnt to blackened skeletons. Flames had come within metres of two houses.

It was the talk of the neighbourhood for weeks. There were two other fires in the district that day and it was said that all three had been deliberately lit.

Our friends, to whom we’d hoped to evacuate, called us the following morning. They’d been in Melbourne, attending the theatre, and had arrived home after midnight. They were shocked to hear the news.

We learned a valuable lesson that day about our preparedness – or lack of it – for a bush fire.

Apart from cementing the front and back yards, there are a few simple measures you can take to make your home less vulnerable to bushfire. This is the time of year to start doing them.

For information on keeping safe during the bushfire season, visit the Country Fire Authority website or call the Victorian Bushfire Information Line: 1800 240 667.  

Now I’d better get out there and start clearing up before the warm weather arrives.