Sad news from my hometown
Jul. 29th, 2006 10:51 pmSome of you may have seen that report on City-TV about the row houses that burned down in Oshawa overnight between Thursday and Friday, in which one person lost their life.
That row of housing is one I'm very familiar with. It's about 8 blocks from my old homestead, where Dad still lives, and about four or five blocks from where my paternal Grandfather used to live. I've walked by them many times. They were built back in 1910, and as a result were a firetrap waiting to happen. The wood inside was probably drier than Death Valley. And there were no fire blocks in the common roof (the fire code of the day didn't require them), which allowed the fire to spread with devastating quickness.
My thanks to the local Royal Canadian Legion hall, which is providing temporary sleeping space for some of those left homeless, as well as the local Red Cross.
The national Fire Code has rightly been called "the most sacred book ever written by man", for every rule, every standard, every word within it is written with the blood of innocents - someone, sometimes many someones, died for every single paragraph within it. After this weekend we may have another paragraph to write.
That row of housing is one I'm very familiar with. It's about 8 blocks from my old homestead, where Dad still lives, and about four or five blocks from where my paternal Grandfather used to live. I've walked by them many times. They were built back in 1910, and as a result were a firetrap waiting to happen. The wood inside was probably drier than Death Valley. And there were no fire blocks in the common roof (the fire code of the day didn't require them), which allowed the fire to spread with devastating quickness.
My thanks to the local Royal Canadian Legion hall, which is providing temporary sleeping space for some of those left homeless, as well as the local Red Cross.
The national Fire Code has rightly been called "the most sacred book ever written by man", for every rule, every standard, every word within it is written with the blood of innocents - someone, sometimes many someones, died for every single paragraph within it. After this weekend we may have another paragraph to write.