‘New’ Darwin residents could have used a heads-up over midnight ‘dynamite barrage’

Newly-arrived Darwin residents, like me, could have used a heads-up a Greek Orthodox church was going to unleash a midnight ‘dynamiting barrage’, BEN CAMERON writes.

YOU’D think living across the road from a church would provide a relatively quiet and peaceful existence.

Moving to the NT in January, it felt like having the Greek community welfare ­office stationed just down the road from my new digs on Cavenagh St wouldn’t pose too many problems when it comes to late night shenanigans that the Territory is known for.

And you could confidently assume there would be more after-dark noise issues down boozy Mitchell St than at a church.

However, those illusions were shattered around midnight on Saturday by the sound of what seemed like bombs being rained down upon Darwin in a co-ordinated attack.

After all, it wouldn’t be the first time Darwin copped a ­decent shelling from enemies abroad.

So for a few, admittedly now irrational moments, it felt like World War III had kicked off as sonic booms rang out across the city’s CBD.

Each explosion appeared to be met by a gathering hubbub from confused concerned ­locals, both inside and outside my apartment complex.

The only thing missing from the cacophony of explosions was the warning siren and a PA announcement ­advising locals to find the nearest bomb shelter.

Darwin's Greek Orthodox Church on Cavenagh St. Picture: Glenn Campbell.

Being soon after midnight after a long day at work covering local sport, I was conked out in bed and barely dressed for a swift, mass evacuation.

Throwing on the nearest shirt and pair of shorts I could find, I headed downstairs ­towards the rela­­tive ­safety of Cavenagh St.

While heading for the first floor lift, I noticed several residents emerge from their units, a mixture of confusion, anger and mild panic written across their faces.

One bloke stood in his doorway with hands in the air, looking at me like I was a ­poorly dressed maintenance man coming to restore order.

“What the hell is going on, man,” another bloke asked me in the lift, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Sounds like somebody is letting off bombs ... I’ve got to work in the morning.”

Out on the street, as the earth-shattering explosions kept ringing out, I noticed a Greek woman standing on a street corner.

Turns out she had attended the event which had blocked off the street – the annual Greek Easter celebrations as part of Orthodox Mass – but was entirely sympathetic to those living locally, especially the kids

“We do this every year, but I don’t think anybody was told,” the woman said. Talk about an understatement.

Now Darwin is a pretty transient place, so it would be fair to assume a good number of residents along this particular stretch of Cavenagh St would be new to the Territory.

So, perhaps it might have been an idea for church organisers to letterbox a bunch of pamphlets saying: “Hey guys, we’re running our annual Greek Easter festivities, so don’t be alarmed by the dynamite, which is likely to be let off around midnight.”

However, myself, and ­plenty of others, had no idea what was going on.

To be honest, any solid citizen would inform the neighbours if they’re organising a party, especially when dynamite is on the agenda.

Don’t get me wrong.

The Greeks have done ­plenty for modern society, like late night lamb sandwiches, Effie and Kouta.

But on Saturday night, they fumbled the football.

Darwin woken by late night explosions

DARWINITES were roused from their slumber on Saturday night as a series of explosions rocked the city at midnight — but there was no need for panic.

Newcomers to the Top End capital leapt from their beds, convinced the cacophony signalled the commencement of World War III, but old hands recognised the unmistakeable sound of Greek Easter celebrations.

As part of the Orthodox Easter mass, worshippers release dynamite on the church grounds in the Darwin CBD to celebrate the Christian holy festival.

Triple-0 operators traditionally field calls from panicked locals each Easter before reassuring them there’s nothing to worry about.