Peggy

I was attracted by the object because it brought me back to the one we used to have in the classroom at primary school. That would have been in the 1970s. I can’t be sure if all classes had one or just the CM2 class (year 6). I also can’t be sure if a teacher actually ever used one in front of us but I have a feeling that they did. If they did, it would have been for practice of course. 

 

I seem to recall the sound it made, starting slowly with a low rumbling whine, gradually rising to a higher and louder pitch, until you would have to cover your ears and were overwhelmed by a feeling of dread. The siren was definitely a warning and as an innocent child, I didn’t really know about what we were supposed to be warned about. I probably thought it was the leftovers of World War II, with all its horrors still fresh in the minds of grown ups. They must have felt it was still needed. And so I suppose I grew up thinking war was always a possibility.

 

When I was a little older, I found what the siren was actually for. I learnt that out there in the world were weapons so powerful, so absolute, that they could destroy whole cities and kill, maim and melt all populations. I also learnt that we even had enough to eradicate the whole of humankind. It turns out, humankind is finding other ways to destroy itself…

 

I used to lie awake at night as a teen knowing that if a nuclear missile came for us, there was nothing we could do. Sometimes I would hear planes getting louder and wonder why they were getting so close. Were they really planes?

 

One day my children will find out about this too. It will be another little part of their innocence taken away. And I will have no explanation to give them as to why humans do this.

 

Weirdly, the siren also brings me happy thoughts. Growing up and up until I left home and after, every 1st Wednesday of the month, at 11:00am, the siren that lived in the town hall would sound. It would start slowly, growing to a long, loud, insistent moan. I associated it with going home from secondary school at lunchtime to eat crunchy baguette and read Spirou, a weekly French comic magazine. 

 

I was sad when I found out as an adult, at my mother’s home when visiting on the 1st Wednesday of the month, that the siren had been put away. If only all nuclear weapons could be spirited away too.