I love my little house in the country. My writer’s retreat. From my office in my quaint little 1940s cottage, I have glorious views of rolling hills. Bird calls are the predominant sounds of the day, silence reigns at night … unless the cows in the paddock down the road are arguing about something. But that’s rare.
Someone recently asked me how I was enjoying ‘country life’, and on reflection, I’ve realised that while spending time in the country is highly therapeutic – is hasn’t been without moments of consternation for this born-and-bred city girl. For instance, sirens.
Sirens – episode 1
Sitting on my sofa, tucking into my spaghetti Bolognese, I hear a siren. But it’s unlike any siren I’ve heard in all my years in the city. I freeze, mid-bite, trying to decide if it’s an air-raid, or a tsunami warning. Okay, I do live a long way from the coast, but Somerset and Wivenhoe dams are close neighbours of mine. I set my dinner aside and formulate a plan. In a nutshell, the plan comprised three steps. Step 1, look out the bathroom window; step 2, see which way everyone is running/driving; and step 3, follow them.
Step 1 went off without a hitch. I successfully stuck my head out of the bathroom window. Step 2 was more problematic insofar as no one was running or driving. There was not a soul out to be seen. No movement anywhere. Apart from the blaring of the siren, it was like a ghost town. Introduce Step 2A – frown in confusion. Replace Step 3 with “go back to eating dinner”.
Sirens – episode 2
The next Monday night, I heard the siren again. I look at my watch. 7:30pm. Same time as the last one. At this point, I figure out it is a ‘thing’ in the country and decide to ignore it.
Sirens – episode 3
A country-girl friend of mine happened to be visiting on another Monday night. On cue, at 7:30, the siren wails into life. The epitome of calm, I shovel a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth.
Friend says, ‘Do you know what that is?’
To set her mind at ease, I reply, ‘Relax, it’s not an air-raid or a tsunami. This happens every Monday.’
Raised eyebrows. ‘That will be the Rural Fire Service – the firefighters will be practising their responses,’ friend says.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Great.’
So now, if anyone else asks, I can tell them what it is, rather than what it isn’t.
Sirens – episode 4
Fast forward now to the first time my boyfriend hears the siren. This time, I wasn’t eating, which I thought was an advantage, because I could expound my knowledge of the siren straight away without the hindrance of having to finish chewing/swallowing food first.
‘That’s the Rural Fire Service testing their siren,’ I say. ‘It happens every Monday night at 7:30.’
‘Right,’ he says, ‘and what do you do?’
‘Well, the first time, I stuck my head out the bathroom window …’
And I’m sure you get the picture … I regaled him with episodes 1, 2 and 3 above. At the conclusion of my story he was still awake, and that should have alerted me to the fact that I was in trouble.
‘I didn’t ask what you did,’ he says, ‘I meant what are you supposed to do when you hear the siren?’
‘It’s not for me, silly,’ I say, ‘it’s for the firefighters.’
He shakes his head. ‘But what if it’s not a drill, Sarah? What should you do if you hear that sound at any time other than 7:30 on a Monday night?’
He always lends a fresh perspective to a conversation, I’ll give him that.
‘You mean, what should I do if there’s a real fire out here in the country?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Do you have a fire plan?’
‘Of course I do,’ I say. ‘Step 1 – look out the bathroom window; step 2, see which way everyone is running/driving; and step 3, follow them.’