After the fires, it’s isolation in the ashes

People who lost homes in the catastrophic summer bushfires feel abandoned as the country focuses on the coronavirus pandemic.

Jim and Enid Humphries and the caravan they call home after they lost everything when fires hit their property at Verona in the Bega Valley of NSW. Picture: Sean Davey

Jim Humphries can finally breathe again.

Long after the smoke has cleared, months after the bushfires that ravaged his region were extinguished, the charred remains of his home have now been trucked away from his property in southern NSW.

Mr Humphries and his partner, Enid, are among those who lost everything in the summer bushfires crisis and are now dealing with a global pandemic that has slowed recovery efforts and hindered their ability to move on.

The couple, like many of the 3500 Australians whose homes were destroyed in the fires, are now living in makeshift, temporary accommodation with limited heating as temperatures approach freezing.

Some of those traumatised by the bushfires are too frightened to light a campfire to keep warm.

As the rest of the nation went into lockdown in their homes, Jim and Enid remained isolated — ­living in a leaky caravan among bushfire debris on their 10ha property in Verona, south of Cobargo in the Bega Valley.

The couple, in their 70s, have their fair share of health problems, and a limited water supply makes good hygiene difficult during the pandemic, yet they remain ­optimistic.

“There’s no use sitting around and whining about it. What good will that do you?” said Mr Humphries, who relies on a walking stick. He was listed for surgery ­before the pandemic hit but that’s been indefinitely postponed.

The pair fled as the Badja Forest firestorm approached early on New Year’s Eve and spent a week sleeping with four dogs in their tiny Toyota Corolla Seca.

When they were allowed to return, they slept in tents ­before two caravans were donated. The wreckage of their house was removed last week.

“It’s been traumatic seeing everything ripped to pieces and taken away, but it does give us hope of a new start,” Mr Humphries said.

“It’s hard to comprehend a ­future when you’re still surrounded by and living in the ­rubble. But it’s changed the contour of the land and new aspects of the place are appearing, which is helping us see a way forward.”

Their story is like that of many in the area; resilient country folk determined to withstand whatever is thrown at them, even when it feels like the country has abandoned them in their ­recovery.

“Most of us feel left behind because of COVID-19,” said Vanessa Trudgett, a mother of three who lost her house to the fires in Wyndham, south of Eden. “As soon as we got to the point where we could see a way forward, this pandemic happened and all the attention and assistance that was overflowing in February quickly became a distant memory.”

Ms Trudgett, her husband, Dave Jones, and their three kids were evacuated five times in January before three bushfires converged in a megafire that claimed their home on February 1. Three horses and two sheep miraculously survived, as did their shed, stables and Hills hoist. The family and their kelpie Izzy are now living in a two-bedroom cottage on their neighbour’s property. Until last week, when government contractors arrived in the area to clear rubble, the view of their burned-down house was a daily reminder of their loss.

“I was sick of looking at it,” Mr Jones said.

Vanessa Trudgett and husband David Jones with Sophie, 14, Kane, 11, and Bowen, 5, on their Wyndham property, which was hit by fire on February 1. Picture by Sean Davey.

“Psychologically, it was really difficult,” Ms Trudgett added. “But as emotionally difficult as it was to see our house scooped up and taken away last week, we feel relieved now it’s happened. We can finally see a way forward beyond the compounding trauma.”

Ms Trudgett said homeschooling had been impossible after the fires had wiped out internet access and the process of ­applying for relief funds had been “humiliating”.

“It’s a dehumanising process really, having to line up and ask for help,” she said.

Ms Trudgett couldn’t buy ­toilet paper for five weeks when stock levels plummeted as the virus first hit and said footage of people fighting over essential items in Sydney supermarkets “really cut deep”.

“Those of us affected by the fires have experienced trauma after trauma, we’re worried about our housing and feeling isolated, and these people are fighting over toilet paper? It’s insane,” she said.

At the bushfire relief centre in Quaama in the Bega Valley, ­donations of bottled water dried up immediately after coronavirus restrictions were imposed.

“All of a sudden, the families who were donating us bottles of water were hoarding them for themselves,” Veronica Abbott, who helps run the centre, said.

“The irony was astounding. Bushfires, floods, a pandemic — what’s next? It feels like a really cruel bad joke. What have we done to deserve this?

“We were devastated at the idea of having to shut,” Ms Abbott said. “This is our safe space. This place is our safe bubble of shared experience.”

The centre has now reopened, with social distancing.

Ms Abbott said the most difficult aspects of social distancing on top of bushfire relief efforts had been the inability to hug those in need.

“I find it so instinctive to hug people, and the urge to do that is so hard to fight,” she said.

“People would come in here because it was their place of refuge and they’d be in such distress I would just hold them until they could breathe again.”

As for relief money, the federal government’s response is being labelled an “absolute joke” by many in the area.

“We got $1000 and a pat on the head, and the Centrelink process is utterly broken,” said Wandella resident Robyn Freedman, whose house was lost on New Year’s Eve.

“Governments need to have a serious rethink of how we ­approach relief efforts. At the ­moment, the bureau­cracy asks ‘Why should we help?’ instead of ‘how?’.”

The 63-year-old, who is living with her husband, Graeme, and dog Digby in a caravan on their property, said the past few months had been a “lesson in patience … We have a long way to go to rebuild.”