This story is pure history, that happened 50 years ago.
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 came to the school that Wednesday, we knew that there was something serious about that day. The school was Buckhaven High, we were all around thirteen years old in our class, and, when we thought aboot it, we all felt 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!
This Wednesday, though, was troubling. We had read the papers and watched the television for the past week. We had seen the photographs.
“US aircraft discover missiles in Cuba.”
“Cuba Blockade”
“The Line of Death”
We were children of the Cold War. Berlin. Korea. Indo-China. Half the comics we read, were about beating the ‘Commies’, fighting the ‘Gooks’. Fresh from the Second World War, and stiffened with tales of valour and heroic deeds. Big John Wayne and Robert Mitchum at the cinema. All great stuff. At home, it was the same. The Government kept pushing little leaflets through our doors, telling you what to dp in the event of a nuclear attack.
“Whitewash your windows, fill the bath, and hide under the stairs!”
The television urged recruitment in the Observer Corps. If you joined up, you got an official looking uniform, a tin hat, and chance to sit in a bunker (No! Not a coal bunker…) with a pair of binoculars. You had to listen to this noise on a loudspeaker…
“Tonk………tonk………tonk………tonk…”
Like a mechanical heartbeat. On it went, all the time. If it ever stopped, it meant that the country was under attack by the Russians, and London wasn’t there any more. Not as a place that you would want to visit for the next thousand years, that is. When the noise stopped, you scoured the horizon, looking out for the big flashes and the subsequent big bangs. If you were far enough away to survive the experience, then it was your job to report which way the mushroom clouds were blowing. They never actually mentioned who it was that you’d be reporting to. Most of the top people would be where most of the big bangs were, and would probably not be answering the phone.
Never mind. We all thought this was perfectly normal. At the time in history, anyway.
But Wednesday was troubling.
We’d seen Nikita 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 firm favouritet. President Kennedy had mucked up in the ‘Bay of Pigs’ shambles, so he was not looking’ good as Big John’s successor. So now, here he was telling the world that Russia had ‘nucular missils’ in Cuba, and it wis time toe get them out, and away from America. The Americans had become accustomed to having 10 minutes warning before their cities were turned into even bigger car parks, and they crtainly did not fancy getting obliterated without the chance to gulp down a Big Mac and a Coke before they went. Cuba was too close. The time of flight of a Cuban-based ‘missil’ denied them a chance to clog the phone system with their last goodbyes.
We British. We were told that we would have four minutes warning. Just about enough time to smoke a Woodbine, or pay back the half crown that you owed your pal.
Normally, at the High School, discipline was strict. Any boy not wearing a tie, was reported, and if a 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 little radio, none of the teachers objected.
“Just don’t turn it up too loud.” Just loud enough for them to hear, I reckoned. Everybody was listening to the sound of hearts beating.
“Tonk………tonk………tonk………tonk…”
The BBC had reported that US Navy would stop and search all Russian ships heading to Cuba, and the first one would be intercepted at one o’clock. And if it did not stop to be searched, they would be forced to sink it!
The day before’s papers had shown missiles, raised to fire on Cuba’s north coast, and the airfields were full of bombers. American bombers were flying about the skies, waitin for the Fail Safe code. The End of the World but in fewer letters.
That morning, in th Physics class, the teacher was more inclined to tell us about the Blitz, and how the bombs these days were much bigger. Just to make sure that we were thinking along the right lines. By lunch time, I believe that a lot of appetites were missing, and the usual rejoinders to “Eat up! It’s good for you!” had vanished the same way.
Come one o’clock, it was a bit tense. Then five past, then ten past, came and went, and the knots started to ease a fraction. After all, you can’t stay wound up forever. By two o’clock, folk were starting to think of other things. Half past two, and the tension was definitely slacking off. The radio wasn’t saying much, but that was fine by me. No news is good news. Time to head off to the Biology class – which just happened to be the same classroom, and the same teacher as Physics, that morning. Mr Bigger an Better Bang.
“Tonk………tonk………WAAAAAWAAAAAWAAAAA!!
Oh my god! It was a siren. The siren. You couldn’t hear yourself think! Eight hundred hearts stopped beating at exactly the 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 do you do? I could feel the knot in my stomach twist and tighten. Don’t know why, but as we all streamed out of the classroom, I was able to watch everyone around me. It was better than thinking. Much better …
Some rushed to get outside. Some tried to hang back, as though the cardboard walls of a typical 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 were all scared. I feel it now as I am writing this. I feel the tears of eight hundred children and teachers, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.
Four minutes. Just fouer 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 …
And then, we had five minutes. Then six. And then, you could hear eight hundred hearts beating again.
What was happening? 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 all right. The Americans and the Russians had pulled back from the edge of darkness, and resolved the crisis over the following week. Everything was all right.
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 some accomodation with that Wednesday. Twenty years to catch up with four minutes. And another twenty years before I could write this story.
I never hated the silly idiot who set off the siren that day. You see, he had missed out on something really precious. Eight hundred folk went to the end of the world that day, and spent the four most precious minutes of their lives. Together. And he had missed out. He wasn’t there! And 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.