The fire began on a cool autumn night.
It came to life as a tiny spark which escaped the confines of an open fireplace. A dying ember gave it life and from there it leapt to freedom and landed on a discarded paper.
The spark, at first, only scorched the paper. The golden mark thus created, however, quickly morphed into a larger and darker blotch. And from there it spread across the entire page flaming orange on its advancing edge and leaving in its wake a blackened and fragile ash.
The flame remained hungry. It needed more. It needed to grow. That was its nature. It needed to devour and destroy all that stood in its path. It was ruthless. It took no prisoners. It could not be tamed.
It searched about for more to consume. It moved onto the hearth-rug. It devoured the soft white shag pile fibres and left only a black molten corpse. It then leapt to a nearby curtain. It growled and crackled as it ran up along the flowery heavy material toward the ceiling. It began to roar. It had grown more powerful and dangerous left unnoticed and unchecked. Its deadly breath filled the room and drifted out into the hallway and up the stairwell toward the family sleeping upstairs. The choking air would find them first and the wild flames would follow soon after to finish them off.
The fire would then look for more.
It would not be sated: Another cottage. A fence. A tree. … to start with. It was powerful and angry now. It had tasted blood and destruction. It craved more. The village would be its prey. A village unprepared and oblivious to the dangers it now faced.
Across town, Hetty Miller was just waking up. She had a busy day ahead. It was 6 am on a Tuesday morning and, as a freelance journalist working for the village newspaper, she needed to get her weekly 'opinion-piece' written and onto her editor's desk by no later than 3 pm on that afternoon. She could not be late with it again. Her editor had already warned her that if she was late one more time he would give her column to Jan - the office 'suck-up' who was the most smug, annoying, arrogant …
Hetty took a deep breath. She would not be late with her piece. Jan was absolutely no threat to her and her column and her job - because she would not be late! And that was that! The column would take absolute precedence over everything else for the day.
Her husband, John, could be fed breakfast and then kicked out the front-door with his bank-manager's brief-case and his packed lunch by 8.30am. 'Missing you already!' she would call out to him as she laughed - like she always did when she was in a hurry. He knew that she was kidding.
Tom, her four year old son, could be packed up and off to childcare by 9am. His ear infections and asthma attacks had kept him home from childcare frequently in recent weeks, and as a result of this Hetty had been late with her column on more than one occasion. But that would not happen today. He was now fit as a fiddle and so off he would go!
All going to plan, Hetty hoped that she would be able to start working on her article by around 9.30am. She would put on her headphones and listen to music, like she always did when she was writing, and zip through the piece for her column.
She'd have it ready by midday! Hopefully… Maybe?! Well, no later than 2 pm! Absolutely!
Smug Jan could crawl back to her own desk. She would not take her job. Not yet, anyway.
Hetty sighed as she got out of bed and walked over to her bedroom window. The view from the window was particularly good, not only because the window was on the second floor of her two storey cottage, but also because the house was situated on top of the only hill in the district.
She looked out at the village beyond the glass. It appeared to be sleeping. It remained shrouded in a subsiding darkness which allowed the buildings to be only vaguely delineated as solid black objects against the softening grey. Above the distant horizon, which was a rough black silhouette of the forest trees, the sky was now filled with a warm yellow light which pushed the morning up into the receding navy sky of the fading night. A few tiny stars lingered still.
As Hetty stood admiring the beauty and tranquility of the early morning vista, she gradually became aware of something different about the scene. Something unexpected and unsettling.
Squinting into the darkness she could just distinguish the grey outline of smoke rising into the sky as a grey cloud on the horizon. She wondered if someone might be burning off rubbish. Alternatively, she wondered if it might even be a house fire. Although, it was too far away to see clearly.
Either way, Hetty reassured herself that the fire was very far from her own house and neighbourhood, and as such it was almost certainly no threat to her, or her family. Also, she thought, whoever owned the house or land, from whence the flames originated, would very likely be well aware of the fire and they would most likely be dealing with it right at that moment.
However, in the village, fires of any kind were always a little unnerving as the village had no Fire department: No fire trucks. No large hoses. No fire alarms. Nothing really.
The people of the village were aware that to outsiders this situation might seem ridiculous - especially given that the village was composed entirely of wooden houses, and it was surrounded by a dense forest.
However, the mayor had explained the situation completely to the village people. And it had all made absolute sense - the way he told it. He was a very wise man who had never let any of them down before; not that anyone could remember, or knew about, anyway.
He had explained - with lots of graphs and numbers and examples - during many town meetings on the subject - that a Fire department would be largely a waste of money for the village. The facility would rarely be used, as the people of the village were very careful around fire, and there had never yet been any extremely large fires which would justify a fully equipped on-call Fire department.
The mayor had explained, in a very optimistic and cheerful way, that the villagers were 'over-worrying' to think that a large fire would ever require more than a few hoses and a good plan by residents to come home from work to deal with any fire that might happen themselves. Unlikely as the event of a fire happening in the first place would be.
Furthermore, he had added, if a fire ever did require additional help then, possibly, local neighbours could help. And, in the extremely unlikely 'worst-case scenario' of a large fire occurring - then the police department and ambulance services could help out with long hoses from other local properties.
The villagers were reassured that everything would be fine. A major fire would almost certainly never happen, and small fires could be controlled with systems that were already in place.
It had all made so much sense. They had been worrying about crises that were extremely unlikely. Adequate plans were already in place. And the money saved would allow more money to be available for wonderful projects - like 'halls for schools' and lovely statues in the village squares.
Of course, there were always a few trouble-makers at the meetings. Pessimistic over-worriers with ridiculous hysterical ideas about massive fires occurring, for which the village would be completely unprepared, and which could have potentially catastrophic outcomes.
Those fools had been laughed down by the mayor, and escorted from the village meetings as trouble-makers. They had been banned from all future debates. They had upset the other villagers and scared the children.
The same small groups of trouble makers also wrote into Hetty's newspaper. Letters to the editor. They requested more conversations about the construction of a Fire-department. They wanted to discuss further the risk for major fires, and they argued that the current arrangements were completely inadequate.
They never let up! They had become a nuisance and, eventually, they had been warned by the police to stop harrassing people in the village with their stories of doom and demands for change.
Hetty had been proud that she had been able to convince her editor to ignore the vocal minority of trouble makers with their demands to further discuss topics which had already been debated, concluded, and finished with.
What would those few over-worrying trouble-makers know that the mayor did not? The mayor was such a clever man. Hetty had complete faith in his judgement. She also had an absolute respect for authority figures. Her parents had instilled that in her. She never questioned the judgement of an authority figure.
Her editor, however, had been initially reluctant to ignore the letters written to him. He'd even considered researching the issue - which is more than anyone else in the village had done. Anyone other than the trouble makers agitating for the Fire department that is.
However, the newspaper had become busy with other stories: The annual village fair. The building of a new bakery in the town. The football season. These were happier topics. These were more exciting stories than budget decisions and health-and-safety discussions.
So, finally, the concerns about the risks of an uncontrolled wild fire were forgotten. The letters to the editor from the agitators in the village were not published. The letters were thrown in the bin. Conversations about the issue were finally left alone - and the topic died away.
Hetty pulled her eyes away from the smoke which spiralled into the clear blue sky. She acknowledged that it would be a fine day. Another warm and sunny day in a long line of similar lovely days.
She left the window, put her dressing-gown on, and skipped downstairs to make herself a coffee, and get her hectic day started.
She was on a deadline!
She was on a deadline!
Five hours passed rapidly during the morning. Hetty finally looked up at the clock sitting on the writing desk in her home-office. It was already 11am.
The article that she was writing for her column was going well. It was a piece about The usefulness of school halls for playing hop-scotch on rainy days. However, something had pulled Hetty out of her deep concentration and her writing. She took her headphones off and looked about the room. The house was quiet. However, something was not right. She could sense it. She wondered what it might be.
And then she knew… Smoke! She could clearly smell smoke!
Jumping up from her desk she looked about the room. Nothing was on fire. She ran to all of the rooms in the house. To her great relief there was no fire. She returned to her study. But the smell of smoke was distinct and strong. She looked over towards the window. She remembered the smoke that she'd seen five hours earlier. When she had first gotten out of bed. She walked over to the window and looked down the hill toward the village.
Smoke was everywhere.
The village was almost completely obscured by misty grey smoke. The smoke rose high into the air - large and dark as a thundercloud. Hetty wasn't sure how much of the village was on fire.
Possibly, she thought, it was all worse than it looked. Maybe it was like the time her cat had been savaged by a local dog, and when she had taken the cat to the vet and he had cleaned her up - it had eventuated that most of the blood had been the dog's blood. Her cat was fine. She had over worried that time. Maybe this was similar. Maybe a fire in only one or two buildings was creating all of the smoke. Maybe it all just looked a lot worse than it actually was.
She decided that she wouldn't worry too much. Anyway, Hetty had complete faith in the mayor and his ability to control the situation.
Also, she still had a deadline to make. She needed her article on her editor's desk in less than four hours time.
She closed the window and pulled down the blind. She needed no distractions. Today she had very important things on which she must focus.
She returned to her desk and put her head-phones back on. Her music was a lovely soothing distraction. She returned to her writing and her discussion about school halls and hop scotch.
It didn't seem long before Hetty finished her article. She was quite happy with it. She looked at the time. She was early. It was still only 1.30pm. She printed her article along with an extra copy. She put the pages neatly into a manilla folder. She decided that she would take them in to her office before the deadline, and then pick Tommy up from the child-care early.
She smiled as she imagined her son's little face when she arrived early to pick him up. He'd be so happy to see her.
She'd been a little short with him that morning. She'd been in such a hurry. But he'd been so patient and understanding. She remembered his words when she'd told him to stop talking as she was so busy.
He'd said, 'OK. I'll just talk in my brain.'
Also, she recalled his words as she dropped him off in his day-care room. He'd hugged her, as she signed him in, and he'd said 'I love you too much, Mummy.' She'd kissed his soft cheek. She felt blessed to have such a dear little boy in her life.
Hetty left the folder on her desk and she stretched as she stood up. Strangely, she could still smell the smoke. Her window had been closed for hours … and still the smell of smoke persisted. In fact it was even stronger now.
Hetty turned slowly to face the window. A heavy feeling of dread had formed in her gut. The blind was still down and it obscured any view of the world beyond.
Hesitantly she walked toward the window. Her hand was shaking as she released the blind. It flew upward creating a loud bang when it came to a stop. She removed her headphones and let them hang around her neck.
She looked through the glass and as she did she felt like her heart had stopped. The blood drained from her face and she wondered if she might faint. She reached for a chair.
Smoke was everywhere. Black, billowing clouds of smoke. She dared not open the window. The smoke wafted up against the glass. She could see flames in the forest about a mile from her house. A wall of fire. With her head-phones off she could now hear the roar of the firestorm. She wondered how she could not have heard it earlier. Even with the music and the headphones. It sounded like a train rushing through a tunnel. Like a horrible monster screaming at the world.
A terrible thought suddenly occurred to her. What if her husband and her son were in danger? What if they had been trying to call her? She would have never heard the phone!
Her thoughts became less optimistic. What if ...
She couldn't bring herself to even consider the end of that sentence: What if …
She ran downstairs. She picked up the phone receiver. The line was dead. The lights were all out too. She checked the switch. The electricity was off.
She grabbed her car keys. She would have to see if John and Tommy were alright. As she was about to run out the front door, she remembered the article. Maybe things were still not as bad as they appeared. The Mayor had said …
She hesitated - and then she ran up the stairs again. She grabbed the folder and then she ran back down. She would take the article with her - and drop it off after she had checked on her husband and son. It may all look worse than it actually was.
Hetty grabbed the handle of the front-door but instantly let go. The metal handle was burning hot. Her hand began to blister almost instantly.
Horror flooded her mind and stabbed at her heart like a sharp knife. She brought her blistered hand to her mouth. The terrible reality of the situation was becoming clear. She could feel the radiant heat from the door. The paint on the inside of the door was beginning to bubble and peel off. She dared not touch it. She knew it would be burning hot. She could feel the heat from where she stood.
She looked down to the carpet. Grey smoke was seeping into the house from under the door.
The roar of the fire was deafening now. Hetty dropped her folder and she ran to the back door. Grey smoke was seeping into the house from under that door as well, and the radiant heat hit her like a furnace.
She looked about the room. She felt like a caged animal about to die. Black smoke and fire were present at every window.
A series of thunderous crashing noises occurred in quick succession. The windows on the ground floor were exploding. The fire was inside. The deadly monster had entered her house and it was now surrounding her on all sides.
Hetty knew that there was no way out.
She ran up the stairs to her bedroom. She knew now that it was too late for her. She wondered if it would have made a difference if the people of the village had listened to those few 'agitators', and a Fire-department had been built ...
It didn't really matter now. The village was beyond any discussions about dangers and prevention-planning and the future.
There would be no future for any of them.
Hetty looked out of her window. She could still see a few glimpses of the village between the flames and the smoke.
She could see Tommy's child care centre. It was a smoldering ruin. Nothing remained. She imagined that Tommy was most likely already dead - along with all of the other children and staff in the centre.
Her grief was overwhelming. Tears streamed down her face. She couldn't bear to imagine her little boy's last moments.
Her grief was overwhelming. Tears streamed down her face. She couldn't bear to imagine her little boy's last moments.
The whole village was an inferno and the fire had devoured the forest surrounding it. There would be no escape for anyone.
She could see the roof of her newspaper office. It was a mass of flames, as was the bank where John worked.
Hetty's world was on fire and her family were almost certainly dead - as were her friends.
Her life was over. Her world was gone.
Her life was over. Her world was gone.
The fire was now at her bedroom door. The flames had come for her.
Hetty's last thoughts were: 'If only … '
The End
Fire, in this story, is a metaphor for the problems relating to terrorism which the western world currently faces - which threaten: our western culture; democracy; human rights; freedom of speech; our freedom ...
Simply stating Je Suis Charlie ( I am Charlie) - is not enough!
We need to puts some verbs into our sentences with regard to the problems we now face.
And the firestorm has not yet come for us. It is not yet too late.
Journalists need to see problems where they exist. Optimism is fine - but it needs to be realistic optimism! There are serious problems facing our western culture from terrorism!
In medicine we say: 'half of any treatment is making a correct diagnosis.'
A problem needs to be seen accurately as it is - not how we hope or wish it would be. And then an effective solution, or treatment, needs to be started as soon as possible.
If a patient has cancer - there is a 'window of time' in which treatment will work. A diagnosis must be timely and an effective treatment found. As doctors we need to act in a timely manner - or a patient might die.
Opportunities to save a situation don't last indefinitely. That is why doctors often rush and fight aggressively to save patients - if that is what's needed. We don't hesitate! We can't hesitate. Time is crucial.
We diagnose accurately. We treat effectively. We act quickly.
Currently people are doing the equivalent of:
- denying the patient is even sick! (ie denying there is a serious problem currently).
- minimising problems - when major problems actually exist. A form of denial and rationalisation.
- writing the patient a 'Get well card'. - In the form of 'Je suis Charlie'.
But no-one is actually doing anything that will make any difference. Writing a get-well card and denying a serious illness exists and giving no effective treatment will result in the patient dying!
There is no place for denial or placebo treatments (ie Je suis Charlie).
That is just wasting time when really serious problems exist!
As a doctor I sometimes need to be blunt with patients. But my patients have all done very well - and survived. Especially with cancer. Early and accurate diagnoses and effective treatments are the key.
I suppose that I am blunt and harsh here. But some things need to be said.
The western world needs to unite and fight together for our freedom and our democracy and our lives.
* * *
Lastly, a quotation by Pastor Martin Niemoller (1892 − 1984)
He was a prominent Protestant pastor who emerged as an outspoken public foe of Adolf Hitler and he spent the last seven years of Nazi rule in concentration camps:
First They Came
First they came for the Communists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Communist
Then they came for the Socialists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Socialist
Then they came for the trade unionists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a trade unionist
Then they came for the Jews
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Jew
Then they came for me
And there was no-one left
To speak out for me
* * *
We need to work as a team.
We must preserve our freedom of speech.
Without our freedom - what life for each of us would remain?
At least consider the reality of the potentially fatal situation the western world is now in.
People are not annoying 'over-worriers'. They are the canaries down the coal mine!
At least consider the situation and open up discussions about what needs to be done. Don't shut down freedom of speech. That is exactly what is needed to solve problems.
* * *
PS:
On a slightly lighter note:
It is now a week since I wrote the above blog entry, and I have just returned from having a lovely coffee with a female friend of mine.
My friend replied that while that might be true - she had heard it said that if women ruled the world - it is likely that half the countries wouldn't be speaking to each other any more!
I can just imagine it. The female president of country A might say: 'Well, we may not be having a war with country B - but we're not speaking to them! And they certainly won't be invited to our national bar-b-que next month!'
We laughed.
I know the problems in the world are serious and awful. But humour is still a good coping mechanism. It felt good to have a laugh with my friend.
* * *
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