Ninety-six candles, Windy Gully 124 years later

At Windy Gully, remembrance is not simply about looking back. It is a promise to remember the human cost of work, the importance of safety, and the families and communities who carry that cost long after the workplace falls silent.

One of the most humbling things about filming Shattered has been travelling into communities and seeing firsthand how deeply workplace safety—or its failure—becomes part of their history. (There are literally memorial sites or plaques in almost every community we visited).

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Last Friday evening, we had the privilege of attending the 96 Candles Ceremony at Windy Gully Cemetery, beneath Mount Kembla in the Illawarra.

It was a truly special evening, held among the sombre, floodlit trees of the cemetery where many of those who lost their lives are buried.

On 31 July 1902, an explosion tore through the Mount Kembla Colliery. Of the approximately 260 men and boys underground, 96 lost their lives. The youngest were only 14. Two of those who died were rescuers who entered the mine to help others and were overcome by gas.

It remains Australia’s worst mining disaster.

At Windy Gully, history is not reduced to a single number. Each of the 96 people who died is remembered by name. A candle is lit for each person, either by a descendant or by a member of the local community.

One candle. One name. One life.

Then the bell tolls, publicly recognising that person’s name.

The scale of the disaster is difficult to comprehend. As the names were called, we heard the same family names repeated. Some families lost as many as five of their own.

What a community carries

The ceremony marked 124 years since the disaster. More than a century has passed, yet the community continues to gather.

When a worker is killed or seriously injured, the consequences do not remain within the workplace. They travel home. They alter family histories, household finances, relationships and futures. They can change the shape of an entire community, as they did at Mount Kembla.

For the families of Mount Kembla, 31 July 1902 was not simply the day of an industrial disaster. It was the beginning of everything that came afterwards.

That is one of the central questions explored in Shattered: what happens after work changes a life?

At Windy Gully, part of the answer can be seen in the descendants, miners and local residents who return each year. This community has carried these names for 124 years because the people who died still belong to it.

Remembrance—and the ritual of remembrance—is one form of care.

It says that a life is not erased when a workplace closes, an inquiry concludes or public attention moves elsewhere. It tells families that their loss has not been forgotten. It also gives later generations a place to understand what happened and why it must continue to matter.

Memory must also ask something of us

Memorial ceremonies honour the dead, but they also speak to the living. They are an important part of mourning and grieving, particularly when a loss has affected an entire community.

Workplace safety has advanced enormously since 1902. But the underlying obligation has not changed: people should be able to go to work and return safely to those who love them.

Today, workplace harm is not always as visible as a mine explosion. It may unfold through occupational disease, cumulative physical injury or psychological harm. Its consequences may emerge slowly and continue for years. Families can still find themselves carrying the effects long after systems and institutions have moved on.

That is why remembrance must be more than nostalgia. It should strengthen our resolve to prevent harm, respond properly when it occurs and care for those whose lives have been altered.

The measure of a society is not only whether it records the names of those it has lost. It is also whether it listens to what those losses teach.

The light that remains

The haunting simplicity of the ceremony at Windy Gully is something we will always remember.

We travelled by bus from the Mount Kembla Hotel to the cemetery. It was cold—very cold—but somehow gathering together in that cold became part of the deeply reflective nature of the evening.

Local schoolchildren sang their school song. A piper led today’s miners in a walk of honour into the service.

There were many politicians present. They spoke from the heart and then seemed to blend back into the community. There were no political messages. This was clearly a service belonging to the people of Mount Kembla.

It was about gathering together on a cold Friday evening and remembering those who never came home.

It was a privilege to be there—to stand among people who understand that remembrance is not passive. It is something a community chooses to do, year after year.

The mine has long since fallen silent, but the names remain.

At Windy Gully, 96 candles continue to burn for the men and boys who never came home.