Fire Practice in the 1970's

I was 4 and a half years old. It felt like I was the oldest I would ever be. Surely I would never be more dignified, qualified and in charge than right now...ever.

I was going to school.

I used to catch the bus there and sat with my friends. The bus would draw up each day bouncing and creaking along the cobbled streets. Parents passing the driver their children at speed to get home and drink coffee, something else, or head out shopping. Hair tied in headscarves, curlers sometimes lurking underneath.

We talked about our pets on the ride. Hamsters, dogs, cats, budgies. Our chatter filled the bus every day and our newness shone through in the undoubting way we approached life.

I lived about 30 minutes drive from the school, we were picked up in order of social standing, ending with the children of the most important people in the business who lived closest and really could simply have walked around the corner. Their nannies passed them to the driver.

Arriving at school we would be offloaded and run to the playground carrying our bags on our backs ready to swing upside down on freezing metal hoops by the backs of our knees. Spinning round and round in dizzying circles on the monkey bars never knowing if the grey concrete beneath us would break our fall or leave us with a permanent scar.

A different teacher would appear from a cloud of staffroom smoke to ring the handbell and usher us into school. Silently on the left up the stairs to our first floor classrooms. Bags on pegs that lined the corridors. Tiny milk bottles beside each classroom door ready for afternoon story time. Thick and creamy at the top; sometimes thick and lumpy at the bottom. Shiny silver stripy foil lids, so good for box robot buttons. No need to refrigerate them; food poisoning wasn't on our radar.

My teacher was loud and a perfectionist. She was determined we would know and understand not only how to read all the words in the rainbow books, write all about our weekend news and our numbers to 100 but also the sorcery of adding ha'pennies. We still used coins and knowing how to add ha'pennies was seen as a super important skill - at least by my teacher. I would hear the children in the next door class playing with the sand and water trays, making each other pretend cups of tea in the home corner and the familiar click of plastic bricks snapping onto base boards while we sat in our class doing our maths books - again! For my class, Friday afternoon was the time for these rare pleasures.

Playtime and lunchtime were always an exciting piece of punctuation in the school day. We would race to get a chance in the swings queue or line up in a long caterpillar of legs and bodies to rush down the slide. All too soon the bell would ring and again we'd be back inside, silently up the stairs, always moving on the left.

One day we settled back down at our desks looking forward to the excitement of the upcoming Friday afternoon but the week ended with a different kind of adventure.

To explain a little more I will describe a 'fire practice' for those who may be unfamiliar or lucky enough to have blocked it from their memories. At school we were briefed that should a bell ring continuously we should get up from our desks and leave the classroom quickly and safely. We should do this in silence so that the teacher's voice could be heard above the scrape of metal chair legs on linoleum and the thwacking of wooden desk lids, along with the thudding of 25 pairs of start-rite cloaked feet. The main aim was to get outside the building as quickly as possible ready to be counted so we were safe from the fire.

At my very ancient and determined age of 4 and a half I had repeatedly practised the 'fire practice' moves at my playgroup. There was however, one very large difference between my school class and my playgroup class and that was my playgroup class had been on the ground floor.

In playgroup practice we had been trained to head for the nearest available exit.

The issue was that the nearest exit they trained us to just happened to be a window. I know - what! I hear you cry. Your playgroup trained you to exit through a window? I think all I can say is that it was the seventies and hearing some of the other 'safety' features available at the time, it was probably amazing we were given any evacuation training at all.

I'm thinking that by now you may well be on your way to guessing what happened that fateful Friday afternoon. Settling down at the play dough table I threw myself into modelling a dog and creating a super wiggly tail using the clay tools. The dog was of course red and the tail yellow but boy did it smell good. The room was full of the sounds of pure joy brought by the freedom of play.

Then the clanging started.

We looked at each other. Could it really be the fire bell? We'd only just started. How completely frustrating.

Reluctantly we drew ourselves to our feet to look for the nearest exit. Behind me a large window beckoned. It would be an easy way out. I couldn't think why noone else was heading my way. I opened the window and looked out. The ground looked a little further than when I'd practised at playgroup but it was soft and grassy. I hooked one leg over the windowsill and then the other. I heard a shriek over the movements of the class. I prepared myself to jump.

"Myrtle!!!" My name was yelled at top volume and I turned my head to see my teacher rushing across the classroom at top speed. I thought she'd at last realised where the fire exit was. Completely focussed on evacuating the class I continued to wriggle forward along the windowsill. As I pushed myself off I felt a strong arm grab my waist and lift me through the air and I flew.

Landing was a surprise. I was inside the class not out. The teacher hurriedly grabbed my arm and pulled me to join the rest of the class who were frozen in horror at the vision of their crazy classmate about to leap through the first floor window.

We made it outside but the Headmaster, cigarette in hand, was not pleased with how long we had taken as his timer ticked over the alloted 3 minute evacuation time.

My mother sent a bottle of wine into school with me on the bus the next morning. She said the teacher had earned it and would need all the help she could get having me for the year.

I lived to tell the tale though and no matter where I am I always check the evacuation plans. You never know when you may need a hasty way out...but preferably not through a window.