by Lu Hersey
On Boxing Day, we had a house fire. It happened fast. Scarily fast.
I’d
gone round to a friend’s place, and my daughters were settled in the front room, watching a film on Netflix. Twenty
minutes into their film, there was a noise like a heavy bookcase falling over, followed by an indoor hailstorm. My freezer had exploded. Who knew that was even possible?
Racing
out to see what the hell was going on, the girls were confronted by a wall of
fire in the hall, which was spreading quickly up the stairs, massively helped by the sheets drying
over the banisters (think about this - you probably dry your sheets over
the banisters sometimes too…)
Leaving the house so fast they didn’t even take their coats, bags or keys, they called the fire brigade (of course they had their phones – they’d
probably burn to a crisp before they left their phones…) And then they called me.
I
got back home within five minutes. By that time, firemen had broken down the
door (the girls’ keys were locked inside) and were stomping all over the house
spraying water everywhere. Fire engines filled the entire road and ALL the
neighbours had come out to see what was happening.
At
this point my son returned with a friend, both carrying a few beers, to collect
an Xbox game – they'd planned a night of retro gaming.
‘Er,
street party?’ he asked, looking slightly bewildered.
At
least he made me laugh.
The firemen finally put out the fire and said it was safe enough to go back in to
collect any urgent stuff we needed, before they secured the door.
The
house was dark, because the electricity had blown in the fire, and it stank. The
staircase was badly burnt, and there were puddles of water everywhere.
My
son found his zombie apocalypse game.
My daughters went and got their bags.
I spent a quite a while looking for the cat, seriously worried he might have died in the blaze. (Fortunately he hadn't. He turned up the next day, covered in ash and looking very sorry for himself)
I spent a quite a while looking for the cat, seriously worried he might have died in the blaze. (Fortunately he hadn't. He turned up the next day, covered in ash and looking very sorry for himself)
When I couldn't find him, with a heavy heart, I grabbed
my macbook (practical choice - all my work is in there somewhere)…and a Neolithic grinding stone.
Yes,
I know. Frankly, I’m not sure either. Obviously I should have rescued
irreplaceable photo albums, my notebooks – or even something sensible like
pants and socks.
But the grinding stone…
What can I say? It was given to me by a bored attendant at a Neolithic site at Antequera in Spain when I was seven years old. Even then, it felt like a very special gift. I loved it.
When me and the kids last moved (20 years ago) I thought I'd lost it for good in the chaos. At one point I even snuck back to the old house to check it hadn't been chucked in the rockery. Then recently, thinking I was about to move again, I found it buried at the bottom of a trunk in the attic. It felt like being reunited with a long lost friend.
The stone fits perfectly in your hand. Surfaces worn smooth by years of Neolithic use, it gives you a direct link to a point some 5000 years back in time.
The stone fits perfectly in your hand. Surfaces worn smooth by years of Neolithic use, it gives you a direct link to a point some 5000 years back in time.
Since the fire, the new book I've started writing has a strong Neolithic theme running through it - so maybe it
wasn’t such a weird choice after all?
Okay, imagine your house is on fire right now – what are you going to save?
Lu Hersey
Twitter:
@LuWrites
Instagram: luwrites
Wordpress blog: Lu Writes
Deep Water, published by Usborne, out now
