by Sonia Farrell

My deep sleep was interrupted by the sound of a bang.  I sprang to my feet confused and dazed.  The smell of the house was thick and dusty -something that is hard to describe.

Aware that all was not well, I rushed to my daughter’s bedroom and for some strange reason I pulled her curtains back.  That was when panic set in. I could see bright angry flames soaring wildly, out of control.  I went in to shock and adrenaline took over instantly.  The noise of shattering glass made my body react.

I tried as hard as I could to lift up my daughter, Tonie, but she felt so heavy and was not budging.  The panicking feelings not letting up for a minute.  I really believed that at any moment the house was going to explode.  My children were going to die if I could not find the strength to deal with what was happening.  I tried pulling Tonie by the legs to the bottom of her bed, pleading with her to wake up, as she was still fast asleep.  I knew that I still needed to get my other little girl, Abigail, from the next room.  Finally Tonie seemed to wake a little so I ran into Abigail’s room and scooped her up out of her bed, while screaming to Tonie to meet us on the landing so we could make our way down the stairs.

Fighting with the door keys I finally flung the door open.  I was carrying two frightened girls clinging on to me for dear life.  In a state of shock we finally staggered halfway down the path.  Unable to believe we were at last in the fresh air, my children were in my arms and I was running putting all the effort I had in to powering my legs like I was in a marathon yet I was moving very little.

At this point my neighbours came and seemed to take over getting the three of us to safety.  The girls needed calming down but I knew they would be fine.

Outside the avenue was full of neighbours all confused, shouting and running about.  Then I realised what was happening.  It was not my house on fire.  It was my next-door neighbour’s house and, to make matters worse, Mrs Ferris was trapped in the upstairs bedroom.  Thick black smoke billowed out from the back of the house.  All alone in a burning house my frail old friend stood helpless at the window her waving arm becoming slower and slower.

I recall a friend giving her advice, shouting up to her while another neighbour lay on the floor showing her what to do. He was trying to get her to get her to lie below the fumes and smoke.  I will never forget that quick-thinking boy’s actions.  He was only thirteen, but was the only one of us to think May Ferris was deaf.  All the shouting and pleading in the world was of no use to her because she could not hear us.  We all started to follow the young boy’s actions, whilst other people were busy pulling their husbands back from attempting to tackle the fire themselves.

We all choked back tears as the vast amount of smoke seemed to smother May and she kept disappearing from view leaving the hysterical sounds of the whole avenue in turmoil.  We soon heard the sounds of the fire engines in the distance and before we knew it the avenue was awash with firemen and ambulance crews.  No sooner had they arrived than they were in the house.

We all stood holding each other, gripping tightly to the person next to us, not taking in whom it was standing there, but clinging anyway.  They carried her out and the sounds fell silent. For the next few minutes the only sound was the scuffle and fuss of the firemen and paramedics.  She was alive and the whole of the avenue took a deep breath at the same time.

Nobody could take in that night’s events.  May was safe and well after being rushed to hospital.  She was getting all the care she needed.

My girls slept at friends’ houses and whilst they were fast asleep we talked about the dreadful night.  Only then did we realise the loud bang that had woke me in the first place was the same young boy who had thought about Mrs Ferris being deaf.  He spotted the fire and tried to raise the alarm by banging on my door before ringing the fire brigade.