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.
