THE DAY THE EARTH SPOKE
Dirk Louw stands on his stoep in Wolseley, looking at the slopes of the Witzenberg where scars from falling rocks are still visible. “My whole world view was shaken that night,” he says. “In the Bible, the earth is a firm foundation. Suddenly that foundation wasn’t firm any more and I had to flee the place I always felt safest – my home. Tree branches rattled like porcupine quills. The earthquake rolled in like a wave, but much faster. Imagine what happens when a wave moves through a building…”
Aftershocks rippled under roads for months after the earthquake. The mountains caught fire and formed a ring of flames around the town. The destruction and confusion are hard to imagine. No wonder most people thought that the Day of Judgement had arrived.
The first tremors were felt in early September 1969, but they were attributed to dynamite being detonated in the mountains, where technicians were building foundations for a power line to the interior. On the evening of the 29th – Monday – the tremors became stronger. Dogs started to howl; cows lowed; geese began to honk. Residents wondered why the technicians were working so late and they went to bed, hoping the rumbling would abate.
And then, just after 10pm, it happened: a sound like thunder yanked them from their sleep. Beds and cupboards bustled around bedrooms. Bookshelves, mirrors and crockery in the kitchen crashed to the floor; walls bent, cracked and fell. The terrified screams of children pierced the din. Instinct took over and everyone tried to get outside. As fast as possible.
There were a number of reports in the next day, detailing strange events: The needle of the seismograph at the Hermanus Magnetic Observatory (now the South African National Space Agency) jumped off the graph paper; in
