Sunday 15th of October was arguably the darkest day of the year here in Central Portugal, and in literal terms the brightest evening.
I awoke, fed the Gremlin, caffeinated the Swine, and thought how to spent my time. I decided on one of my jogs/uphill walks where i did see an entire family, perusing upon a balcony. They stared with an air of concern to the horizon, then turning to me with similar decree. I thought ‘bloody hell, alright! Its almost a jog, no need for the judgement’. Their eyes returned to their original vantage point, i followed suit where a trickle of smoke was shooting into the blue sky.
Using the smoke as a decent excuse, i cut the already Primary School Sportsday length jog to a shorter circuit. H & I went to investigate via a trip to town, it was the only time that i’ve felt H’s driving wasn’t the largest threat to my life. The shooting trickle had turned to a smouldering smear across the skyline. Panic, we retreated once more to, in the words of Ed Sheeran ‘our castle on the hill’, Casa Valentine. Armed with wine hoping to be fine, we watched as the fires spread from one side of the hills right across our panoramic view. The Bombeiros (the fire fighters) were out in full force, sirens and flashing lights bombarded every road in sight. In the event of forest fires the Bombeiros bring out planes armed with a sack of water which is then dropped onto the fire. We witnessed a troop of low-flying planes attempting to diminish the flames, although this was the time of Hurricane Ophelia, the winds proved too strong.
The fire, to my geographical understanding, had endangered Gerry’s village (not the actual name of the village). We’d text him earlier in the day, and had yet to hear back so we gave him a call. On the third or forth attempt he answered.
‘Gerry, you’re alive!’
“well barely Kid, i can’t see a foot in front of me and its really bloody hard to breathe’
After further panicked investigation, it came to be he wasn’t at home in the village of Gerry, not the actual name, but the good noble northern sod, had seen the fire coming and gone to warn his friends, who live deeper into the forest. When he arrived the fire was already there, he was surrounded, pinned in and terribly shouty on the phone. We offered our place as safe haven if an opportunity arose to get free. He responded.
‘nout chance of that, the Bombeiros have just fucked off. Right Kid you listen to me, you dampen your place down this bastard could be with you in an hour. You think I’m exaggerating think again, its jumping with the wind, fifty square mile must be in flames, if i wasn’t seeing it i wouldn’t believe it. Right, dampened your land’
He hung up. Me and H considered our options. A – Pack a bag and drive further up hill. B – dampened the land with whatever water we have, which was basically the cesspit water and whatever the taps gave us or C – jump into the cesspit. We decided to semi-commit to option B. H got her kneepads on and bucketed cesspit water out and soaked the edges of our land in vain as it was 30 degrees, which meant the dampened lands dried before an hour past. The winds picked up to biblical status, the trees swayed. I thought i’d have to film it. I did, in fact i probably spent a bit too long filming the trees, H wasn’t that impressed. The question ‘why did i pick a filmmaker?’ may have crossed her mind, and to make things worse and concrete that thought, while i was filming trees and H was on her knees the winds had locked us out of the Casa. In vain we shouted for the Gremlin cat to open the door or jump over with the keys, she did neither.
I ambled across the roof with all of the grace of Fathers for Justice and let her in. As the sun set the fires still roared, the forests bright and blazing. This day was truly awful, 300 fires scorched the land, claiming many homes, businesses and 40 lives. The devastation was clear from our balcony, the lush hills we see now resembled mount Mordor. We sat watching in a strange frame of mind, both regretful but thankful with the Portuguese radio blaring out. A DJ, who I can only imagine is Portugal’s answer to Alan Partridge chuckled as he introduced ‘ED SHER NAN – I SEE FIRE’. Unbelievable choice really, followed by Robbie Williams – I’m loving Angels instead.
The Smiths – Panic may have been more suitable as it boasts the lyrics, “Hang the DJ, Hang the Dj, Hang the Dj”.
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