Preamble ...
... postamble?

I must apologise to anyone who is waiting for another couthy wee story, in my usual style. This story is pure history that happened 42 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. Four Minute Warning When we come tae th skale that Wednesday, we kent there wis somethin serious aboot that day. It wis 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 wis king. We were th smart anes fae th high skale an we knew hoo th world worked. We wis set fur life! But Wednesday wis troublin. We'd read th p'pers an watched th telly fur th past week. We'd seen th photies. "US aircraft discover missiles in Cuba." "Cuba Blockade" "The Line of Death" We'd grewn up in th Cauld War. Berlin. Korea. Indo-China. Hauf th comics we read wis aboot beatin th 'Commies', fechtin th 'Gooks'. Fresh fae th Second World War, an stiffened wi' tales o' valour an heroic deeds. Big John Wayne an Robert Mitchum on th pictchers. Aw guid stuff. At hame, it wis th same. Th Govermint kept on pittin wee leaflets through yer door, tellin ye whit tae dae in th event o' a nuclear attack. "Whitewash yer windaes, fill th bath, an hide under th stairs!" Th telly tried tae recruit ye fur th 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 th time, an when it stopped, it meant that th country wis under attack b' th Russians, an London wisnae there onny mair. No as a place ye w'd want tae visit in th next thousand years, that is. When th noise stopped, ye watched aroond fur th big flashes an bangs, an then ye'd report which wey th mushroom clouds were blowin. They never actually mentioned wha it wis ye'd be reportin tae. Never mind. We aw thocht this wis perfectly normal. At th time, onnywey. But Wednesday wis troublin. We'd seen Kruschev rantin, an bangin his shoe at th United Nations, th year afore. Aw th politicians were bangin oot speeches, an th 'They Shall Not Pass!' wis a fav'rit. President Kennedy h'd mucked up in th 'Bay of Pigs' shambles, so he wisnae lookin s' guid as Big John's successor. An noo, he wis tellin th world that Russia h'd 'nucular missils' in Cuba, an it wis time tae get them oot, an awa fae America. Th 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 without a chance tae doon a Big Mac an a Coke afore they went. Cuba wis too close. No even a chance tae clog th phone system tae say goodbye. Us british. We were telt that we'd h've fower minutes, an that wis jist aboot time tae smok a Woodbine, or pey back th half croon ye owed yer pal. Normally, at th High Skale, discipline wis stricht. Onny laudie no wearin a tie wis reportit, an if a lassie turned up wi' high heels or jewelry, then it wis aff tae th Heidmistress tae be lectured on th 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' th teachers objected. "Just don't turn it up too loud." Jist loud enough fur them tae hear, ah reckon. Awboddy wis listenin tae th soond o hearts beatin. "Tonk………tonk………tonk………tonk…". Th BBC h'd it calculated that th US Navy w'd stop aw Russian ships, an th 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 th airfields were fu o' bombers. American bombers were flee'n aboot th skies, waitin fur th Fail Safe code. In the mornin, in th Physics class, th teacher was mair inclined tae tell us aboot th Blitz, an hoo th bombs these days were much bigger. Jist tae mak shair we wis thinkin along th richt lines. B' lunch time, ah think a lot o' appetites were missin, an th usual rejoinders tae "Eat up! It's good for you!" h'd slipped awa th same wey. Come wan o'clock, it wis a bit tense. Then five past, an ten past come an went, an th knots started tae ease aff a bit. Efter aw, ye cannae stay wound up forever. B' twa o'clock, folk were startin tae think o' ither things. Half past twa, an things were easin jist a bit. Th radio wisnae sayin much, but that wis fine by me. Time tae head off tae Biology - which jist happened tae be th same classroom an th same teacher as Physics, that mornin. Mr Bigger an Better Bang. "Tonk………tonk………WAAAAAWAAAAAWAAAAA!! Oh my god! It wis a siren. Ye couldnae hear yersel think! Eight hundred hearts stopped beatin at th exact same moment. They'd gone an done. 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 th knot in mah stomach twist an tighten. Don't know why, but as we aw streamed oot o' th classroom, ah wis able t' watch awboddy aroond me. It wis better than thinkin. Much better… Some rushed tae get ootside. Some tried tae hing back, as though th cardboard wa o' a modern skale w'd stop th 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. Maybe, they thoct t' preserve somethin. Some fainted. Some screamed, an some went tae comfort them. Maybe some cried four their mithers, while some jist lay doon on th gress an waited fur th sky tae fall. We were aw scared. Ah feel it noo as ah'm writin this. Ah feel th tears o' eight hundred bairns an teachers, an ah'm no ashamed tae admit it. Fower minutes. Jist fower minutes. No enough time tae dae onnything. Shairly god meant fur us tae hae mair than that. It's no fair. It's no bloody fair… An then we had five minutes. Then six. An then ye could hear eight hundred hearts beatin again. Whit wis happenin? Th announcement on th Tannoy explained it aw. Somebody, some practical joker, h'd set aff th fire alarm. Th fire siren. It wis a false alarm. Go back tae yer classes. Everythin wis awricht. Th Americans an th Russians pu'd back fae th edge o' darkness, an settled thing ower th comin week. Evrythin wis awricht. It took me twenty years afore ah c'd listen tae a siren without th adrenaline rippin through me. It took me aw that time tae gradually 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. Ah never hated th silly eedjit that set aff th siren that day. Ye see, he h'd missed oot on something really precious. Eight hundred folk went tae th end o' th world that day, an spent th fower maist precious minutes o' their lives. Together. An he h'd missed oot. He wisnae there! An 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.