An 18th birthday to remember

Phil Williams had been out of hospital for five days when his mum asked if he felt like going to Stirling Oval to see Prince Charles and Princess Diana.

It was 26 March 1983, just over a month after Ash Wednesday. Phil had spent four weeks in hospital with burns suffered while volunteering with the Cudlee Creek CFS. It was also his 18th birthday.

A few months earlier, Phil had finished Year 12 and was picking fruit at a local orchard while he worked out what he wanted to do next. He had joined Cudlee Creek CFS as a cadet at about 15.

“I started as a cadet when I was about 15. And pretty much Ash Wednesday was my last day of service.”

On 16 February 1983, Phil had knocked off early from the orchard because of the 42-degree heat and was home eating lunch when the Cudlee Creek fire siren sounded. He grabbed his CFS overalls and headed for the station.

Less than an hour later, Cudlee Creek 6 was caught by fire on Anstey Hill. Phil was unable to get clear of the truck and suffered burns to his hands, arms, face and neck before being taken to hospital.

His mum was back at the Cudlee Creek station. She wasn't a brigade member, but when crews went out she would often help by answering the phones, with friends and neighbours calling for information about the fire.

That afternoon, word reached the station that someone from the crew had been badly injured. For a time, nobody knew who it was. Eventually, Phil's mum learned it was her son.

Five days after Phil left hospital, he and his mum drove to Stirling. They weren't part of the official proceedings; they knew the Prince and Princess of Wales were visiting and thought they might be able to catch a glimpse.

At the oval, however, Phil's attention was on his crew's damaged fire truck. It was the first time he had seen it since Ash Wednesday, and the first time he had seen many of his crewmates since the fire.

“That was pretty emotional, being able to see it and go, ‘Well shit, I was on the back of that and then got into the cabin and we both got out. How the hell did that happen?’”

While Phil was looking at the truck, then-CFS Director Lloyd Johns approached him and asked whether he was in the line-up to meet the royal couple. When Phil said he wasn't, Lloyd had other ideas.

“He said, ‘Well, you are now. Come with me.’”

There was one complication. The other CFS members were in their overalls, while Phil was dressed in civilian clothes. His uniform had been cut off him in hospital.

Phil pointed this out to Lloyd, but it wasn't going to prevent him joining the line.

The volunteers had been briefed on royal protocol beforehand, including how to address the couple and not to speak unless spoken to. Prince Charles reached Phil first and, after asking about his injuries and treatment, wanted to know whether he could still “lift a tinnie, or whatever they call it”.

Phil decided to take the question at face value.

“I said, ‘Oh yeah, the doctors have told me I've got to keep my fluids up, so that's what I've been doing.’ Well, he just lost it.”

When Diana reached Phil, his hands were still bandaged. Before touching them, she asked whether it would hurt.

“She asked if she could hold my hands, or if it would hurt too much. I said, ‘Oh no, it doesn't hurt.’”

What Phil remembers most clearly is how careful she was.

“I can't tell you how gently she held them. It was feather-light. It's so hard to describe.”

As they spoke, Phil noticed a tear run down her cheek.

“It still blows me away today.”

The conversation went on longer than expected. Phil remembers Diana's minders trying to move her along and being met with a look that made it clear she wasn't finished.

Looking back, Phil is also struck by how young they both were. He had turned 18 that morning; Diana was 21.

Ash Wednesday was Phil's last day of service with CFS. His working life eventually took him in a different direction and, later, into journalism and photography. He is now based in Alice Springs.

The photograph of Phil and Diana has followed him through the years. One still hangs on the wall at his parents' home and, for a couple of years after the visit, strangers would occasionally recognise him in the street. His friends have since found plenty of opportunities to bring up the story whenever they meet someone who hasn't heard it.

But the photograph was taken only five days after Phil left hospital. While he was beginning his own recovery, Cudlee Creek was facing a much longer one.

His younger sisters' school had burned down, along with homes and other familiar parts of the community. The scale of the change could be seen from Phil's own bedroom.

“From my bedroom window before Ash Wednesday, I think I could see eight houses. After Ash Wednesday, I think I could see one.”

Phil has told the story of meeting Diana many times in the 43 years since. Ask him what tends to get left out when Ash Wednesday is remembered, however, and he talks about something else entirely: the community afterwards.

“There were people that had their houses burned, but they never came back.”

Ash Wednesday's immediate toll could be counted in lives lost, people injured and homes destroyed. Harder to measure was what those losses meant for communities in the years that followed.

“I think that does get lost a little bit, just how the toll that it takes on the community.”