Reunited after the quake: mother and child

When the Christchurch quake struck mum-of-four Vicki Anderson thought she would never see her children again. Meanwhile, her daughter Lily, 11, was standing in the middle of a school field crying for her.

LILY'S STORY

Michaela, Meghan and me, because we're friends again now, are walking to the blue picnic tables at South New Brighton School when everything starts shaking and we are knocked to our knees. I am really, really scared and start crying. We hug each other.

We were going to have a yoghurt eating competition and our yoghurts are all over us. All the kids around us are scared and crying.

One really little girl is standing still and saying "mum, mum, mum" over and over so I hold her hand and take her with us.

The caretaker is a really nice man: He says "come on girls, let's go to the back field". I see my classroom on the way and everything has fallen down.

We walk across the field and there is a lot of muddy stuff everywhere. Meghan says it is called liquifudge but I don't think that can be right because fudge is nice.

Mr Bockett, our principal, drives his car on to the field and puts the radio on. He leaves the doors open so we can hear what is happening.

When I hear what has happened in the inner city I think mum must be dead - I cry for an hour and a half.

Some of the tough boys in my class are crying too and we all hug; some of the mean boys are laughing and pointing at the boys that are crying.

Mum, why didn't you let me have a cellphone? Only the people that have cellphones are allowed to go get their bags, but Michaela gets mine for me.

Then all the parents come running to get their kids and you're not one of them. Mr Bockett says that if you don't come I will have to stay at school.

Then your friend Carli's husband, Matt, says he will take me with him but the teacher says that it is against protocol; I cry again.

Then our neighbour Pennie sees me. She says you got out of the building OK and I can go home with them.

We walk to her house and she gives me some old clothes to wear. There's no power, so it's just chips and party food for tea.

The aftershocks scare me so much I can't sleep; I stay awake all night crying. When I get up in the morning my face is all red.

We walk down to have a look at my house but when we get there Pennie won't let me look at it. I'm sorry mum but I think your surfboard is broken.

I call out for my cat Scooby but she doesn't come and I cry again; I love her so much. I've had her since I was two.

The neighbour leans over the fence and says he'll watch the house.

We return to Pennie's house and I wait for you to come. I'm sorry I got cross with Finn, Travis and Hollie (brothers and sisters) for coming into my room.

I'm sorry I said they were annoying - I love them so much. Hollie is so cute, she says "otay" when she means OK.

Finn pats you really fast and makes a noise like a lamb when he's happy and Travis pretends to cry to get his own way and runs so cutely.

We go for a walk to find some food and are walking back to Pennie's house when I see a taxi outside.

When I see you I yell "mum, mum" and run to you so fast. I hug you through the window of the taxi. Then we go back to Gran's house and I hug my brothers and sister so tight that Hollie says "ow".

I love you so much mummy, I thought you were dead.

VICKI ANDERSON

Sorry I haven't written sooner, like on Tuesday I'm writing on my phone and opportunities to charge it are few.

Thank you for all the messages from around the world I have received via email and Facebook.

I got up early on Wednesday morning determined to get my daughter Lily, 11, who we hadn't seen since the quake,  from South New Brighton.

With no car I rang the 0800 number to try to get information on the roads and the best way to get there. The hold music is the lovely Miss Runga's song Sway.

After waiting for a while a nice man tells me he can't help as conditions are changing all the time but gives me the number for the Red Cross.

I have heard on the radio that they are taking water to South New Brighton and wonder if I can get a lift.

No, says the woman from the Red Cross. She is annoyed that the guy from the 0800 line has given me her number. She's in Wellington and doesn't know about the roads.

As we have power at my Matt's (my partner) mum's house I make a cup of tea and eat a handful of peanuts - that's all we have.

I'm busting to go to the toilet. As my friend Ally says: pooing in the garden is fine unless the dog interrupts you.

From the outdoor potty I conduct an entire conversation with the elderly neighbour across the fence. Handy tip - don't dig your outdoor toilet near a rose bush.

Matt and I are irritable and snapping at each other. He wants me to get as much out of our house as I can. I just want to get Lily.

Suddenly I think of John Rogers, driver at First Direct Taxis, he's been carting me to gigs for around nine years. I text him and he says sure.

It takes him two hours to drive from St Albans to Beckenham, a trip which would usually take around 15 minutes.

"Righto" he says. "Get in. Your job is to text my kids for me while I'm driving."

His kids live overseas and I've heard so much about them over the years I feel I know them anyway.

Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink.

My throat is so dry I can hardly swallow and my Body Shop grapefruit body lotion isn't disguising the fact that I haven't had a shower since Tuesday morning.

The road trip from Beckenham to South New Brighton is horrific. We leave at 11.30 and get there at 4pm. It would usually take 20 minutes.

Despite having lived there for years, I am scared of being by the beach. Since the 7.1 earthquake in September I have had a recurring nightmare that involves a tsunami engulfing Christchurch. I feel as if I'm thinking through a layer of cotton wool.

The roads are covered in liquefaction. John says that I'm using the word incorrectly, it's the act not the product. We agree the endless grey sludge should be called liquifudge because of its consistency.

The roads are horrific - sink holes holding cars, liquifudge up the wazoo is being shovelled by everyone from the small to the old. I smile at an old man in his driveway, leaning on his shovel. He grins and doffs his hat as we crawl past at 5km an hour.

Kids on four-wheelers are using the liquifudge as a ramp. They are stomping in their gumboots past destroyed dairies and crumpled fences.

I buy a 300ml can of Sprite for $5 from a bloke on the side of the road. I have never tasted anything better.

On the radio I hear stories of looting. What sort of low-life scum would do that? I understand desperation, need and fear - it's evident in the snaking queues for water and gas.

But if we all give to each other no-one will go without.

In the car we drive down streets with gaping holes, past swollen brown rivers that appear to be flowing in whirlpool patterns and there are hills in roads that were previously straight.

In hard-hit New Brighton we wonder why a rubbish bin is in the middle of the road until we almost run into the downed power line.

A little boy is playing with a toy car on the road just metres from the live wire.

In the car I get a text from Fairfax saying that an unnamed colleague at The Press has been killed. I feel tears well up.

I think of the people at The Press as extended family, they are without exception a dedicated, caring and unique group of people.

I think back to Monday when I assured a colleague from the third floor that despite the large cracks in the walls in the cafeteria the building was safe.

I remember the warning from the Maori elder on Waitangi Day that he had a vision 30 years ago that Wellington would be levelled. What if he simply got the city wrong?

Driving with the car practically on two wheels to get down a street in Wainoni I think back to an editorial meeting on Monday where, against scoffs of some of the other senior journalists, quietly spoken John McCrone said he planned to write a feature on Ken Ring, an Auckland-based man who claims to be able to predict earthquakes through the study of the moon and tides.

Ring predicted strong activity and chance of ground movement for this week to February 25.

I hope McCrone is OK.

In North Beach, the Kazbah is levelled, as is the fish and chip shop down the road. Locals in shorts and jandals stand on the street hugging. Residents of one house are transforming their broken concrete fence into a BBQ.

On Marine Parade we can finally do the speed limit. Finally I believe I am going to hold Lily.

We stop off at my house.

I turn the key in the door. I have to push it hard to get it open, the movement of the door causes dust to fall on my head.

Everything in my home is damaged.

I get clothes off the washing line, a blanket and my daughter's favourite soft toy which is wedged under the fallen TV.

A discarded Buzz Lightyear in the driveway is now my children's only toy.

Down the street I can see Lily walking with Pennie. "Mum!" she screams, hugging me through the window. It has been 18 hours since I saw her and our world has changed forever in that short time.

On Thursday I was to have spent the day taking Queens of the Stone Age's Josh Homme around Lyttelton and reviewing their concert. I was going to go with Dakota Biddle from New Zealand's Next Top Model.

Instead I'm homeless and pooing in the garden.

Life's a funny old thing isn't it?

To politicians I say stop talking about the Rugby World Cup - it's not as important as Kiwis dying.

To those heroes from around the world who are looking through the rubble for survivors I offer heartfelt thanks that you would risk your own lives in this way. I hope for many miracles.

The death and destruction of this earthquake overwhelms me.

I am lucky. My family is together and friends have now taken us into their home in Burnside; we move there today.

They have solar heating so we might get to wash our faces with hot water! Zoe and her handyman and philosopher from Canterbury University, Doug, have even built an elaborate longdrop loo in their back garden. I'm looking forward to experiencing it.

My three-year-old son Finn just said "why did Mr Shake break our house? I want to go home".

What do you say?

I manage to get to a supermarket after getting Lily but being inside the building was difficult. I felt like I was having a panic attack and kept having flashbacks to the earthquake. Milk and bread was rationed.

As I hug my beautiful children, reunited at last, love is the only thing not in short supply.

- © Fairfax NZ News