I
can't remember what the dream was exactly, only that it involved
mushroom clouds on the horizon and me fleeing frantically to some
underground shelter. Imagine then my first impression when I awoke to
what sounded like the doomsday siren in the pre-dawn of a November
morning. Apparently, its distinctive howl had incurred on my
unconscious mind the scenarios that I associate most with it, before
finally waking me into what seemed a surreal situation. I
waited a few seconds to see if it was just the last sonic embers of
my dream. But it wasn't long before I realised I was hearing this
notorious sound in full cognition. In Kilkenny. At 4.45am.
If
you've never heard the civil defence siren, you really should give it
a listen. It is absolutely one of the most unsettling noises you are
likely to encounter. Having spent a sizeable amount of my life
engrossed in twentieth century history, its eerie bawl evokes in me
images of Londoners crowding into tube stations during the Blitz, or
sixties-era American school kids ducking and covering in preparation
for a Soviet nuclear strike. In fact, just the other day I watched,
and posted on Facebook, a video showing the siren in action in Tel
Aviv, Israel.
But
I've never heard it in little old Kilkenny. Why would I? This isn't exactly Checkpoint Charlie. Surely the Marble City could never
be wiped off the map by a wave of atomic fire? Though I do remember
my father telling me how his school drilled for the outbreak of World
War 3 during the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962. But he could have been
just making that up.
Whatever
about that, I've always wondered how useful these sirens would be if
Nuclear War actually did happen. Wouldn't they just terrorise people
into realising that the human race is about to be annihilated and
there's absolutely nothing they can do about it. Let us sleep I say.
Such
considerations were redundant as I opened the window to hear the
siren wailing across the outside air, where wind and rain only added
to the fatalism of it all. Being alone in the house didn't help.
There was no way of making myself feel empowered by shaking someone
from their sleep whilst screaming hysterically: “It's Here! It's
Here!”
Instead,
I hurried downstairs to see if any neighbours had stepped outside to
investigate. Standing in my driveway, I found the sound almost
unbearable. I calculated its general direction and wondered if
it was some kind of cataclysmic burglar alarm from the truck yard
across the road, like one that would sound only when all the trucks
were stolen. Not seeing anyone else around and with no traffic on the
road, I went inside to contact Kilkenny Gardaí. As I passed by the
television, I wondered if switching to Sky News would yield a graphic
proclaiming: “BREAKING NEWS: WORLD ENDING”
There
was a definite gaiety in the voice of the female officer that
answered my call. It sounded like she was having an enjoyable morning
on the switchboard.
“Hello,
I'm on the Freshford Road. There's an extremely loud alarm coming
from the direction of the truck yard across the road” I said, in
the mode of a truly concerned citizen.
“It's
actually from the army barracks” she responded cheerily. “We've
had hundreds of calls. Someone's set off the civil defence siren and
they don't know how to turn it off!”
At
this point, I was fairly sure I could hear other Gardaí chuckling at
her end of the line.
“Ah
yes, the civil defence siren” I acknowledged, as if to convey
myself as someone who had seen it all before. “I thought for a
second we'd started World War 3” I continued, before deducing that
I couldn't have been the first funnyman to tell her that joke this
morning.
“No,
you're safe enough” she reassured me. “Hopefully, they'll get it
off soon”. That was that it seemed.
Then, like all good men in the early twenty-first century, I took to
Facebook and Twitter to tell everyone everything! Surprisingly,
updates from sleep-deprived Kilkenny folk were minimal. I suppose
most people in this town are such good sleepers that even the threat
of societal destruction can't wake them. Though I did get a text off
my sister, who lives outside town. Funny that she could hear it
whilst others I've spoken to, some living within 500m of the base,
slept through it soundly. My family must have some innate paranoia about Armageddon.
After
another ten minutes or so, the siren whimpered into silence. It was
finally over. Or so I thought. Moments later, it started up again! I
wondered what exactly was going on in the barracks that this could
happen twice in one night.
“Are
they all drunk or something?”
Eventually
it stopped for good. And I went back to bed, secure in the knowledge
that tomorrow would come.
This
morning, I began investigating what had caused the siren to go off. I
rang the military press office, where another female officer was hell
bent on assuring me that I was still alive.
“I'm
just curious” I explained, trying to dissuade her clear supposition
that I was a nervous wreck who spent too much time reading about
doomsday scenarios on the internet.
She
told me to email on my questions. So I did. And thankfully, the military
press office delivered a prompt response. Here it is:
Dermot,
Almost
all military barracks and facilities at home and overseas have some
form of audible alarm system. It is either used to indicate a
defensive requirement for the post or sometimes to re-call
Military Personnel in the locality to the Barracks. Many barracks
test these alarms for a few seconds from time to time and at a time
of the day so as not to disturb local residents. In the case of
Stephens Bks Kilkenny, a technical fault caused the alarm to
sound in the early hours of the morning. I understand members of the
garrison have been on local media apologising for
this inconvenience.
Regards,
The
Military
No need to apologise Military. This is easily the most exciting thing that's happened to me all year! The tale of a nightmare inducing siren on the sleeping people of Kilkenny. Well, on one of them anyway
.
