THE HILLS IN SUMMER
The throb of the helicopter woke me. Seven fifteen, the clock said.
‘Smell that?’ Another deep sniff and I bolted out of bed. ‘Get up! Get up Tom; there’s a fire.’
‘Wha.’ My husband’s sleepy head rolled over to face me. ‘What’s that love?’ He swallowed, trying to get the juices back into his dry throat after lying open mouthed, snoring.
‘Fire. Can’t you smell it? And listen; the helicopter’s flying overhead. It’s low, so the fire must be near here.’
Running to the window, I pulled back the curtain and peered out. Smoke billowed from the valley below our house and black specks floated past the window.
‘Get up Tom. Now. For heaven’s sake, get up man. There’s a bloody fire at the bottom of the hill. Some idiot again no doubt; probably a teenager seeking thrills. I wish they’d catch the bugger and punish him properly. Oh, come on, hurry up. We have to fill up the bin and the baths and troughs and everything. You know they’ll cut off our water if they have to.’
‘Okay, okay, I’m coming.’
I grabbed the track suit and cotton socks that I’d worn the previous day, put them on, then walked through the house to check that my sturdy lace up boots were ready by the back door. A pile of photo albums and a few of my favourite books sat just inside the front door where I had put them during our first alarm, soon after schools broke up for the Christmas holidays.
‘Yes, ready; now the water storage,’ I told myself, while turning on the tap over the bath and inserting the plug.
In the kitchen I took down the list that’s stuck on the fridge door. ‘Phone the neighbours; Dan and Tess first.’ I dialled their number and waited for a reply.
‘Sorry we’re not here to take your call.’
‘Damn.’ I left a message then phoned Dan’s mobile.
‘Oh, gee, thanks.’ Even with news of a fire so close to home, he spoke slowly. ‘I’m about half an hour away, what do you reckon?’
‘The helicopters are already here.’ I paused, listening as two more of them whirred overhead. ‘I’d get back as quickly as you can.’
The neighbour behind us is always up early. ‘John, I guess you’ve seen it?’
‘Yep. Thanks Debbie. The dogs woke us. I thought they would’ve woken you. I was about to call you. We should be okay as long the wind doesn’t whip up. Do you need a hand?’
I assured John that we were under control, thinking that we only had half a dozen vital steps to take and hoping that his assessment was right. It was our first summer in the hills, whereas John and our other neighbours had been here for many years.
Tom wandered out to the kitchen and turned the kettle on. ‘Doesn’t look too bad; the smoke is way down in the valley. Those guys,’ he pointed upwards, ‘they’re on the ball. They’ll have it under control in no time.’
I rolled my eyes at him and stomped back to the bathroom.
‘Get me one too, please,’ I called from the passage. ‘While you’re dillydallying with coffee, I’ll fill up everything I can with water. Perhaps you could check that the fire pump is primed and ready to go?’
‘I know bloody well it’s not,’ I muttered under my breath, cursing my lack of diligence and my husband’s laid back attitude. ‘Thank God for the pool though.’
From the back of the house I watched for a few seconds as six helicopters followed one another. I knew that they were filling up with water from the oval in the centre of town, taking off and flying over our house, dumping their precious loads in the valley, then continuing their circle back to the oval to start again.
‘Please keep us safe,’ I prayed, while turning on the hose to fill the large wheelie bin we had obediently stored near the back door. Holding the hose in the bin, I mentally ticked off the instructions we were given at the local fire brigade meeting.
1: Phone neighbours in order on the list until you get a person.
2: Fill everything you can with water. The scheme water goes off when the helicopters are drawing on it constantly.
3: Clear the gutters and block the holes with … was it tennis balls?
‘Tom,’ I yelled, ‘Tom, where the bloody hell are you?’
‘Here, Love. What’s the panic?’
‘Did you clean out the gutters?’
‘Yes, of course I did; a couple of weeks ago. Don’t you remember? You complained about the mess of dead leaves around the house?’
‘Okay, sorry. When you’ve got the pump going can you stuff something in the holes? You know; they reckoned that if we fill the gutters with water that helps.’
Satisfied that my husband was doing his bit, I turned back to the nearly full bin and concentrated on the list.
4: Remove all debris and flammable material from around the house and garden.
I remembered our big cleanup over several weekends in November and assured myself that we were safe unless another fire came from the east, where the neighbour’s tall eucalypts create a frightening wall of flammable material.
‘Tom, when you’ve got that thing started,’ I yelled at my husband who was bent over our fire pump, ‘we’ll hose everything down. Pity about the clean windows,’ I added, ‘the saline in the pool water will mark them.’
‘There’s another one started at the end of our street.’ Neighbour John appeared beside my husband. ‘I couldn’t get you on the phone; figured you’d be out the back here. Do you want a hand with that?’
Both men bent over the pump.
‘Thanks John, we’re right.’ My husband sounded full of confidence.
He’s not seen our bush fires, I thought, wishing he’d be less confident.
‘We’ll yell if we need you,’ I shouted to John, who waved as he stood up.
‘Oh. Hi Debbie. Okay, I’ll leave you to it; better get back.’ He disappeared around the side of our house.
‘Okay,’ Tom called to me. ‘You can pull out the hose; get it straight while I put this thing in the pool. Yell out when you’re ready and hold it tight; these things throw out a lot of water you know.’
‘As if I don’t know.’ I remembered again the fire hose on our farm and the way it threw me backwards on the ground the first time I used it. I tried to not think of the flames that had raced through the tops of the karri trees faster than stampeding horses; the wall of red heat that had exploded like my worst imaginings of hell, roaring as it charged through the forest and into the stand of eucalypts in our paddock.
‘One of us had better check the fire down the road, hadn’t we?’ I turned off the tap, satisfied with the amount of water in my bin.
‘No, let’s get this going first.’ At last Tom realised the possible danger.
The scream of fire engines shattered the almost quiet between thrums of helicopters.
Neighbour Barry appeared over the hedge at the back of our place. ‘It’s in the bush at the end of the road; I just went to check; there’s three fire trucks. Police vehicles are stopping the traffic and they’ve shut the roads. Hope they catch the bugger.’
Tom looked up from the edge of the pool. ‘Thanks Barry. Are you okay?’
‘Yep. Got everything full of water. What about you guys?’
We both nodded and waved.
‘Pretty much,’ Tom said.
Barry’s head disappeared and I picked up the end of the fire hose. Helicopters whirred closer.
‘They’re awfully bloody close,’ I yelled above the throbbing. ‘Can’t you go faster with that thing?’
R-r-roar. The pump burst into life and water trickled out of the end that I was holding. In readiness I stood with feet apart, back braced, knees slightly bent, both hands clasping the metal piece at the end of the hose, eyes glued to the space where I anticipated the first blast of water. Seconds ticked past, the motor still roared and water trickled again.
‘Bloody thing’s not working.’ Fear crept into my chest, shooting my voice up an octave. ‘Tom. It’s blocked or something.’ My yell melted into the roar of the motor.
Tom looked up, saw that there was no spume of water gushing from my hands, and flicked the switch to off. Black, sooty looking particles floated across the grass and settled on the ground in front of me.
‘It’s coming closer.’ My voice was quiet. ‘Tom. It’s coming closer.’ This time I yelled. ‘Hurry up with that thing; the fire will be on top of us before you get it going at this rate.’
I ran to the edge of our property, leaving Tom to sort out the pump problem. Flames were visible above the trees; the smoke was pungent, burning the inside of my nose.
‘It’s close, too close.’ I held my hands together in prayer. ‘Please God, don’t let it come this far. And save those poor guys down the street.’
Running back to Tom, to the pool and the precious pump, I felt anger overtaking my fear. ‘Bloody idiots. What sort of maniacs get pleasure from this kind of destruction? I hope they catch them and jail them for life.’
‘Right, Love; try again.’ Tom spoke in his normal, unruffled way.
I picked up the metal end of the hose. ‘Okay, fire away.’
The motor hiccupped a couple of times. My breathing stopped.
Roar, splutter, splutter, r-r-rum.
Back to the ‘fireman’ stance, eyes on that space, I strengthened my grip on the canvas covered hose as it filled out and tried to flip away. Water shot out of the end in my hands, reaching beyond our fence, just as we planned.
I swept the spray up onto the roof, swirling the water back and forth over the coloured iron, washing the windows and sweeping down the timber cladding on the walls. I felt so strong, so masterful, holding my mighty weapon in my hands. ‘Bloody fire; you won’t get us.’
My husband crept up behind me and grabbed me around the waist. I almost dropped the hose and was tempted to turn it on him. We were both grinning.
‘Here; I’ll do it, Love. You go and make us a coffee.’
Reluctantly, I let him take over.
The helicopters had gone when I returned to the veranda. Smoke still hung around but the galahs and kookaburras were back in the tree in front of me, the bougainvillea was a riot of orange blossoms on the pool fence and everything was wet and fresh, although streaky from the salty pool water.
‘Tom, breakfast’s ready,’ I called.
Neighbour John was with him, helping to clean out the pump. ‘How do you like living in the hills in summer?’ I heard him ask.