My vision.

I haven't created this blog to open old wounds or hang onto the past.

No, in fact, I've created it as part of my own personal healing process - to describe as I wish, in a form (writing) in which I'm most comfortable, what happened...

The vague, passing memories and partially repressed thoughts.

Abstract observations.

Powerful emotions.

Images and minutes that are so clear in my mind, they could have happened hours ago.

That's partly why I've written this.

Also, I've written it as a semi-anonymous account of the reality of the fires, from a firefighter's perspective.

I had my chance to be interviewed by the media. Be photographed for newspapers. I declined.

Why? Because I didn't want to be held up as anything or anyone - I was just doing what I joined the fire service to do. Fight fires, protect my city.

I did have a say in the matters and investigations to follow, for what it was worth.

Since then, I have kept very quiet about this part of my life. Strange, in some ways - as it's something I still think about several times a day. Occasionally, people think I'm "daydreaming" or have a "glazed look" in my eyes. Not necessarily...I'm just perhaps thinking. Quite likely, about this again.

It's something that affected me so deeply, I couldn't even talk to my family or best friends.

Since then, I have only confided in a handful of most trusted and special confidantes (you know who you are).

I have also resigned from the fire service. Partly as my paid work is clashing with my commitments...but also, partly, because I feel that nearly seven years of constant commitment - risking my life, sacrificing my time, getting out of bed at 3am, going out to deployments like this - that I have done my part.

I'll be honest. I miss it. I miss the comraderie. I miss the challenge. I miss the team - it was a close knit team in the best of words - something only other emergency services workers can understand. Sometimes, I miss the work.

But I know I've done my part now. Maybe one day I'll be back.

When I resigned, the last words my Station Officer said to me were "Rob, just so you know, the station door will always be open to you".

Firefighting never paid me a cent and was never my "career".

But it's been such a huge part of my life that I will never truly leave it behind...I still go back to the station a bit, say hello. Some days, it's great, I feel like I never left.

Sometimes when I go by...though...I think of the dark days. Seeing my friends going through their own private hell returning from this. Strong men shedding a tear when they thought no one was looking.

Over two years have gone by. In my time, I went to countless incidents. Literally, hundreds. So varied as house, factory, shed fires, car fires, chemical and Hazmat incidents, grass and bush fires, road accident rescues, technical and industrial rescues...the list goes on.

But one callout - one single pager message that set off those 33 days, will be with me forever.

Bizarrely, I still remember the exact text of the page...the usual "ALERT", followed by the fire code, date and incident...all numbers.

Then just the simple words, abbreviated, meaning for "strike team 0425" (my team) to assemble immediately at the station.

When people ask me about it...the first thing I usually say is "we knew it would be bad. But...no one could see how bad. No one in their right mind".

But, I'm rambling. Plenty of time for that later.

If you are reading this, either, you have discovered this blog by chance or I've directed you here. If you've discovered it by chance...feel free to read on. I don't mean to distress you but I do hope I give you a realistic account of what it was like.

If I directed you here, thankyou for reading. You are one of a small, trusted group I trust enough to see my closest thoughts.

This page is partly here for my own therapy.

But also as a tribute. 173 lives were lost - who will never return.

Thousands lost everything but the clothes on their backs.

God-knows how many lost family and friends, if you look at a ripple affect of those 173.

Several thousand firefighters, paramedics, police, Red Cross assistants and others joined the fight - described at one point as the "fight to save Victoria from Hell itself".

This is a tribute to them. We are not individuals - we were all one team.

And to my crew in particular. I won't use their names. But to SG, LR & RH...

I hadn't met you gents before. Just SG once in passing. I was paired with you three as you were rural firefighters without much practice while I was urban and had done plenty with house fires, etc.

I was with you to help keep you fellows safe around the intensely urban environments - and assist when the job turned grim and we had to search the ruins.

I still remember that final moment on the night we went home. Coming back to the base and being met by the co-ordinator to be handed our first beer in 33 days and be told "you four are going home. NO BUTS. You're done".

I remember all four of us hugging like a pack of fucking teenage girls. Elated in the relief - we were going home. Away from it all.

I remember when we got back into town and to the station at 1am the next morning by the time we drove. Since it was my station but yours was out of town, you three went to head off.

I remember shaking hands with you and how hard it was to keep back emotion - and I could see it was for you too. After all, we survived all that, together.

So to you gents, all I want to say is, thankyou. We did this as a team. Tanker 12 of Strike Team 0425 was truly working as one.

I hope one day soon I can find you to read you this or send it to you.

To everyone else...this is my tribute and story of Black Saturday and beyond.