FIRE

FIRE

The air was acrid with the heavy, dank smell of smoke.  The still-smouldering brush, undergrowth, and scorched ground trailed wisps of smoke into the air. Several firefighters were still trying to dampen down the embers.

Twenty-four hours earlier, my older brother, Daley, and I had walked our dog across the cliffs towards the beach.  We had a backpack to collect Corona pop bottles we might find, which we would take to the shop for a three-pence refund on each return. At the head of the cliffs, we saw the first signs of smoke. There was a fire on the other side of the valley. The dry undergrowth was alight, and the light wind was a draught to encourage its spread. Further away, we could see figures on the adjoining golf course pointing to the fire. 

That was the start, and it escalated quickly. What was a threat was quickly becoming a menacing reality.  Within what felt like minutes, it swept across the valley. It started moving across the tops of the cliffs, where the clusters of gorse, bracken, and bramble bushes, separated by linked paths, provided ready fuel for the shifting flames flowing as a connected stream.  

It was relentless, its intensity growing with each moment. We watched, transfixed, as the fire's fury intensified with each gust of wind as if a malicious and malignant spirit had seized control.

We turned and headed home. As we approached the path that ran alongside a gated field, we saw a group of wild ponies that had caught the smell. They knew the danger but didn’t know where to escape and were agitated.

The wind had changed direction, and the air was now filled with smoke, making it difficult to breathe and see clearly. The horses' fear was palpable, their eyes wide with panic.

‘We need to try to help the horses,’ Daley declared, his voice steady despite the chaos.  ‘I'll go over there,’ he pointed ahead, ‘And if you stay here, we can walk towards them and move them away from the smoke.’

Once in position, we moved slowly toward the horses, making encouraging noises to calm them and spreading our arms to turn them around.  This worked well until a horse and her foal broke ranks and headed towards us. Daley moved quickly to block them. I heard the horse legs pounding over the hard ground, which, a moment later, was followed by a brutal slump and then an eerie silence.

At the police station, the policemen asked me, ‘Why didn’t you report the fire and leave it to the experts?’

‘We wanted to help the horses. They were scared by the fire.’

My father, alongside me, interjected, ‘I think we should stop there. He’s a ten-year-old boy. He’s had enough for today.’

The policeman nodded in agreement. ‘OK, Mr Jones, we can pick this up tomorrow.’

Twenty-five years later, I was in our local pub with some friends and family to celebrate my birthday. We had finished our meal and broken into smaller groups, chattering away on the latest news worth sharing.  I stood by myself, looking into a blazing fire, when my father came and stood alongside me, looking silently into the flames.

‘Happy birthday, son.’

‘Thanks, Dad. Daley would be 37 this year.’

My father nodded. ‘I know. There’s not a day that goes by without my thinking about him. I know it’s the same for you.’

I looked into his eyes, saw the sadness that had entered them, and never left:  ‘I do, Dad. I remember everything so well.’

‘That day broke our family, son. Daley died, and shortly after, your mum left us.’

‘It’s hard for a family to go through such a loss,’ I said, ‘It must be especially hard for a mother to lose her child.’

‘Yes,’ he nodded, ‘that they never found Daley’s body just added more pain to it all.’

‘The horses had run into Daley, and he fell off the cliff,’ I added, ‘The outgoing tide took his body away. Mum never seemed able to accept that.’ 

My father looked at me, aware I was explaining something he’d often heard: ‘ I know, I know.’ He placed his hand on my shoulder and gave me a pained smile, ‘That’s quite enough raking over painful coals. Let’s celebrate your birthday. Another pint? How do you think the Swans will get on this Saturday?’

When I got home that night, my mind was still going over that fire and the horses we had been trying to help. What if the fire brigade had got there sooner? What if we hadn’t tried to help the horses?  What if we hadn’t gone for a walk but done something else that day instead?

I knew that I experienced guilt and, for a long time, felt that my mother and father held me somehow to blame. I had counselling which tried, unsuccessfully, to rationalise that it couldn’t be my fault.

When my mother left us, my father and I grew closer and spent a lot of time together. His love helped me more than anything else, and as I grew older, I could put the events into a clearer perspective.  We helped each other. The pain was never altogether lifted, but life went on.

I still had self-doubts, which would arise, particularly at birthday and Christmas celebrations, when families would come together. More than anything else, I missed Daley. He was my older brother and had always looked after me. We’d had fun, and I’d always looked forward to spending time with him on our adventures. I missed the years without him and not having him here right now.

The following day, I got up early and drove to the coast. I walked along the steps Daley and I had taken twenty-five years earlier.   I walked to the spot where we had tried to help the horses and then to the cliff edge.   Down below, the hard rocks were being pounded and washed over by waves driven by wind and tide.

I turned away and walked to the head of the valley, where we had first seen the fire on that fateful morning.  As the sun rose, I sat on a rock, looking over the valley towards the sea.

I heard movement behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw two horses, about fifteen feet away, looking at me. I stood up carefully so as not to disturb them. They seemed young and appeared unperturbed by my presence, their brown eyes looking into me. 

We looked at each other briefly, and they gently picked their way along the path. When they were alongside, they turned their heads towards me, and I was able to run my hand over the flank of the nearest as I watched them walk away.