Ángela Stella Matutina@angelastella@social.treehouse.systems
Howdy, fuckos!
A hundred and eight years ago. Great War still raging in Europe. But the Americas were relatively safe. Right?
Wrong. At least for Halifax and Dartmouth, port cities in Nova Scotia.
Two ships, one loaded with tons of high explosives bound for France, collided and burned. Not until 1945 so much energy would be released in a single blast: 2.9 kilotons to Trinity's 25.
Maybe two thousand souls lost, nine thousand bodies maimed, probably twenty thousand persons left without a roof over their heads in December.
The disaster finally got its own song in the year of the recent pandemic. Bit more than a century had passed from the so-called "Spanish flu". Story for another day.
The other ship, after repairs, somehow (read: helmsman left his post to sleep off a drunk) ended up beached on Isla Soledad (that's "East Falkland" for those who don't know how to say "Malvinas").
I've changed since telling this story in Spanish. Damned if I know what that means. But I feel fine.