The Frontline of the War on Terror
Hearing last weekend that Glasgow Airport had been a terror target was bad enough. I didn’t think that things could get any more scary. And then they did. It was reported on the news that the terrorists had been holed up only a few streets away from my very house. Not to diminish the sentiments of my previous post on the subject, but after that things took on a rather surreal edge.
No sooner had my village and county of residence been horrendously mispronounced on News 24 than R. called me in somewhat of a panic.
“Have you been evacuated?” she started, and then
“Is there a bomb in your house? I always thought that your neighbours were a bit strange. It’s them isn’t it? “
I tentatively peered out of the window, but seeing no policemen, vans, sniffer dogs or crime scene tape felt that it was safe to assume that the terrorists had not made my street their base. I advised R. of this and she rang off not sounding entirely convinced.
Of course the terrorists in their “wisdom” had decided to make another small street in my village their base. In a way it does make sense. We are extremely close to Glasgow Airport and so quiet that the last thing you would expect here would be a terrorist cell. They had obviously done their homework on us which is, in itself, pretty terrifying.
Of course it was the talk of the village and everyone laughed. It was the sort of dark, tension filled humour that is used at times of great stress just to stay on the recommended side of sanity. The only people not present were those who lived in the same street as the terrorists as they were not allowed to leave their homes. Mind you I did hear of someone nipping out a back way and shimmying under police tape to get away for an appointment.
Later on, out of sheer nosiness I took myself along to the street in question. There didn’t appear to be any fear in the air, only a strange sort of exhilarating excitement amongst those watching the scene. Reporters and cameramen sat at the end of the street in an expectant manner, with police crime scene tape indicating demarcation zones. Policemen went in and out of houses but didn’t give anything away. A Glasgow Cabbie bringing Japanese reporters told anyone who cared to listen about how he knew the real story. Of course being a Glasgow Cabbie he knew so much more about the incident than the police or the intelligence agencies. (Or maybe he actually did!) Most of the village also turned out and waited in the same expectant manner until about lunchtime when hunger pangs drove all but the most hardy (and those who had brought their picnics for an interesting day out) away. I noticed a couple of the local girls hanging about. No doubt to attract the attention of one of the hunky policemen on duty.
I returned home to a strange tranquillity. I cooked bolognaise sauce as next door’s cat lazily dozed in the front garden and birds gossiped in the trees. It was difficult to imagine that terror had been so close at hand.
No sooner had my village and county of residence been horrendously mispronounced on News 24 than R. called me in somewhat of a panic.
“Have you been evacuated?” she started, and then
“Is there a bomb in your house? I always thought that your neighbours were a bit strange. It’s them isn’t it? “
I tentatively peered out of the window, but seeing no policemen, vans, sniffer dogs or crime scene tape felt that it was safe to assume that the terrorists had not made my street their base. I advised R. of this and she rang off not sounding entirely convinced.
Of course the terrorists in their “wisdom” had decided to make another small street in my village their base. In a way it does make sense. We are extremely close to Glasgow Airport and so quiet that the last thing you would expect here would be a terrorist cell. They had obviously done their homework on us which is, in itself, pretty terrifying.
Of course it was the talk of the village and everyone laughed. It was the sort of dark, tension filled humour that is used at times of great stress just to stay on the recommended side of sanity. The only people not present were those who lived in the same street as the terrorists as they were not allowed to leave their homes. Mind you I did hear of someone nipping out a back way and shimmying under police tape to get away for an appointment.
Later on, out of sheer nosiness I took myself along to the street in question. There didn’t appear to be any fear in the air, only a strange sort of exhilarating excitement amongst those watching the scene. Reporters and cameramen sat at the end of the street in an expectant manner, with police crime scene tape indicating demarcation zones. Policemen went in and out of houses but didn’t give anything away. A Glasgow Cabbie bringing Japanese reporters told anyone who cared to listen about how he knew the real story. Of course being a Glasgow Cabbie he knew so much more about the incident than the police or the intelligence agencies. (Or maybe he actually did!) Most of the village also turned out and waited in the same expectant manner until about lunchtime when hunger pangs drove all but the most hardy (and those who had brought their picnics for an interesting day out) away. I noticed a couple of the local girls hanging about. No doubt to attract the attention of one of the hunky policemen on duty.
I returned home to a strange tranquillity. I cooked bolognaise sauce as next door’s cat lazily dozed in the front garden and birds gossiped in the trees. It was difficult to imagine that terror had been so close at hand.
16 comments:
They had to stay somewhere - your area seemed as good as any. But I can understand it feeling a bit surreal.
To be honest, where I stay really was the perfect location when you think about it - but, yes, definitely most surreal. I hope it's not a spot that is chosen again for any kind of terrorism. Maybe they only use the same area once for their cells. I do hope so.
Good to have you back up and running, blogwise and otherwise, Gwen. And pleased to hear that cabbies are cabbies the world over. "I had that Osama Bin Laden in the back of the cab once..."
Thanks ISBW. Obviously your "Osama bin Laden" cabbie and my "Terrorism Expert" cabbie should meet up. Should be interesting.
Sorry Gwen, you've been away that long I've forgotten who you are....
(just kidding)
Does sound like you had a surreal couple of days round your way. It just goes to show ..they could be anywhere. There's a shifty looking cow in the field opposite my house. I'm off to do a bit of undercover survellience, just in case.
Be careful of those gossiping birds Gwen, we have pigeons nearby and I swear I overheard one of them mention a coup.
Or maybe they were talking about the occupant of Valentine's nearby field.
WHAT??? Oh alright, I'll get my coat.
Is it a dovecote Gari ?
Just a tip - don't buy in lots of fertiliser for the garden, and go easy on bulk buying the bleach. Have been there myself - terrorists ran money laundering service a few doors up. Keep up the black humour - it's the best way of getting through.
Hi Valentine. I'm the one keeping a careful eye and ear on the birds that Gari was talking about. Apparently it's the owls we should be watching out for. They're a bit fly by night.
Thanks for the tip Omega Mum. I think I will start my own surveillance operation. I'll head off down to Asda and accost anyone buying any fertiliser and bleach in bulk, pounce on them and hand them in to the intelligence services. I might even get a reward (or a severe reprimand from the garden centre manager I inadvertently mistake for a terrorist).
And that's the basis for your first novel Gwen. That's the intro, then take it from there...
What an excellent idea Five Centres. I might just do that.
it's like amazing how people can live in a small, village, unnoticed & then suddenly POW, they're trying to blow people up. as you say, your village; surreal.
I'm glad that people were able to laugh about it. Typical Scottish humour!
It certainly is Muddy Boots. AS long as they don't make a habit of it.
I know Katie. I am as proud of our humour as I am of being Scottish.
I was intrigued that the terror cell chose a small village (yours) when it would be so much easier to be undetectable in the city. Drama in a small village is always good - but this was perhaps a little bit too much...?? And there is probably nothing more depressing than finally becoming famous as a place on the map only to have people mispronounce it!!!
Best Wishes
Kirsty
ps maybe MI5 should employ Glasgow cabbies for surviellance? they'd be pure dead brilliant so they would!
Thanks for your comment Kirsty. I just hope that there is no repeat of this. I suppose they thought that there would be no suspicions in a small village and to an extent they were right.
I think that Glasgow Cabbies would be an excellent choice for surveillance. I bet that they would also think that such an idea was Pure Dead Brilliant.
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