Geoff Walker on mon 17 may 99
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This is a story of devastation, one which I was in two minds about
posting, but after encouragement from some claymates on the list, here
we go.
A fortnight (2 weeks) ago on a Tuesday morning after enjoying a long
weekend, I commenced work early. As usual, I was looking forward to
downloading my email messages from this list and another (Cadillac) list
to which I subscribe. LOTS of messages=21 Even a reply to a question on
the other list about a problem I have been having with my =22toy=22=21 =
Wow=21
Half an hour after sun up my brother, Bill, Production Manager arrived
and we exchanged greetings before he entered the main factory through a
side door as I continued to read. I figured I would talk to him later
and catch up on what he and the family had been up to over the three
days off.
As a typed a reply to a kind message of help (car stuff) the peace was
shattered by a clap, the likes of which I have never heard (or felt)
before. I say =22clap=22 rather than =22boom=22, for it was more like my =
right
shoulder had been struck by lightning and this was the resounding
thunder clap. Instantly I knew what had happened=21 Explosion=21 Kiln=21 Oh =
My
GOD=21 BILL=21=21=21
Yelling like a fishwife I ran through the showrooms, through the stock
and glazing area in the adjoining factory now filling with fibre dust,
and towards the kiln rooms. The copious fibre dust, like dirty snow,
filled the air, slowly and ever so silently settling everywhere. So
abundant and voluminous was this cloud that the sunlight penetrating the
skylights was almost blocked out making it impossible to make out
anything but general forms. All the time I continued to scream out,
=22Bill=21 Bill=21=22, stumbling over and through the debris I could =
scarcely
see. No time for, nor thought of, a mask, so the tail of an overshirt
was put into service as makeshift protection, so frantic was my search
for my beloved brother.
Nothing but silence greeted my frenzied screams for what seemed like so
many long minutes. Continuing to stumble as the dirty snow storm drifted
down, all the time yelling Bill's name, I at last heard a sound like the
scraping a kiln shelf =85 THERE WAS MOVEMENT=21 I stumbled awkwardly towards
it, a glimmer of hope my encouragement.
At last the most beautiful sound I have ever heard blessed my ears.
=22What happened,=22 was that sweet, sweet mumble. He was ALIVE=21 ALIVE=21
Emotion almost overwhelmed me as I renewed my efforts to reach him
beneath the debris, still unable to make out more than his general form.
As he moved, a kiln shelf slid from his back and the remains of a pot
rolled to smash on the concrete floor. But he was alive =85 AND =85 appeared
to be in one piece. There is a God=21
Reaching for the gas valve, I slammed it closed, momentarily
experiencing a mental block as to where it was on that kiln. Fortunately
the gas lines had held and there had been nothing more than one brief
moment of flame.
It was easy to extricate him, coughing controllably, from this pile of
rubble, clouds of the dreaded fibre forming the greater portion of his
unwelcome covering. With very little help, this stunned creature made it
to his feet where I could see and feel that he was all there=21
Incredible=21 From what I could make out, there appeared to not only be
nothing broken, but there was no blood either=21 Astounding=21
Together we made it over the soft rubble, broken shelves and pots to the
adjoining factory through a very large opening where he instinctively
reached into his briefcase for a puffer. Bill is asthmatic =85 a further
complication.
Still in a state, but thinking reasonably logically, I guided him to a
chair beside an open door away from the settling dust, draping a thin
blanket around his shoulders before dialing the emergency number.
Despite his bleating protests that he didn't need an ambulance, I knew
it was essential to have him seen to immediately. The police and other
authorities also needed to be contacted.
Once the essential call had been made, I dashed for the main gas tank 50
metres across the car park to shut down the supply to the entire
complex, checking every other valve as I returned.
Through an extraordinary set of circumstances, three of =22my=22 girls who
would normally have been at work at the time were not in that morning.
Blessed are we all=21 One had taken a week's leave, another just couldn't
get herself moving (unlike her), and the other had car problems.
Extraordinary=21 My nephew, Bill's oldest boy, who would also normally
arrive with his father, had left only two days earlier to work for a
stint in the country. So many fortuitous co-incidences=21 As I said
before, there is a God=21
Three television stations had news cameras and crews at the pottery
within minutes of the emergency call, only just being beaten by the 4
carloads of police, an ambulance and the fire brigade. These were
closely followed by the Workplace Health and Safety Inspector, the
Department of Mines and Energy Gas Inspector, the Scenes of Crime
Investigators and some police who had something to do with the Fraud
Squad=21 Unreal=21 The place was swarming with investigators, all taking
photographs, copious notes, and wanting interviews.
I will say that each one of these officials was kind, sympathetic and
thoughtful, performing their respective tasks efficiently and with due
respect and courtesy. They were aware that my primary concern was the
condition of my dear brother and waited until I was satisfied he was
safe, in the hands of the ambulance personnel, before proceeding with
anything in depth.
Bill, even now, two weeks later, still has absolutely no recollection of
anything from the time he greeted me on his arrival that morning until
an ambulance officer placed an oxygen mask over his face. Totally blank=21
Still hasn't heard that almighty blast=21 As a result, the cause is still
not clear.
However=21 One thing is for certain, and that is that the kiln contained
an amount of gas (L.P.), enough to create an explosive mixture, and that
Bill ignited it. (In has dazed state immediately after I had lead him
away from the devastated kiln site, he kept telling me that he was SURE
he had lit it, repeating this same phrase over and over again. I
eventually found myself telling him in no uncertain terms that I KNEW he
had lit the bloody thing=21 It was OBVIOUS=21) The gas inspector told me
that contrary to popular belief, the most explosive mixture of L.P. gas
and air is 1 part gas to 25 parts air=21 Another comment made by one of
the numerous gas experts aggregated on the day was that we were
fortunate that we were not using natural gas. The collective opinion was
that should we have been using natural gas, as it was likely the entire
factory complex could have been blown to smithereens.
A harrowing fortnight has passed since that unforgettable morning, Bill
coming back to work last week looking remarkably refreshed=21 (Without
eyelashes and eyebrows he does still resemble a very hagged version of
an Elizabethan thespian on a very, very bad day, though LOL=21)
After much gas re-working and having every safety check made, we now
have the sister kiln (=22Gold Top=22) back in action, and hope to have a
(one third the size, =22Green Frog=22) substitute for =22Big Top=22 back =
online
within another week or two. This will enable us to perform reduction
firings once more. =22Green Frog=22, although smaller, can at least be fired
every day if necessary, so production should be back to something
approaching normal in a couple of weeks.
This experience has been harrowing, as I said, but NOTHING could have
brought my dear brother, Bill back from what was very close to being the
worst-case scenario. We were all extremely fortunate. The emphasis on
safety has been intensified =85 all of us being so much more aware that
familiarity can make one blas=E9.
I hope none of you ever have to go through a similar experience, and I
would advise that a professional check all of your gas safety equipment
on a regular basis. Remember also that between the two of us, Bill and I
have fired tens of thousands of loads in gas kilns over many years. Be
confident but cautious.
Oh=21 Late on the afternoon of the accident Mother made what I thought was
the most poignant statement of the day: Well, Geoffrey (it's never
=22Geoff =22 when she is serious or I am in trouble=21), it's nothing =
compared
to a shipwreck =85 and I still have both my boys=21
Take care,
Geoff.
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