Smile for us

Fifty (and a little bit) years ago my brother and I lived in Christchurch for a few short years. We moved to Blenheim when I was still very young, but we visited family in Christchurch often.

While understandably those young years are hazy, I still have some treasured memories of my time spent in Christchurch.

Punting down the Avon river. Hanging out at Cathedral Square – gazing in awe at the majestic Cathedral. Watching the Wizard gabble his preaching to any passerby who would listen. Seeing the birdman with a thousand seagulls and various other birds perched on his shoulders, head and any other part of his body (slight exaggeration, but to a young me, it seemed that many!)

Growing up in New Zealand, a fault line running through our hometown, we were used to shakes and tremors. We were taught from a young age, where to take cover…under a solid structure – usually the kitchen table, until the world was still again. The threat of a major quake was ever present, though thankfully, not something I experienced in my childhood.

I heard about the Christchurch earthquake at 1.50pm as I was about to head back to work from my lunch break, on 22^nd February 2011. I spent the afternoon sending frantic messages on Facebook to family that lived in Christchurch, worried about where they may have been at 12.51pm that day – if they were standing in the Canterbury Television or the Pyne Gould Corporation building, or the areas that were worst hit.

Thankfully, all my family members declared themselves safe, though mentally they, like so many that survived, suffered PTSD for years to come.

Like so many, I watched the media coverage, saw the pictures, heard the stories. But I could not even begin to comprehend the extent of the devastation until I witnessed it first-hand.

For me, the most heartbreaking sight was the 185 empty white chairs, so carefully placed on the site of St. Paul’s Trinity Presbyterian Church, representing each of the lives lost in the quake.

I choked back tears when I noticed that they weren’t just chairs, there were also highchairs and one lone baby capsule.

The cathedral now sits in silence, as countless pigeons nest in the ruins of what once was the biggest draw card in this amazing city. There are so many empty blocks where once, high-rise buildings stretched to the sky.  Most are advertised for sale. Prime real estate once… But now, land that no one wants.

Walking through the square, the silence was deafening. I felt an all-consuming sadness wash over me. I have never felt anything quite like it before, or since.
It wasn’t what people said. It wasn’t any one thing that I saw… it was a feeling.
Hopelessness? Despair? Resignation? Defeat?
It was more than that. I can’t really explain it.

I felt an overwhelming urge to drop to my knees and cry for the loss of this beautiful city. For the vibrancy and spirit it once had.
Christchurch has lost its heart.
No one smiles now.
There are no buskers playing happy music or excitable squeals from children playing on the manicured lawns.

There are hand-drawn signs strategically placed along the pathways we walk, desperately urging us to breathe happiness and life into a city that has forgotten how to laugh.
‘Smile for us’, they say.

While the rebuild is happening, it is a slow and all too painful process. So many have moved away. Look around, and there are very few generation X or Y people left in the heart of this city. In fact, all you see are tourists taking photos and the builders who are painstakingly trying to put the city back together again.

I overheard a man tell his wife “they are never going to recover from this”.
But he underestimates the Christchurch spirit. Their resilience, and determination to rise again. I may not see it today…but I know it’s here still.
One day Christchurch will smile again.
But for today, we will smile for them. We will laugh, and celebrate life, even if people think we are crazy.
If Christchurch couldn’t smile, we would smile for them.

We headed for the shopping precinct. I’m not sure what I was expecting. But what we found was a collection of shipping containers that had tastefully been turned into dress shops, cafes, food stores, a coffee shop and a hairdressing salon. My destination was the coffee shop, but Paul had spyed a blonde and very attractive woman working in the hairdressing container. All of a sudden he needed a haircut! We grabbed a coffee while he had his short hair, cut even shorter. I’m unsure exactly what else he was doing in there, but he seemed to take a long time for such a simple haircut. Who knew my brother could be so social?

There are few recreation activities still running but, to our absolute delight, punting (in the shape of kayaks) were still there.
Kayaking on the Avon was just the happy pill we needed. Paul, Gracie and I grabbed our Kayaks and hit the river. John watched on with amusement from the riverbank, probably trying to pretend he didn’t know the noisy foreigners slapping their paddles on the river.  

We got wet – very wet, mostly due to Paul’s lack of paddling skills. He took great delight in skimming his paddle along the top of the water trying to splash us, but mostly he just succeeded in splashing himself!

We even got close enough to touch some baby ducklings until their indignant mother rounded them up and marched them away from human hands. Laughter most certainly was the best medicine after our sombre morning, and I am sure many of the tourists and workers enjoying a leisurely lunch on the riverbank were entertained with our squeals of laughter and noisy banter. Though I suspect the young couple making out under a large Poplar tree noticed nothing except the face that was glued to their own!!

Some Japanese tourists approached us for a photo, then looked most confused when we said, “G’day mate!”

Determined there must be a Westfield still standing somewhere, we plugged Westfield into our New Zealand GPS and the clever lady guided us to our destination (many, many miles away) so we could shop what was left of the afternoon away, much to the delight of the boys.

We had arranged to catch up for tea with our cousin Peter, his wife and two children.

I haven’t seen Pete since he was nine when he was an awkward, gangly kid. He’s six foot now, still perhaps a little awkward, but nothing gangly! We ate like kings and queens then attempted to educate Pete’s family on the facts of (supposedly) dangerous Australia.
It took a while to convince the kids that Kangaroos in fact do not box people and Platypus are brown not green!

No competitive card games tonight, we were all too tired from our emotionally exhausting day.

Tomorrow we head to Blenheim where the real memories were made.

Good night John Boy

Day three, coming soon….