How Biddy came to stay

I was now standing, just as helplessly

by Guy Massey

Last Saturday was one of those cold, crisp, clear winter days. We don't get many days like that in Suffolk; usually it is cold, grey and overcast and just generally depressing. There had been a heavy overnight ground frost and first thing in the morning it was quite misty but by mid morning it had all cleared and the sky was blue and the sun shone in earnest.

It wasn't warm outside - just a few degrees above freezing - but for once there was no wind and it was really most pleasant. Pleasant enough, in fact, to fool one into thinking that perhaps winter was finally over and spring was on its way. But it is just early enough to think that; March can be an evil month and April is of uncertain temperament.

Saturdays are always good days. It's the beginning of the weekend and we always have a long leisurely breakfast reading the newspapers and aimlessly passing the time away. Often friends call in for a cup or two of coffee and a few pieces of freshly cooked aga toast, butter and marmalade. This Saturday was no different, except nobody came, and the morning passed uneventfully.

We had a light ploughman's lunch and then Debs and I took the two dogs (Lad, unfortunately, being no longer with us) for a long walk down towards the stream. From there we followed the footpath around the fields, passed Hayward's apple orchard and on round behind the churchyard before heading up the hill to home. The winter wheat was looking well and the oil seed rape was holding its own. Like the rest of us it could do with some of the sun's warmth. On the south side of some of the uncultivated banks, and in the hedgerows, the green leaves of a few wild daffodils had come up. There were plenty of snowdrops also poking through. How something so clean and fresh and fragile as a snowdrop can be brave enough to blossom so early in the year never ceases to amaze me. But they do. Year after year. For no thanks or reward.

Murphy ran around enjoying the invigorating air. It wasn't long before he flushed out a pheasant and made a valiant attempt to follow it. Meme, whose eyesight isn't what it used to be, ignored it. Probably because she didn't see it at all. Even if she had, she wouldn't have bother going after it. Meme is a grand old lady now - in fact the walk was almost too long for her - and she is content to let the younger generation waste energy on chasing pheasants.

Eventually we made it again to the top of the drive but before going straight into the house we sat on the old teak seat next to the pond and watched the ducks splashing about for a while. The dogs, being almost exhausted from the long walk, stayed with us instead of rushing off to chase rabbits as they usually do. Meme lay down and immediately went to sleep. Murphy sat and watched the ducks with us. I think he was too tired to do anything else but watch. It was as near a prefect day as one could get. A little warmer would have been better but ….. . Over in the distance, a couple of hundred yards away, a few wisps of smoke were just beginning to slowly rise up from someone having a bonfire. It was difficult to tell who it was as there is a little cluster of houses in that area. I mention to Debs that sitting here in bright sun watching the smoke rise from a bonfire made it more like an autumn day than a day in the middle of February. Reassuringly she said that that it wouldn't be long before everything was green and we would be able to sit out here without coats and hats.

As there was no wind the smoke from the bonfire drifted straight up as though in an invisible tube until it finally disappeared. While we were sitting there watch the ducks, contemplating nature and the meaning of life, the smoke started to build up and become denser and I remarked: "They've really got that fire going now." We sat in silence for a few minutes watching it get thicker and thicker. The way we were both captivated by this plume of white smoke makes me think that we both realised that there was something not quite right even before Debs finally suggested: "Do you think you ought to go and see if everything is alright?"

Between sitting down on the teak seat and Debs saying that can not have been any longer than ten minutes.

Debs took the dogs into the house and I walked back down the drive towards the smoke. I wasn't exactly rushing but by now I was mildly concerned about the amount of smoke so started to walk at a brisk pace. A little over halfway down our drive there is an entrance to one of the fields. As I turned into the entrance to look across the fields to see where the smoke from coming I couldn't believe my eyes.

The Urquhart's house was ablaze! Smoke was pouring out of the middle, thatched section and flames were licking around the chimney.

The Urquharts, John and Jean were a retired couple. John had been an engineer and they had spend most of their lives overseas as ex-pats while John worked on different, high-profile civil engineering projects. They had come to live in the area about five years ago. We knew them to talk to, but we didn't know them well.

I started to run across the field of emerging oil seed rape but soon realised I couldn't press the buttons on the mobile phone at the same time. Also the mud was beginning to build up on my boots causing them to bear more than a passing resemblance to divers' boots. Hurriedly I rang Debs and told her what the situation was and asked to ring the fire service. Thank goodness it wasn't one of their days on strike, although, had it been, I am sure the Army and a Green Goddess would have offered sterling service. As I ran towards the house the first fire engine screamed out of the village, sirens going, lights flashing, and I realised that they must have known about the fire before Debs rang them.

Apart from the Urquharts, and the fire service, I was the first on the scene. The Urquharts, as could be expected, were distraught but they had managed to get a few small prized possessions out of the house and onto the lawn before the firemen had stopped them going back into the house. Biddy, their black Labrador, was totally bemused by the sudden activity and was rushing around trying to make friends with the firemen. Jean flung her arms around me in floods of tears. She needed comfort and I happen to be there.

By now huge volumes of smoke were billowing upwards and every so often a new section of thatch would burst into flames. A couple of firemen had a ladder up against the roof and were pulling the thatch down onto the rose beds with long rakes while others were directing water onto the remaining thatch and the peg tile roof. Jean composed herself and sought further comfort from John. I put a piece of blue baling string around Biddy's neck to act as a lead and we all stood and watched the burning thatch. It can't be denied, it was a spectacular sight.

I remember watching Skynews.Com at work on September 11, 2001 and seeing smoke pouring out of the World Trade Towers against a clear, blue and sunny, New York sky. Although obviously not of the same magnitude, I was now standing, just as helplessly, watching Acorn House burn against a similar clear, blue and sunny sky, albeit a Suffolk, rather than New York, sky.

Fire is almost hypnotic. It sends you into a trance. I stood there mesmerised, totally unable to take my eyes off the leaping flames.

The next thing I knew was when an arm was put around my waist and I turned to see Debs standing next to me. She said nothing. What could she say? There was nothing to say. Words were inadequate.

By now there were six fire engines and as many ancillary vehicles; fire officers, police, press and television, all blocking the lane. The fire engines had hoses running along and across the road so the Police had closed the road to the village, which in itself was causing a fairly major traffic problem. A number of locals had rushed out of the village to see if they could help but there was nothing anyone could do. The firemen were doing the best they could but even now one could see that it was a lost cause. The fire was getting away from them. Although no one officially said I am sure they changed their strategy from one of putting out the fire and saving Acorn House to one of letting the fire burn itself out but ensuring that the neighbouring houses didn't also catch light.

Debs walked over to Jean, put her arm around her and said: "I'm so sorry. Whatever we can do to help." I followed and quietly said: "We will look after Biddy for a while." Jean acknowledge the words but made no comment. She was overcome with grief. With that the three of us, Debs, me, and Biddy, walked along the road and back up the drive to the house.

The sudden turn of events had taken the edge of the day. It was sobering to think how perfect it had started and how it had turned so terrible in a matter of hours.

P.S.

John and Jean are still living in temporary accommodation and Biddy has taken to sleeping in Lad's old bed.

© Copyright Guy Massey, March 2003