LIKE most Victorians, I have watched the bushfire disaster unfold from afar.
The images of burnt out homes and cars and the seemingly endless updates of the death toll have touched everyone.
But the last thing I expected as I drove inbound along the Monash Freeway into Berwick on Tuesday afternoon was to be faced with a tiny dose of the sorry tale.
A small fire had broken out on the grass embankment between the freeway lanes.
The scene was chaotic.
People were desperately grabbing anything they had in their vehicles to try to put out the fire.
Some used towels and clothing; others had fire extinguishers.
I pulled my car over and my journalistic instinct kicked in – I called my editor, Garry Howe, and told him what was going on.
My next impulse was to check if I had anything to use to help in the efforts to put out the rapidly spreading flames.
I found myself alongside six or seven others, belting the fire with the mat from my car boot.
It would have been comical if not for the seriousness of the situation.
A fire truck turned up soon after and the threat was quickly snuffed out.
Onlookers subsequently disappeared back into their vehicles and left as if nothing had happened.
But the mass of black that stretches 30 metres across and almost the entire width between the lanes was a stark reminder of the minutes before.
And to think it most likely all started from a cigarette butt.
– Marc McGowan
