Tap-dancer, mother of the Climber (15) & the Cherub (12), and girlfriend of Mr. Fixit.
Friday, October 15, 2010
I've just spent the last 2 days pretty much glued to the BBC live feed coverage of the Miners' Rescue.
(Watching it, of course, stirred memories of another Big Mine Rescue story, Beaconsfield, in 2006. I remember watching that live, and counting down the hours beforehand until Brant Webb and Todd Russell were freed. I remember too how wonderful it was when they walked out of the mine, having stated firmly that they didn't want stretchers or wheelchairs. And I think it was one of those moments when the country 'came together' as it were, everyone hoping for a happy ending to their ordeal and feeling so glad that it came to be; but I don't think we were as staunchly and overtly patriotic as the Chileans, who burst into their national anthem when the last miner emerged and shouted Chi Chi Chi Le Le Le repeatedly through the 23 hour rescue. Pretty sure nobody burst into Advance Australia Fair at Beaconsfield, although it's possible someone shouted Aussie Aussie Aussie Oy Oy Oy.)
I read an article saying that this story resonated so strongly worldwide because it tapped into so many universal fears, particularly fears to do with being trapped: trapped an impossible depth underground, trapped without fresh air, trapped without light or food, and I think chillingly, trapped in a situation where nobody might ever find you. The rescue coverage was compelling, a good news story that went on and on, and never got boring, or less touching, as you watched man after man emerge from the capsule and re-unite with waiting, anxious families. It was a beautiful, moving story about hope fulfilled.
I thought the rescuers who went down into the mine to help the trapped miners were so brave too, especially the last man who had to wait all alone and strap himself into Fenix 2. I loved that he gave that last bow to the camera before he clambered awkwardly aboard.
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