By Christmas morning, the winds finally fell but the sky remained overcast with a light misty rain. Not a bird, frog or insect could be seen or heard. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of just a few hours before.

As shell-shocked residents emerged from the wreckage, many were barely clothed. In a town not known for its use of footwear, survivors wished they had sturdier options to protect their feet from the shattered glass and nail-studded timber that awaited them. 

Many first assumed it was only their home that was so badly damaged. Then the broader scale of the destruction set in. Their nightmare had been shared with most of Darwin. Over 90 percent of housing was left uninhabitable, either severely damaged or completely destroyed. The northern suburbs were particularly hard hit, many likening them to Hiroshima after the atomic bomb. It was catastrophic. 

After checking that immediate family members were safe, people went door to door – or what was left of them – to help neighbours and friends who might have been trapped in the wreckage. Some searched for drivable vehicles to check the welfare of others across town, but it was hard to get through. 

The roads were strewn with debris, downed power poles and fallen trees. The absence of signposts, landmarks, vegetation and buildings, made the most familiar of streets unrecognisable, a challenge to navigate even for Darwin locals. 

Many were injured, making their way to the damaged and flooded Darwin Hospital any way they could. Doors and wheelbarrows served as makeshift stretchers for the unconscious and incapacitated. Hospital workers turned up to work knowing they would be desperately needed. 

Bodies were transported to temporary morgues at the hospital, Casuarina Post Office and Darwin Police Station. 

Survivors began congregating at suburban schools, churches and other buildings that had fared reasonably well, the only remaining shelter for thousands of people. Natural leaders began organising the willing and those who were unable to help themselves. 

With no electricity, water or sanitation, there was much to do. Groups were arranged to collect food from wrecked houses and shops, dig latrines and organise cooking rosters and makeshift kitchens. Rainwater was collected in buckets and bins for drinking. Water for washing, laundry and flushing toilets was collected from nearby creeks, swimming pools and the main pipeline along the Stuart Highway. 

Community places held dear were unrecognisable. Around 90 percent of plants at the Darwin Botanic Garden were destroyed, along with the historic Holtze Cottage. Only a few of the 50 horses stabled at the pony club at East Point survived, with many drowned or injured. 

The Berrimah club fared little better. The museum in town collapsed, leaving objects, artworks and specimens exposed to the elements. Museum workers salvaged what they could among the rubble, drying items with fans in a makeshift conservation lab in a building on Smith Street. Much that survived is now considered priceless cultural heritage. 

Meanwhile, Tracy was running out of puff. It slowly moved south-east across the base of Arnhem Land and into Queensland’s Gulf Country, still dumping significant rain. 

While Darwin reeled in its aftermath, some were doing their utmost to alert an oblivious world beyond to what had happened. 

Campaign Edge Sprout is a proud partner of the Cyclone Tracy exhibition.