Inside the inferno
By MARTIN DALY and LINDSAY MURDOCH
Part I
THE morning the earth trembled and flames and plumes of black smoke
shot into the sky, Peter Wilson had been a busy man. For hours a pipe
had been leaking and Wilson, 51, a senior Esso employee of 30 years, who
planned early retirement, decided to check on maintenance progress. "See
you later,'' he said to a workmate.
Minutes later, Wilson and fellow Esso maintenance worker John Lowery
were dead and, amid fears the equivalent of many tankers laden with
liquified petroleum gas would detonate, everyone within a five-kilometre
radius of the Esso plant was evacuated.
This, some thought, was Armageddon. Two men were incinerated. Flames
were shooting a hundred metres high. The air was acrid. Lungs and
throats gasped for breath but were seared by heat and fumes.
Explosion after explosion rocked buildings in the plant and blasted
workers into the air. Crucial communications systems crashed. Radiant
heat penetrated concrete, burning the skin as figures, blackened and
burned, emerged from the inferno.
They were in deep shock. One, badly burned, was carried to safety in
a litter by four men. Others emerged from smoke and fire with their arms
draped across the shoulders of colleagues.
Blood dripped from wounds, from eyes, ears, noses and mouths. For the
most part, they did not know what was happening. "They appeared shocked,
dazed and confused and had difficulty understanding what was being said
to them,'' said one worker.
The colleagues who saved them went again into the flames to search
further. Some thought they too, might not leave this place alive.
Others were feared missing in the early hours of the blaze, perhaps
as many as five. Then, perhaps three, then two. For a time, nobody knew
for sure. The priorities were to find the missing, cut the fuel supply
to the fire and put it out. There was chaos and shock at times but no
hysterics, not even among the injured, say ambulance officers who were
on the scene within minutes.
This was Longford, 20 kilometres outside Sale, Victoria, at about
12.30 pm on Friday, 25 September.
It was minutes since one of Esso's gas plants in the sprawling
complex exploded, bringing death and destruction and sparking fears four
containers each with 20,000 litres of liquified petroleum gas and
another four with propane would detonate, devastating the plant and
surrounding countryside.
"It is known as a 'bleve' when both ends are blown out in whichever
direction they are facing and everybody there knew that, the
hydro-carbon, when it explodes, will take out a small part of a town. It
is fairly horrific,'' said a worker.
"I would not have blamed anyone if they had said, 'I'm out of here',
but nobody did.''
The disaster has brought the close-knit communities of East Gippsland
even more tightly together. They feel the pain for each other but many
of those directly involved in the tragedy refuse to discuss it, partly
because Esso has instructed them they should not talk.
But the word is that after the funerals of Peter Wilson, who was
buried yesterday, and John Lowery, 49, to be buried today, workers and
their unions will have much to say about what happened and how it came
about.
They will question particularly whether a hydro-carbon leak noticed
as early as 8am that day - and which was not repaired - played a role in
the disaster.
Esso has refused to respond to specific questions about key events
that crippled the plant, killing and injuring its workers and leaving
the state without gas. The company also refused to comment on why the
fire brigade had not been immediately called, as stipulated in the
emergency plan.
The Age, in a series of interviews, has constructed a graphic account
of the disaster, revealing the chaos of the day and the extraordinary
courage of workers who fought the blaze in full knowledge of the dangers
they faced and remained at their posts, some choking and gasping for
breath because the breathing apparatus was already being used by others.
The 180 to 220 employees and contractors at the Esso plant work in
shifts, some servicing a maze of pipes and automated systems that pump
gas and oil from the platforms of Bass Strait for processing and
delivery to homes and businesses across Victoria.
Many of those who turned up for work that morning would have heard
about a hydro-carbon leak from a pipe within a series of pipes known as
the 922 Exchange.
The location of the leak is known as ``Kings Cross'' because it
contains two massive pipe tracks, one running east/west, the other
north/south, that pump a range of fuels, including hot oils and gasses,
into a system which processes the gas as it comes from the Strait.
The Esso complex comprises three plants, known as plant one - the
oldest built 30 years ago - and plants two and three, which were added
later.
That morning, there was a ``process upset'' of such concern that
managers ordered no more gas was to be pumped into the No.1 plant, in
case anything went wrong. ``All measures were taken,'' one worker told
The Age.
``From time to time we do have a leak and we can handle it but (on
the day of the blast) people were concerned and were taking measures.
``Usually with the hydrocarbon industry, two or three different
things happen at the same point in time to cause death.''
One of those factors was that the fault occurred at King's Cross, the
very point in the complex that posed the greatest threat in an
emergency. Another was that something happened somewhere in the plant at
that time to ignite the gas cloud.
Almost four-and-a-half hours after the leak was noticed, the
hydrocarbon was still leaking from the pipe in the 922 Exchange. Several
sources told The Age about this leak and confirmed its duration.
Shortly before 12.27pm, Peter Wilson headed for Kings Cross.
It is not known what the other dead man, John Lowery, a father of
three, was doing in the area, but another employee who also went to
check the leak was lucky to escape death or injury. He had left the area
on his bicycle - the favorite mode of transport for workers to cover the
long distances between facilities at the complex - apparently to fetch a
maintenance crew, when a huge blast sent a gas and oil cloud over the
area, drenching workers in concentrate, a light crude oil.
Sixty to 90seconds later, this cloud ignited and flashed back along
the path of the floating gas, according to one version, to envelop the
nearby 905 Exchange, which performs a function similar to the leaking
922.
The massive explosion is believed to have come from 905. It rocked
the plant to its foundations. This explosion, or the earlier gas cloud
explosion, threw some workers into the air, smashing them against the
ground and the maze of pipes.
The alarm systems sounded. Workers, drenched with hyrdo-carbon, came
from the blast area towards the plant's control room, the nerve centre
of the site. Around the complex, workers were pulling on oxygen masks.
Others headed towards evacuation points.
Workers trained hoses on the fire and on gas-filled structures that
were in danger of exploding in the rapidly rising temperature.
``We are trained fire fighters, but it was obvious ... we were not
going to put this one out,'' said one worker.
Telephones and internal radio communications in the control room were
knocked out in the early explosions.
There were apparently only two controllers in the control room as the
fire raged and explosions and flames burst into the sky. Normally, there
would be about six controllers on duty, sources say. But, that day, the
plant manager was not on duty. One operator was ill and had not come to
work. Another, Peter Wilson, was believed dead at this stage and two
others had been burnt in the fire.
Those left in the control room were unable to contact the Emergency
Response Centre in the administration building, and made vital,
on-the-spot decisions.
Thirty to 60seconds after the fire broke out, one of them dashed
outside to throw the emergency shutdown switch, cutting the supply of
gas and oil to Longford from the platforms in the Strait.
Another staffer turned off facilities within the plant that could
have fuelled the fire while, later, another worker went to turn off the
emergency switch, only to find it had already been done.
The injured started to arrive. ``There was a real acrid smell about
them, mixed with burnt skin,'' said Sale ambulance officer Bernard Goss,
who was at the plant training employees in first aid with another
ambulance officer, Michael Christian, of Traralgon, when the blast
happened.
Like many others, they thought the RAAF was dropping bombs again at
its nearby base, but when they saw the smoke and flames, they feared the
worst. The men talked with their base and headed down the road to the
disaster area, arriving at 12.34pm.
The injured were brought first to the control room. Heath Brew, burnt
and with leg injuries, was the most serious. He was caught in the first
explosion and carried to safety in a litter through the fire and fumes
by four workers. His face had been blackened, partly by burns. He was
bloodied and his teeth had been knocked out.
The explosions continued to rock the plant. The fires were getting
bigger, shooting into the air. ``You would hear a whooosh sound and you
would see the fire balls ... in the air,'' said Christian, a plant
worker.
The radiant heat was almost unbearable for workers and the ambulance
officers, who had been joined by another officer, Bruce Wilson, from
Sale. They had by now treated the injured. In some cases they doused
them with water from a hose attached to a tap to cool them down. They
wanted to get them to hospital as quickly as possible.
``It was a case of load and go,'' Wilson said.
Then an even greater threat struck, causing some to reflect on what
it must have been like for World War I soldiers when mustard gas flooded
the trenches. ``There was a whisper, like the whisper from steam,'' said
a worker.
``It had an acrid smell. It seared the throat and lungs. You could
not see it, but it hung in the air, not above or below, but through the
air.''
Some workers dashed for breathing apparatus, but found all units had
been taken.
The workers had crucial tasks to perform and had no option but to go
back to work stations and continue breathing the foul air, with no
protection at all.
The control room has an air pressure system that is supposed to keep
the air free from contamination. But firemen said smoke and fumes
penetrated anyway.
Outside, the bedlam continued. Pipes were blasted apart and melting.
The heat penetrated the concrete and brick buildings, burning the skin
of employees and rescue workers.
The heat went through brick walls and windows to sear those inside.
``When the explosions happened, you could see people jumping behind
buildings for protection,'' said the ambulanceman Wilson.
Every alarm in the plant was ringing. The noise was deafening. The
injured who had been taken to the control room were moved to the
first-aid station and to the canteen, a designated emergency area.
Later, as emergency service personnel and workers searched the
canteen to make sure everyone had been evacuated, they found half-eaten
meals, towels and blood everywhere. Blood was splattered on the floor,
making the place more resemble a casualty ward than somewhere to eat.
Parched and desperate for a drink, one worker turned on the tap, but
no water flowed. ``I (thought) that if there was no water here, how were
they going to fight the fire?''
The Emergency Response Centre in the administration building
resembled a scene from M.A.S.H. Emergency service personnel were in the
building and all the telephones were ringing non-stop.
One worker, after checking to make sure everyone had been evacuated
from several buildings, thought of his wife and family. ``I thought `I
would love to pick up the phone and tell my wife I was all right','' he
said.
He grabbed the only telephone not ringing, but the lights dimmed just
then and the phone system crashed. ``It was a scary feeling,'' he said.
People were asking frantically who was missing. Where was Peter
Wilson? they asked. In the chaos, the Esso computerised security system
that records everyone who enters and exits the gates worked to
perfection, allowing Esso to quickly establish who was missing.
MURRAY QUINE could not miss hearing the Sale fire brigade siren: his
communications equipment shop in Macarthur Street is less than 200metres
from the town's fire station.
As he ran across a back paddock, the thought never crossed his mind
that he was about to take charge of one of Victoria's scariest fires.
``In the back of your mind you think that maybe it's an exercise,'' he
says. ``There was supposed to be an exercise at the Longford plant a few
months ago, but they cancelled it.''
Like most other Victorian country towns, Sale has an almost foolproof
fire alert system. The homes or workplaces of 10 Country Fire Authority
volunteers are connected to a telephone party-line. Steven Thexton
picked up the receiver at his joinery business at 12.43pm. Sale police
were on the line: there had been an explosion and fire at Longford.
Thexton immediately punched in a code that set off the fire station's
siren, summoning the brigade's 46 members.
Quine did not know at the time but the call had come 16 minutes after
the first explosion at Longford. He wonders now why it took so long for
the brigade, with the responsibility of putting out the fire, to be
alerted.
Under Esso's emergency plan, the company was supposed to call the
brigade immediately. ``I don't know why they didn't call directly,''
Quine says. ``Rumor has it they couldn't get through. Maybe they dialled
the wrong number, I don't know.''
According to Esso spokesman Ron Webb, a senior manager at the
company's 14-storey headquarters on the banks of the Yarra burst into
his office at 12.40pm and told him he was calling a crisis management
team together because there was an emergency at Longford. Challenged on
why Esso headquarters was told before the fire brigade, Webb said it
could have been as late as 1pm when he learnt of the fire.
The ambulance service got its first call at 12.27pm, indicating the
explosion occurred moments before.
Seven minutes after the call taken by Thexton, the brigade's fire
truck, called the ``pumper'', was racing through Sale's main streets
towards Longford with five men on board. Quine left the station one
minute later in the captain's patrol vehicle and quickly overtook the
truck. Normally the drive through town, over the narrow Latrobe River
bridge and through farmland to Longford, takes 20 minutes. The brigade
did it in well under 10.
Quine was busy on the radio during the trip, making sure the Maffra
brigade sent a crew to cover Sale in case another fire broke out and
ordering the bridge's huge tanker to Longford as well. The tanker rolled
at 12.53pm, with another five volunteers on board. Remarkably, within 10
minutes of the call to the brigade at least 13 volunteers had run from
their workplaces, put on their fire fighting gear and were on their way
to a disaster.
Part II
