Yesterday I cried all the way home from Fairfield to Windaroo. My home was well away from the floods. I hadn’t lost anything except my naïve assumptions about the damage a flood can do. But I couldn’t hold back the emotion. As the flood waters receded, we knew that we had to do something to help those affected by the Brisbane floods. Thousands of homes had been inundated by flood waters and they were saying on TV and on the internet that an army of volunteers was needed. I arranged for my Mum to come and watch the kids for the day, packed the car with brooms, shovels, mops, buckets, water and other cleaning supplies, and set off to try to “do some good”. My brother in law and his wife had friends on a street in Fairfield whose house had been submerged up to just under their roof, so they sent me the address and I headed for Fairfield. I was nervous as I didn’t know what to expect. As I drove under the overpass at Mt Gravatt I saw a huge line of volunteers over the bridg
The life and times of the Woolleys