Bondi has seen big waves before, but nothing like Black Sunday

Yes, that does indeed appear to be mother of all waves that hit the Bondi Icebergs in the very early hours of Wednesday morning, causing so much damage. Going at least 10 metres above the pool deck, the wave or waves shattered 30 metres of glass fencing, left railings “bent like butter”, and swept away a 20-tonne water tank onto the beach.

Let the record show, however, the father of all waves on that iconic beach hit about nine decades ago.

The chaotic scene at Bondi on Black Sunday - February 6, 1938 - when hundreds of bathers were hit by monster waves.Credit: Fairfax

For this one, there was no warning, and not built upon a high tide and stormy seas like this week’s sudden snarl from Mother Nature.

Rather, it seemed to be just another lazy summer’s afternoon on February 6, 1938, and it would later be estimated that a staggering 35,000 Sydneysiders were happily sweltering on the golden sands as the seagulls caterwauled about, for the first time since forever, frustrated with no spot to land.

The day is, in the vernacular of the time, a “stinker”, and the likely record turnout is probably because those bronzed boys of the Bondi Surf Bathers’ Life Saving Club have turned up in force to have one of their popular surf competitions.

It is such a wonderfully peaceful scene – of people and nature as a happy whole – that it is simply unimaginable that in a few seconds nature could ever rear up and savage the lot of them.

With a roar like a Bondi tram running amok, an enormous wave suddenly rolls over the thousands in the surf, including those many standing on the large sandbank just out from the shore, knocking them over as it goes. And now another wave hits, and now still another!

Three huge waves, just like that, piggyback their way further up the beach and grab everything they can along the way - babies, toddlers, adolescents, beach umbrellas, old blokes and young sheilas alike before making a mad dash for the open sea again. As they flee, they carry all before it and sweep everyone off the sandbank and into the deep channel next to it.

The late Clem Walsh was Bondi Surf Club patrol captain on Black Sunday (pictured here in 2011). Credit: Danielle Smith

In no more than 20 seconds, on what will ever after be known as Bondi’s Black Sunday, the peaceful scene has been tragically transformed into utter chaos. Now, the boiling surf, with yet more large waves continuing to roll over, is filled with distressed folk waving for help.

This looks like a job for ... you know who.

For in their long and glorious history, this still stands as the finest hour of the Australian surf lifesaving movement. Ignoring their own possible peril, the Bondi boys charge into the surf, some attached to one of the seven reels available, some relying only on their own strength. As one, they begin pulling people out.

On the shore, many survivors are resuscitated as the Bondi clubhouse is turned into a kind of emergency clearing house, and ambulances from all over Sydney town descend and carry victims away.

Finally, just half an hour after the waves hit, the water is cleared of bobbing heads and waving arms, and it is time to take stock: 250 people had needed the lifesavers to pull them out, of whom 210 were OK once back on land. Among the rescued, 35 needed mouth-to-mouth to be restored to consciousness. Five people have perished.

Bondi. The sands shimmer. The waves roll in as the seasons change. So it is, so it has always been.

And, every now and then, she turns nasty. At least this time, no-one was swept away.

Peter Fitzsimons is an author and columnist.