I must apologise to anyone who is waiting for another
couthy wee story, in my usual style. This story is pure
history from over 50 years in the past.
My part in it happened on Wednesday the 24th of October, 1962.
It was not a leading role ...
... not even '3rd spear carrier on left'.
I do remember the day, and I'll try to tell you about
it.
When
we come tae the skale that Wednesday, we kent there wiz
somethin serious aboot that day. It wiz Buckhynd High Skale, we were aw aboot thirteen year
auld, in oor class, an when we thocht aboot it, we aw felt
that we w'd aw be part o' a great future. Technology wiz
king. We were the smart anes fae the High Skale, an we knew
hoo the world worked.
We wiz set fur life! When we came
to the school, that Wednesday, we knew that there was
something serious about that day. It was Buckhaven High School, we were about thirteen years
old, in our class, and, when we thought about it, we
allfelt that we would all be part of a great future.
Technology was king. We were the smart ones from the High
School, and we knew how the world worked.
We were set for life!
But
Wednesday wis troublin. We'd read the p'pers, an watched
the telly fur the past week. We'd seen the photies.
Wednesday was a difficult day. We had
read the papers, and watched television, for the past week.
We had seen the photographs.
"US aircraft discover missiles in Cuba"
"Cuba Blockade"
"The Line of Death"
We'd
grewn up in 'The Cauld War': Berlin, Korea, Indo-China.
Hauf the comics we read wiz aboot beatin the
'Commies', fechtin the 'Gooks'. Fresh fae the
Second World War, an stiffened wi' tales o' valour an
heroic deeds. Big John Wayne an Robert Mitchum on the
pictchers. Aw guid stuff.
At hame, it wiz the same. The Govermint kept on pittin wee
leaflets through yer door, tellin ye whit tae dae in the
event o' a nuclear attack.
"Whitewash yer windaes, fill the bath, an hide under the
stairs!" We had grown up during
'The Cold War': Berlin, Korea, Indo-China. Half of the
comics that we read were about beating the
'Commies', fighting the 'Gooks'. Fresh from
the Second World War, we were strengthened, with tales of
valour and heroic deeds. Big John Wayne and Robert Mitchum,
in the cinema. All good stuff.
At home, it was the same. The Government kept delivering
little leaflets through your door, tellin you what to do in
the event of a nuclear attack.
"Whitewash your windows, fill the bath, and hide under the
stairs!"
The
telly tried tae recruit ye fur the 'Observer Corps'. Ye got
an official-lookin uniform, a tin hat, an ye got tae sit in
a bunker (naw, no a coal wan!) wi' a pair o' binoculars. Ye
h'd tae listen tae this noise on a loudspeaker ...
"Tonk ... tonk ... tonk ... tonk ...".
Like a sort o' heartbeat. On it went, aw the time, an when
it stopped, it meant that the country wiz under attack b'
the Russians, an London wisnae there onny mair. No as a
place ye w'd want tae visit in the next thousand years,
that is.
When th noise stopped, ye watched aroond fur the big
flashes an bangs, an then ye'd report which wey the
mushroom clouds wiz blawin. They never actually mentioned
wha it wiz ye'd be reportin tae.
Never mind. We aw thocht this wiz perfectly normal. At the
time, onnywey. The television
showed recruitment adverts for the 'Observer Corps'. You
were given an official-looking uniform, a steel helmet, and
you got to sit in a bunker (no, not a coal bunker!) with a
pair of binoculars. Ye had to listen to this noise on a
loudspeaker ...
"Tonk ... tonk ... tonk ... tonk ...".
Like some kind of heartbeat. On it went, all the time, and
when it stopped, it meant that the country was under attack
by the Russians, and London was not there any morer. Not as
a place that you would want to visit in the next thousand
years, that is.
When the noise stopped, you looked around for the big
flashes and bangs, and then you would report which way the
mushroom clouds were blowing. They never actually
mentioned, to whom that you would be reporting.
Never mind. We all thought that this was perfectly normal.
At the time, anyway.
But
Wednesday wiz still troublin. We'd seen Kruschev rantin, an
bangin his shoe at the United Nations, the year afore. Aw
the politicians were bangin oot speeches, an the 'They
Shall Not Pass!' wiz a fav'rit. As fur President
Kennedy; he'd mucked up in the 'Bay of Pigs'
shambles, so he wiznae lookin s' guid as 'Big John's
successor.
An noo, he wiz tellin the world that Russia h'd 'nucular
missils' in Cuba, an it wiz time tae get them oot, an
awa fae America. Wednesday was
still a difficult day. We had seen Kruschev ranting, and
banging his shoe at the United Nations, the year before.
All the politicians were banging out speeches, and 'They
Shall Not Pass!' was a favourite. As for President
Kennedy; he'd mucked up in the 'Bay of Pigs'
shambles, so he was not looking quite so good as the
successor to 'Big John'.
Now, he was telling the world, that Russia had 'nucular
missils' in Cuba, and it was time to get them out, and
away from America.
The
Americans h'd got yaised tae h'vin 10 minutes warnin afore
their big toons were turned intae even bigger car parks, an
didnae fancy getting blootered withoot a chance tae doon a
'Big Mac' an a 'Coke' afore they went. Cuba wiz too close.
No even a chance tae clog the phone system tae say
"Goodbye".
Us british? We were telt that we'd h've fower minutes, an
that wiz jist aboot time tae smok a 'Woodbine', or pey back
the half-croon ye owed yer pal. The Americans had become accustomed to having ten
minutes warning, before their cities were turned into even
bigger car parks, and did not fancy getting obliterated
without a chance to gulp down a 'Big Mac' and a 'Coke'
before they went. Cuba was too close. Not even a chance to
clog the phone system, saying "Goodbye".
We British? We were told that we would have four minutes,
and that was just about enough time to smoke a 'Woodbine',
or repay the half-crown that you owed your
friend.
Normally, at the High Skale, discipline wiz
stricht. Onny laudie no wearin a tie wiz reportit, an if a
lassie turned up wi' high heels or jewelry, then it wiz aff
tae the Heidmistress tae be lectured on the evils o'
strumpetry an loose morals.
Bring in a tranny radio? Unthinkable!
An yet, on that Wednesday, when wan o' oor class brocht in
a wee tranny, nane o' the teachers objected.
"Just don't turn it up too loud."
Jist loud enough fur them tae hear, ah reckon. Awboddy wiz
listenin tae the soond o hearts beatin.
"Tonk ... tonk ... tonk ... tonk ...". Normally, at the High School, discipline was strict.
Any boy, not wearin a tie, was reported, and if any girl
turned up with high heels or jewelry, then it was off to
the Headmistress, to be lectured on the evils of strumpetry
and loose morals.
Bring in a transistor radio? Unthinkable!
And yet, on that Wednesday, when one of our class brought
in a small radio, none of the teachers objected.
"Just don't turn it up too loud."
Just loud enough for them to hear, I reckon. Everybody was
listening to the sound of hearts beating.
"Tonk ... tonk ... tonk ... tonk ...".
The
BBC h'd it calculated that the US Navy w'd stop aw Russian
ships, an the furst wan w'd be intercepted at wan o'clock.
An ifn' it didnae stop tae be searched ... they w'd sink
it.
Y'sterday's p'pers had shown missiles, raised t'fire on
Cuba's north coast, an the airfields were fu o' Russian
bombers.
American bombers were flee'n aboot the skies, waitin fur
the 'Fail Safe' code. The
BBC had calculated, that the US Navy would stop all Russian
ships, and that the first one would be intercepted at one
o'clock. If it refused to stop and be searched ... they
would sink it.
Yesterday's papers had shown missiles, raised to fire, on
Cuba's north coast, and Cuban airfields were full of
Russian bombers.
American bombers were flying across the skies, waiting for
the 'Fail Safe' code.
In the
mornin, in the 'Physics' class, the teacher was mair
inclined tae tell us aboot the 'Blitz', an hoo the bombs
these days were much bigger - an better! Jist tae mak shair
we wiz thinkin along the richt lines.
B' lunch time, ah think a lot o' appetites were missin, an
the usual rejoinders tae "Eat up! It's good for you!" h'd
slipped awa the same wey. In the
morning, in the 'Physics' class, the teacher was more
inclined to tell us about the 'Blitz', and how the bombs
these days, were much bigger - and better!. Just to make
sure that we were thinking along the correct lines.
By lunch time, I suspected that a lot of appetites had gone
missing, and the usual rejoinders to "Eat up! It's good for
you!", had slipped away in the same direction.
Come
wan o'clock, it wiz a bit tense. Then five past, an ten
past come an went, an the knots started tae ease aff a bit.
Efter aw, ye cannae stay wound up forever.
B' twa o'clock, folk wiz startin tae think o' ither
things.
Half past twa, an things were easin jist a bit mair.
The radio wisnae sayin much, but that wiz fine by me. Time
tae head off tae 'Biology' - which jist happened tae be the
same classroom an the same teacher as Physics, that mornin.
Mr 'Bigger an Better Bang'. Come one o'clock, everything was a bit tense. Then
five past, and ten past, came and went, and the knots
started to ease off a bit. After all, you can't stay wound
up forever.
By two o'clock, people were starting to think of other
things.
Half past two, and things were easing, just a bit
more.
The radio wasn't saying much, but that was fine by me. Time
to head off to 'Biology' - which just happened to be the
same classroom, and the same teacher as 'Physics', that
morning. Mr 'Bigger and Better Bang'.
"Tonk ... tonk ... WAAAAAWAAAAAWAAAAA!!"
Oh my
Goad! It wiz a siren. Ye couldnae hear yersel think! Eight
hundred hearts stopped beatin at the exact same
moment.
They'd gone an done it! They'd sunk a Russian ship, an
started a bloody war. An we aw h'd fower minutes tae think
aboot it ...
Faces went white. Whit d'ye dae? Ah could feel the knot in
mah stomach twist an tighten. Don't know how, but as we aw
streamed oot o' the classroom, ah wiz able t' watch awboddy
aroond me. It wiz better than thinkin. Much better.
Oh my God! It was a siren. You could not
hear yoursef think! Eight hundred hearts stopped beating at
exactly same moment.
They'd gone an done it! They'd sunk a Russian ship, and
started a bloody war. And we all had four minutes to think
aboot it ...
Faces went white. What can you do? I could feel the knot in
my stomach, twist and tighten. I don't know how, but as we
all streamed out of the classroom, I was able to watch
everybody around me. It was better than thinking. Much
better.
Some
rushed tae get ootside. Some tried tae hing back, as though
the cardboard wa' o' a modern skale w'd stop the
blast.
Ithers laughed, an threw awa their skale bags. Nae mair
worries on that score. Ah saw ithers carefully pack aw
their books tae tak wi' them. Mebbe, they thocht t'
preserve somethin.
Some fainted. Some screamed - an some went tae comfort
them. Mebbe some cried fur their mithers, while some jist
lay doon on the gress, an waited fur the sky tae
fall. Some rushed to get outside.
Some tried to hang back, as though the cardboard walls of a
modern school would stop the blast.
Others laughed, and threw away their school bags. No more
worries on that score. I saw others carefully pack all
their books to take with them. Maybe, they thought to
preserve something.
Some fainted. Some screamed - and some went to comfort
them. Maybe some cried for their mothers, while some just
lay down on the grass, and waited for the sky to
fall.
We wiz
aw scared. Ah feel it noo, as ah'm writin this. Ah feel the
tears o' eight hundred bairns an teachers, an ah'm no
ashamed tae admit it. We were all
scared. I can feel it now, as I'm writing this. I can feel
the tears of eight hundred children and teachers, and I am
not ashamed to admit it.
Fower
minutes. Jist fower minutes. No enough time tae dae
onnything. Shairly Goad meant fur us tae hae mair than
that. It's no fair. It's no bloody fair!
Four minutes. Just four minutes. Not
enough time to do anything. Surely God meant for us to have
more than that. It's not fair. It's not bloody
fair!
An
then we had five minutes. Then six. An then, ye c'd hear
eight hundred hearts beatin again.
Whit wiz happenin? And then we had
five minutes. Then six. You could hear eight hundred hearts
beating again.
What was happening?
The
announcement on the Tannoy explained it aw. Somebody, some
practical joker, h'd set aff the fire alarm. The fire
siren.
It wiz a false alarm.
Go back tae yer classes.
Everythin wiz awricht.
The Americans an the Russians pu'd back fae the edge o'
darkness, an settled thing ower the comin week.
Evrythin wiz awricht. The
announcement on the Tannoy explained it all. Somebody, some
practical joker, had set off the fire alarm. The fire
siren.
It was a false alarm.
Go back to your classes.
Everything was alright.
The Americans and the Russians pulled back from the 'edge
of darkness', and settled thing over the following
week.
Everything was alright.
It
took me twenty years, afore ah c'd listen tae a siren
without the adrenaline rippin through me. It took me aw
that time tae come tae an accomodation wi' that
Wednesday.
Twenty years tae catch up wi' fower minutes.
An anither twenty years, afore ah c'd write this
story. It took me twenty years,
before I could listen to a siren, without the adrenaline
ripping through me. It took me all that time to come to an
accomodation with that Wednesday.
Twenty years to catch up with four minutes.
And another twenty years, before I couldd write this
story.
Ah
never hated the silly eedjit that set aff the siren that
day. Ye see, he h'd missed oot on something really
wunnerful.
Eight hundred folk went tae the end o' the world that day,
an spent the fower maist precious minutes o' their lives.
Together.
An he h'd missed oot. I never
hated the silly idiot that set off the siren that day. You
see, he had missed out on something really wonderful.
Eight hundred people went to the end of the world, that
day, and spent the four most precious minutes of their
lives. Together.
And he had missed it all.
He
wisnae there! He was not
there!
An WE
WERE! But WE WERE!
When I started writing this story today, I didn't know
how it would turn out. It seems that my sense of humour
never left me, even on that day. Sometimes, a wee laugh is
all that keeps you going.
On October 10 2015, the boy who had pushed the button,
all those years ago, read this story, and sent me a wee
note. The 'End of the World' was just an
accident.
"I leaned against the wall, tilting the glass in at the
front of the alarm, in the Technical Block whilst waiting
to go into a Technical Drawing class. Pulled the glass back
out and the siren stopped."
After 50 years (and a bit!), I am glad to report that
the one person who was missing, has been found at last
...
... a bit late, but he finally made it. He was there as
well!
Original material © Dave Sloan 2005, 2016
'tachras' and 'Winding Yarn' © Dave Sloan 2005, 2016