Victims

Just the day before, the men had joked about the bridge’s movement. Someone had laughed, saying, “She must be having growing pains.” No one could have known that in less than 24 hours, their workplace would become a site of devastation, taking 35 lives and leaving families shattered.

On the morning of 15 October 1970, Ian Miller walked onto the newly placed span atop the 155-foot concrete piers on the west side of the Yarra River. Across the steel, he spotted Jack Hindshaw, the 42-year-old resident engineer from Freeman Fox and Partners, sent from London to oversee the project. The two men waved to each other.

Just weeks earlier, Ian and Jack had reassured the workers that the bridge was safe, even after the Milford Haven Bridge collapse in Wales, which had killed four men. But now, something was wrong.

They took a few steps towards each other when the bridge groaned. A strange pinging sound filled the air. Looking down, they saw flakes of rust peeling from the steel. The bolts turned blue under strain, and then the bridge vanished beneath their feet.

Bob West, 24, was already a father of three, with a fourth child on the way. His mates often teased him about how quickly he was building a big family. He and his wife, Pat, were holding out hope that a tax rebate cheque might help them move from their tiny Collingwood flat into a Housing Commission house.

The morning of the 15th was like any other – Bob kissed his sleeping wife and children before heading off to work. Less than five hours later, he was gone.

At 47, Bill Harburn was proud of many things – his wife, Mavis, their four children, Alan, Philip, Steven, and little Vicki, and his long career in soccer. A migrant from England, he had once captained the Australian national team and still played for Sandringham, sometimes alongside his sons. Maybe, one day, they would represent Australia too.

That morning, he left home before dawn, careful not to wake the kids. He planned to kick the football around with them after work.

When the bridge collapsed, Bill’s body was lost beneath the wreckage. It took two days before rescuers found him. “He loved that damned bridge,” Mavis said later.

Jack Grist and Fred Upsdell had been mates for more than 20 years, ever since meeting in Middlesex, England. When they migrated to Australia, they became neighbours in Altona, and their friendship grew even stronger when Jack’s daughter, Yvonne, married Fred’s son, Gerald.

Jack, 54, had risen to the rank of foreman on the bridge, while Fred, 66, refused to retire and took a job as storeman. They often talked about finishing the bridge and finally taking time to go fishing together.

On the morning of the 15th, Jack picked Fred up for work, as always. They took an early lunch in a hut beneath the span. When rescuers later searched the wreckage, they found their bodies just inches apart.

They were buried side by side.

Victor Gerada, a Maltese steel rigger, had felt the bridge shudder beneath him the day before. That night, the fear wouldn’t leave him. He tried to tell his mates, but he was afraid they’d think him a coward, so he told his wife, Doris, instead.

“Don’t worry, love,” he reassured her the next morning. “It must have been the wind.”

As Doris went about her day, she heard the sirens. Then she saw it – the bridge, broken, looming ahead.

Panic set in. She started running towards the disaster site. Police had already set up barricades, but she didn’t notice. A policeman stretched out his arm to stop her, but she ducked under it and ran blindly toward the ambulances where the dead and injured were being loaded.

Then she saw it – Victor’s shirt and arm, jutting out from under a blanket. The blanket covered his head.

Their Lives, Their Legacy

Each of the 35 men who died that day had a story – dreams, families, and futures that were never realised. They left behind wives, children, and communities that would never be the same.

The West Gate Bridge was supposed to be a symbol of progress. Instead, it became a memorial to the workers who paid the ultimate price – men whose trust in the job they loved cost them their lives.