The Brisbane Floods of 1893

The Brisbane Floods of 1893

Timber houses, many with residents clinging onto them, floated down the Brisbane River, bridges collapsed, huge ships were stranded in the Botanic Gardens, and barrels of beer floated through the streets.
That was Brisbane 130 years ago, during the disastrous floods of February 1893.
Nowadays residents of Brisbane continue their love-hate affair with their river with many still struggling to recover from recent floods as history repeats itself.
But 2022 was minor compared with the Great Flood of 1893, really a series of three floods which almost meant the end for the young colony.
In the wake of the floods, the Bulletin reported: “A month ago Brisbane was the most utterly bankrupt and poverty-stricken of all Australian capitals. Now its condition is akin to that of China in a year of famine.”
It all began late in January 1893 when the first of three cyclones hit Queensland in a triple whammy, resulting in three peaks in the river in one month.
The waters rose slowly at first, the lower parts of the city going under and merchants in the CBD began moving stock to higher ground.
Then unprecedented downpours in the upper catchment caused a surge in the river. Large parts of the city were invaded and streets were like canals. Newspapers colourfully described the scene as “the worst inundation since the biblical deluge”.
But even Noah couldn’t have saved the “live animals and plentiful snakes” that swept by, nor the terrified kitten spotted on a piece of furniture headed to the sea.
Tragically journalists reported seeing families clinging to the roofs of their homes crying for help as they swept past helpless onlookers.
According to newspaper reports, 500 houses swept down the river in just one day.
The Indooroopilly rail bridge was destroyed when efforts to save it by anchoring it with a fully laden train failed. It was hastily shunted off the bridge in the nick of time.
Downstream the Victoria Bridge was receiving a battering despite the best efforts of the city engineer and his assistants to clear the debris.
The Telegraph reported: “House after house came rushing down the stream and was dashed against the structure, and cries of horror broke from the excited onlookers.”
A big barn filled with hay hit the bridge, along with furniture, fencing, trees, and “hunks of land like miniature islands”.
It was a losing battle…the bridge “succumbed to the huge heap of debris and the terrific rush of water.”
After a brief reprieve, flood waters returned less than a week later followed by another major peak a few days later.
Many sought solace as barrels of beer floated away from flooded breweries.
The Brisbane Courier noted: “A great deal of drunkenness was unfortunately observable in various directions. Men were seen drinking all they could and then quarrelling for possession of the cask containing the balance.”
Fortunately three ships stranded in the Botanic Gardens after the first flood refloated naturally in the floodwaters that followed.
That classic photo of the grounded ships is one of many documenting the flood to be found in the Royal Historical Society of Queensland archives.
By the end of “Black February” up to one-third of Brisbane’s population of 90,000 was left homeless. Every public structure was turned into a refuge.
Newspapers reported the unofficial death toll at 35, but the actual number of victims was unknown because many were washed out to sea or buried in a grave of silt.
Whole estates had been cleared of houses, on the southside especially, and thousands were homeless. “Most of South Brisbane has altogether vanished,” reports said.
The city was coated in foul-smelling mud, there was no gas, water or power, and “hundreds of looters were out picking over the wreckage of smashed houses.”
The clean-up marked the beginning of the debate that continues to this day…how to spare the city from this ever happening again.

 

Article by Lynda Scott

 

 

 

Count Gontran de Tournouer

Count Gontran de Tournouer

Brisbane history can often yield fascinating stories surrounding the many inhabitants of this great city. One such story centres around a remarkable man by the name of Gontran Louise Henri Marie Phillipe De Tournouer. He was a French national who settled in Queensland, served in the Great War, and was a member of the French nobility, eventually inheriting the family title of Comte (Count) de Tournouer.

Gontran de Tournouer was born in Vendome, France on the 27th August 1885 to Louis Marie Maurice de Tournouer (who was heir to the family title), and Marie Cecile Laffitte. Upon his parent’s divorce at the age of 19, he accompanied his mother and four of his siblings to Queensland and began growing sugar in Wide Bay. He married Helen Waraker in 1909, and when war broke out in 1914, he enlisted in the overseas expeditionary force of the Australian Army, the Australian Imperial Force (AIF). Gontran’s father and three brothers enlisted in the French Army, followed by his brother Roger who enlisted in France after being rejected for the AIF. Military service saw him in action with the 2nd Light Horse regiment, the Camel Corps and the 4th Divisional Artillery. His active service came to an end in 1917 when he was invalided back to Australia, where his proficiency with languages (fluency in every European language and Arabic), saw him appointed to the Military Censor staff. 1917 was also the year in which Gontran’s father and two brothers were killed, where the Corporal who had enlisted in 1914 now returned as Count de Tournouer.

Life after the Great War saw the Count appointed to the Agricultural Bank and later the Department of Agriculture and Stock as a reference librarian and interpreter. He was also involved with Alliance Francais for many years, an institution dedicated to the promotion of the French culture and language. In 1928, he was invested by then Governor Sir John Goodwin as Officer de l’Acadamie on behalf of the French Government for his work with language and education. The Count was further decorated as a Chevalier of Agricultural Merit on the recommendation of Marshal Petain (who the savvy reader will recognise as the leader of Vichy France in WW2). Sadly, the Count had been suffering ill health as a result of the war, and died on 13th July, 1929 at age 43.