Thought you all might be interested to read the account of what happened that night by someone who was outside the club.
It's quite disturbing, so only read if you think you can...
Febey: I thought I'd killed my mates
By DAMIAN BARRETT
20oct02
Herald Sun newspaper, Melbourne
STEVEN FEBEY survived the Bali bombings but he does not know how, or why his life was spared. The recently retired Melbourne footballer, 33, tells of the mayhem during and after the attack and how his outlook on life has changed forever.
THAT night, we had walked about two kilometres from our hotel to where it all happened. We had just turned the corner, from Poppies Lane into Legian Rd, and I can still see it, still feel it.
There were a lot of people. A sea of faces. It was really hot and there was a real buzz. Twenty seconds later, there was no one there and that is what I am wrestling with at the moment.
We'd got to the front of Paddy's Bar, the four of us. Me, my best mate Mark Andrews - we grew up together and he was my best man - Steven Armstrong and David Robbins. And that was when the first bomb went off. That blew me up across the road and I ended up against a building, but I kept my feet.
My first thought was fireworks or something. But then as I looked at that building, the glass was imploding. It wasn't falling out. Once I saw falling glass, I made a conscious effort to get out of the way and I jumped back on to the middle of the road. I remember I was huddled and I thought Mark was still beside me, and I believe he was, but then as the second blast went off, it knocked me up against a brick wall near a telegraph pole.
There was a row of scooters on the road and it felt like I flew over them. I didn't touch the ground, probably went 10 to 15 metres. The rush of the blast, I felt it go through my body. I didn't feel the heat as such but I could feel the wind. I was up against the brick wall outside Paddy's.
At that stage, the fire hadn't taken hold at Paddy's. Certainly I don't remember seeing fire there at that stage, anyway. I hunched down next to the wall and then waited. I was thinking: "Well, when does the next one come?"
My first clear thought was for my best mate, Mark, who had been standing beside me. I was yelling out his nickname: "Ronny, Ronny, Ronny". Then I panicked, a state of shock. I was trembling, shaking. Amongst all that, I still somehow had a clear focus that I would find him.
People were just screaming everywhere. The first person I saw was a guy who looked up at me and said, "Can you help me?" By that time there were two or three of us around, there were not many people standing in the vicinity of the blast. I looked at his face and he had his hand up and I gazed down further and his legs were just mashed. There was just nothing there.
I couldn't deal with it. Initially, I probably didn't believe what I saw. But then, fortunately, someone beside me knelt down with him and comforted him and put a shirt over his legs. I don't think anyone could have done anything for him. From what I saw, he wasn't going to survive. I have no idea what happened to him. Once I saw he was being comforted, I started to walk closer to where the blast was.
There were cars just mangled. All I remember is looking down and seeing bodies under the cars. In my own mind, I didn't believe they were dead, didn't want to believe they were dead.
The whole time I was looking for Mark, but hoping I wouldn't find him. I thought if I found him there, he was going to be like the others. There were bits of corrugated iron and I moved bits of them but I was very tentative about doing so, because I didn't want to uncover him.
I got to the front of the Sari and the fire had really taken hold. Really, really intense. It was probably five minutes after the second blast. Without seeing anyone directly, you could see people moving about the place. There was a girl screaming. I don't know if she was injured, or what, but she was huddling over someone, whether it was her boyfriend, her husband, I'm not sure.
Screams of "Help us" and "Help me". She would have been about halfway in the Sari and I was standing about where I thought the blast was and you could not take one step further forward. The heat was just so intense.
You were stuck in two minds. All I wanted to do was find Mark and I am not a courageous person, or a hero, but you wanted to help. But you just couldn't. The heat was so strong.
Then I made the decision to move on. I walked back down the other side of the road, through the rubble, still trying to find Mark and the other two. We were all together just five minutes before and now I had no idea where they were.
I made my way back to where I was when it all happened and at that stage the fire engines were coming. I had convinced myself I was the only one of the four who had survived. I had to be. I couldn't find them.
There were bodies everywhere. I tried not to look at their faces - that was the thing I tried not to do. I really don't want to put a figure on how many I saw.
Every time I speak about this or think about it, I recall something new. One incident I remember was seeing a Sandringham player, Jakey Ryan. He was standing there with nothing on. All his clothes had been ripped off him in the mayhem of trying to get out. To me, he looked all right.
He looked at me and he said, "Febes". He ended up having a large gash in his stomach. It was very serious but at the time he was going on adrenaline.
I also remember thinking that a big lump of a lad who I helped down the road was Steven King, from Geelong. It wasn't but for some reason at the time, I thought it was.
I ran back to the hotel. By now, a lot of people were coming the other way, wanting to see what was going on. I felt like saying to them, "What are you doing?" But there were a lot of people coming to help.
There were people jumping over the side of buildings, getting away from the Sari, I presume, into Poppies Lane. There were just hundreds of people around and by this stage I am starting to run. Just tearing down there.
One image which sticks, and one that is disturbing, is the looting.
I ran all the way back to the Hard Rock, maybe two kilometres away. I was thinking that if the other guys were thinking the way I was, they would go back to the hotel.
It was the quickest two kilometres I have ever run and I have since told the coach that.
There were a lot of people back there and the wounded were rolling in. I got to the manager of the hotel - I had been speaking to him all week because I'd organised our club functions.
They had arranged a bit of a casualty ward and that is where I first saw Jason McCartney and Mick Martyn. Mick was fine but Jason was a bit crook. I just looked at Jason and he said, "Febes".
I don't know what I said to him because at that stage I still hadn't found the other blokes. To me, he looked OK. I could see he had burned hands but he was covered in dust and that was probably hiding his other burns.
I just propped at reception. I had my mobile with me and started making phone calls to hospitals, to the consulate and also trying to get hold of Lou (wife Louise), who was in Echuca. I got to her in a roundabout fashion: rang her mother, her mother rang Todd Viney, where she was staying. I spoke to Lou a couple of times, I spoke to my brother Matthew and Todd had rung Danny Corcoran, the Melbourne footy manager.
Every time they rang me back, I was in hysterics saying, "Look, I've lost them. I've brought these guys to Bali and I've killed them".
I made a phone call to Schwarta (David Schwarz). The rest of the Melbourne boys were leaving Bali at 12.50 and I must have got him just before they boarded, close to two hours after it happened.
I told Schwarta the situation and that created a bit of panic in the players. In hindsight I wish I hadn't made that call. I put a bit of pressure on those guys but I was by myself and I had no one to help me. Schwarta rang back and I think he had spoken to Neale (Daniher, the coach) or Danny and he just said, "Get the boys home".
I didn't want to go back to my room because I knew I would see all of Mark's gear, but I had to. A change of clothes, charged the phone battery and then out to reception as quickly as possible. Without knowing it, at 2 or 3 in the morning, Mark had rung the room and reception had put it through, even though I wanted all my calls downstairs.
About 4am, five hours after the blast, I had big concerns that they weren't coming back.
I talked to a friend of a friend of Schwarta's, a girl who lives there or works there, and she was really helpful in talking to doctors and the embassy and locating people.
They couldn't give you surnames at the hospitals but I heard that a David and a Steven had just checked out. They had wounds but were OK.
I got that message about 5.30-6. Prior to that call, I had spoken to Steven Armstrong's family and people who looked after him in Melbourne. I said to them, "Look, I think I've lost them".
I had spoken to the coach and I had spoken to Danny. My brother was ringing from Ireland; he was with the International Rules team. He was next to David Neitz and Garry Lyon. I spoke to those two. It's quite strange when I look back now that, in that time after the bombs, I spoke to my last three captains.
They were good. There wasn't a lot they could do, but they just said to be strong and hang in there.
Got another phone call from another lady who said Mark was alive in a hospital. That is all I heard and I believed that was him. Mark's mother rang me, and I found out through her, seven hours later, that he was OK. By that time it was the greatest relief. Then the other two boys walked in, arm in arm. I just ran to them and gave them the biggest hug. I spoke to Mark about 6.30-7 in the morning and by that time the sun was coming up.
We were dead tired. The boys went to their room and I went to mine. No way could I sleep. Looked at the telly, then heard a noise in the corridor and by that stage I was paranoid beyond belief and chain-locked the door.
Then I rang the boys and told them I was pretty lonely down here, and said, "Do you mind if I come up?"
I grabbed a few things, went up to their room. I said, "Which bed am I jumping in?" It was quite funny. They said, "You can have that one, because we're in this one."
It was funny, good to have a laugh. But they were as scared as I was.
Fate was clearly on our side. Instead of driving to the clubs, which we had done every other night, we walked. We actually weren't even going to go out and the only reason we did was because Steven was going to meet Jason McCartney. We had decided to all go together.
Steven had come down to our room and we just decided to watch the end of the movie, which is now my favourite movie of all time. We said, "We'll just watch the last few minutes". The last few minutes went for 10 minutes. It was Miss Congeniality with Sandra Bullock. That was the reason we were late and the reason we walked was because when we got down there, it was such a good night.
Instead of getting there in five minutes, it took us 20. We were going straight to the Sari. That was fate.
We got the hotel doctor to patch us up and then we were out of there; packed up all my clothes, and Mark's. Lou had organised flights out for that night. I had a big wad of money left from our fund. It was probably 200 bucks, but a big wad in their money, and I planned to use it in whatever means to get us out.
I organised a van and a driver for the afternoon and found a hospital to see if Mark was there. Just chaos, people and trolleys everywhere.
Saw a Mark Andrews on the board and went to the room. The guy in there happened to be Mark Andre. Back to the van and off to another hospital a kilometre away. I found Mark but couldn't give him a hug because he was lying down in bandages. He had several glass wounds down his body, his arm and his hand. We traded stories. I said to the doctor, "I'm taking him, just get him as right as you can".
Spoke on the phone again to Jill, the friend of a friend of Schwarta's. She mentioned something about Jakey Ryan being in a pretty serious condition and needing an operation. She said she didn't know what hospital he was in but for some reason I knew he was in a room 40. Mark was in room 39. I looked next door and there was Jake. The last time I had seen him he was standing naked after the bombs.
Loaded Mark into the van and got to the airport. Slung the bloke plenty.
Ordered the equivalent of $200,000 worth of McDonald's. Had six hours to kill before the plane took off but felt pretty safe at the airport.
We sat on the tarmac for 90 minutes as everyone was loaded on. There were people with burns, bandages. A lot of them were in a heap of pain.
When the plane levelled out, a doctor was straight up. The whole cabin was full of drips hanging everywhere.
Looking back on it all, I know we were the four most fortunate blokes that night. Not only were we all intact, relatively speaking, we were able to get out of the place. The only injuries I sustained were minor - glass fragments here and there.
I can't fully fathom what the people of Bali would be going through. They are friendly people. They try to rip you off but they do it with a smile. That's part of the process. You feel for them because their livelihoods will be up the s---. They would all have lost friends and families.
I am finding the hardest thing now is when you go to bed. You try to sleep but that's when the thoughts roll around in your head. I try not to think of the images of that night. I'm not saying I don't see those faces on the dead bodies, I do. But I'm trying not to look at them.
All sorts of questions. The what-ifs, the if-onlys, the how-did-we-survive-it? What if we were 10 steps quicker? We'd probably be dead. What if we were 10 steps slower? We wouldn't have been in the blast then. What if we caught the car? That's the biggest one. We had caught it every other night we were there.
I have tried to relate it to football. I love football - really, really love it. But all the times I have whinged and moaned about a silly little ankle injury or a corked thigh, or being dropped, I just think now how insignificant all that was because I definitely love life better than I do football.
Six months down the track and we will get back into a footy season and I will probably read articles about blokes feeling sorry for themselves because they have an ankle injury and will miss the first game. I am just going to treat all of that in a whole new way and wave it off.
I am not going to feel sorry for blokes who are missing games with a corked thigh.
People have died and been maimed for the rest of their lives, burned beyond comprehension.
I think I have got a whole new appreciation of life. That might seem pretty cold, but that is how I'm feeling.