Chaos Street

By Charlotte Fillery, aged 9

The fire started slowly. Someone saw a light at the back of the house in the kitchen and thought it was a burglar. The house had been empty for months so no one had snuck downstairs to make that late night cup of tea. And so the fire brigade was called and that was when my dad woke up.

My dad sleeps in his pants so that was a shock to begin with. He also made a noise like an angry gorilla because the sirens had scared him. He literally jumped out of bed. “Fire! Fire! Fire!” he shouted which woke my mum up who swore.

The street was filling up quickly. I looked out of the window. Number 15 was ablaze. The fire licked the front door frame with its orange tongue. And the windows glowed like angry eyes.

The two elderly sisters Grace and Edna who lived next door to the burning house were in the street now in nighties and curlers and Mr Pearson from number 12 had run out in his night shirt, socks and slippers. It was like Christmas with all the house lights going on in the dark night. Grace was clutching a bottle of something. “Sherry, probably” said my mum who unlike my dad was getting dressed before she went outside. My dad was outside already running backwards and forwards up and down the street, talking to people. Telling the fireman what they probably already knew.

It’s funny when you see what people wear to bed. Practical Pete from number 30 obviously went to bed prepared because he fled from his house in his green army trousers with a woolly hat to protect his bald head from the cold. But he then realised he had forgotten his key and could not get back in. My dad shouted up at my bedroom window “Tell your mother to stick the kettle on for the firemen”. But I was too busy watching them unravel their long hoses and the sudden powerful jets of water.

Everyone had realised the firemen were too busy for tea at the moment and so just stood still watching. They puffed air like dragons and those pools of smoke were clear in the damp night. Whoosh whoosh went the water up and down and in and out of the house. The front door had gone now and two of the windows had broken. Mr Pearson had found two glasses for Grace’s sherry and the two old sisters sat on the kerb huddled together. My dad put his car blanket over them. I hoped the fire would not eat their house too.

I looked at my street differently from that night on. I had seen inside the lives of the people who lived there. I knew what Mr Pearson wore to bed. I knew Practical Pete was not practical. After they had put out the fire, the firemen had to break his front door down for him to get back into his house.