Fanciful non-explosive vision for Lyttelton

Press, 12 February 1986, Page 21

Fanciful non-explosive vision for Lyttelton

By

WENDY PARI

How about chicken farming on the reclaimed land at Lyttelton instead of tank farming? No, don’t laugh. It may be smellier and noisier but would be far less dangerous. Chickens just eat, cluck, scratch, eat, lay eggs, sleep, and eat. All entirely harmless occupations. Then, chop — and they become mouth-watering treats such as Kentucky Frieds, chow meins, or stuffed roasts. Tanks on the other hand, need constant supervision as they pretend to idly squat there — full of oil and gas, belching their lids, ready to explode at the smallest spark. Regardless of what is going on around them, chickens just keep on with their harmless routines. Tuck a soft little chicken’s head under its wing, rock it slowly and, presto, it’s out for the night. But not a tank — that remains a potential bomb, day and night The controversy of the siting of the Lyttelton tank farm blew up again on June 24, 1985, shortly after 6.30 a.m., with an explosion which rocked local residents.

Once again the people who have to live alongside the “bombs” have been allowed to air their views to the magnates — the power pushers, the money men.

And air their views is probably all they will do. These will be noted, and they will be thanked, their comments filed and the “sss” will decide what is going to happen. That is progress.

I spoke to a Lyttelton resident aged 73 who has lived in the port for her entire life. She recalled her childhood years when the reclaiming of Sandy Bay started and the building of the tank farm began. Residents fought then, but in vain. It went ahead, regardless. The first monstrosity (the one which exploded last year) took over the Dampiers Bay recreation ground, in close proximity to the residential area, and residents were forced to use the ground at Officers Point, at the east end of the port This was a cold, windy, out of the way, Godforsaken area. The ground was never laid out properly and was rocky and tussocky. As well as locals, seamen from the booming shipping business who liked to make use of a sports ground, all had to manoeuvre over this paddock with great difficulty.

Meanwhile the tank farm grew. Nestled in their sunny patch, the tanks stood there, proud and unbending against the wailings of the people.

In the 1950 s — a minor breakthrough. Residents were allowed a new sports ground on a small patch of reclaimed land beside the tank farm. It had to be there or, sorry, go without, as that was the only land available. “And what about our tussocky piece of ground?” “No. Sorry. There’s going to be a new shipping area there. It will be known as Cashin Quay — and will serve container ships.” “Container ships? Sounds expensive.” The people complained, “The Town Planning Act gives us the right of appeal.” But like Rumplestiltskin, they might as well have jumped up and down until they made a large hole and disappeared down it The appeals

were heard, but the tank farmming increased. An explosion occured but the reverberations were quickly smothered. “There’s only one chance in a million that such a thing would happen,” they said. So, that should be it for another million years. But, now its happened again. So much for odds. How many accidents does it take for you or me, or the chap along the road, to get action? My resident who lives in the west of the port, fairly near the exploded tank, was startled by the blast, even though she is a little hard of hearing.

"It sounded like a truck was coming right into the lounge,” she said.

Not very pleasant for an elderly person living on her own. However, she was more concerned for her friend who lives in Cressy House, almost on top of the exploded tank. Where is the dividing line between progress and human welfare? Granted, the most stringent measures are no doubt taken, using the most modem methods to minimise the danger, but accidents can happen — and they do.

“But there’s no other land,” people complain. Alternatives can always be found. They may not be as good or economic, but where human life is involved that factor surely has to be the ultimate decision maker if we are not to be labelled as potential killers.

If the sea were able to be pushed back and the land constructed into the large area known as Cashin Quay (not so long ago it would have been rubbished as a dream), so surely could Gollins Bay or one of the other eastern bays be filled in and converted to a tank farm. The dredge could gouge out an extra channel to the new oil wharf. Fuel tankers could travel along the waterfront and through the tunnel-road to their destinations, avoiding any extremely close proximity to the housing area.

Alternatively to an eastern bay, how about an even better

place, the end of the Earth — Birdling’s Flat? What a stupendous place for storage tanks — desolate, windswept, cold, isolated, and flat

Long pipelines from the harbour need not be all that daunting. The L.P.G. line already goes over the hill. What’s to stop new ones climbing others — Gebbies Pass perhaps? Grazing animals and intrepid mushroom fossickers need not be disturbed if the pipeline were to be laid underground. That would also provide protection from the elements and vandals. Electronically monitored shut-off valves placed at regular intervals along the lines would minimise the danger of fire and explosion. These pipes jointly used by all companies could be serviced by an independent source to control each user’s interests. If the oil tankers were berthed at Cashin Quay, the first section of the pipeline could pass under the sea bed and mudflats, then up through Teddington and on over Gebbies Pass to Birdlings Flat. This berthing change would free the oil wharf to fulfil a new vision — something even more stupendous than chicken farming.

But where’s all the money coming from for all this? Various sources.

From those who "Think Big” and moneylenders, investors, who have vision or do not want to miss out on a good thing. And perhaps a Telethon for “the Residents of Tomorrow to live in Safety.” That has a nice ring to it. And lastly from the new, exciting industry to be created on the old site — tourism. A sort of Disneyland — Luna Park. A South Islanders’ creative venture.

As well as the already established yachting marina, imagine an oceanarium with our own local mud-sharks, a sea-water hydroslide, a bumpa boats’ pond, a roller skating rink, a golf course, and a B.M.X. track only to mention a few of the possibilities.

Transport alternatives to attract the tourists are numerous

and exciting. Apart from private cars, chauffeur-driven limousines, and buses; a steam train service between Christchurch station via Ferrymead to our Lyttelton Recreation Land, would be an attraction in itself. So would a hydrofoil meandering up the harbour on a sightseeing run and thence into Scarborough — another delightful but rather dead-end, forgotten place. For those who still want yet another option, why not a helicopter ride over the Port Hills from a landing pad on the old oil wharf to either New Brighton or Christchurch Airport. And for the grand extravaganza of transport alternatives, gondolas by day or night, with a licensed restaurant at the top of the Bridle Path as a stop-off to complete a day out in lovely Lyttelton. It is easy to visualise camping grounds, motels, and a tourist hotel to bring zip and prosperity to the nearby bays of Magazine, Cass, and Corsair, without destroying their beauty. Just visualise attractive walkways and scenic drives linking all of them with the exciting Lyttelton Recreation Land and the port’s thriving shopping centre. Tourism brought to Lyttelton in this manner would surely enhance the locals’ way of life. There would be the creation of many associated jobs. The Lyttelton Recreation Land would be a delight for the old folks to admire from their windows, or, if they so chose, to wander through at their leisure. Youths would have close at hand constructive entertainment, hence reducing the risks of delinquency, and the “in-betweens” would not have to go far afield for their recreational needs. The chance of a unique opportunity is ours — to plan boldly today for a finer life tomorrow. Alternative solutions are lying dormant just waiting to be discovered.

If the legendary Maui were to cast his line, hook the tank farm, and reel it out to sea, thus leaving a giant cavity, there would be no alternative but to find an alternative. So — let’s head ’em up and roll ’em out