Almanac Life: Fire Drill at the National Library – an orderly shambles

 

 

 

Monday morning found me sitting in the foyer of the National Library, Canberra. Eight pre-ordered reference books await my perusal when the Reading Room opens.

 

There are renovations taking place nearby so several men in high viz tops are banging and clattering, unusually unaccompanied by any doof doof music from portable sound equipment.

 

A number of other visitors await; lanyard bearing staff saunter through in varying degrees of haste and chipperness.

 

All of  a sudden the “Whoop, Whoop” of an alarm sounds for all of 10 seconds. Followed by a somewhat garbled loud, tinny voice from the tannoy, “Mumble, mumble, screech, mumble FIRE DRILL, mumble, mumble, screech”.

 

Nothing much happens for a some moments. Then, lanyard people begin to arrive in the foyer from the bowels of the building. Several are now wearing high viz tops. One or two have donned a hard hat. There is a general movement out through the exit albeit with a distinct lack of urgency.

 

Two of the workmen, one each end of a long metal tube, also join the movement. The purpose of the tube is unclear.

 

Querulous looks from the visitor couple waiting nearby.

 

“What’s going on?

 

“I think we’re in for some excitement”.

 

Eventually the three of us and one or two other visitors join the assembling throng out on the forecourt where a big bloke in high viz and hard hat and carrying a megaphone has seemingly appeared from nowhere.

 

Eventually, people start moving down the steps to the roadway in front of the imposing building.

 

Good idea. “Perhaps visitors could move down over to the left”, suggests the big bloke, declining the use of the megaphone.

 

There is a general gathering of bods on the roadway.

 

Chatting in small groups.

“Didn’t stop to get a coffee, then?”

 

More people appear along the footpath on the southern side, presumably from the rear of the building. Some high viz, no haste.

A woman in a vivid red hard hat and carrying a sign with the letters LG arrives. Several staff congregate around her. There do not appear to be any other signs.

 

Twenty minute later.

 

People continue to saunter from the building and three or four still remain seated on benches up on the forecourt adjacent to the Library entrance.

 

Mr Megaphone wanders busily along the footpath.

 

The general hubbub among the assembled throng increases as sirens are heard in the distance. False alarm as an ambulance speeds past on the nearby main road.

 

A yell of “You missed the turn off, mate” comes from some wag.

 

The chatting and general Monday morning mulling-over continues.

 

Eventually, all of a sudden, people begin to surge back towards the building.

 

No all-clear ‘whoop whoop’ sounding although Mr Megaphone is mouthing something indecipherable through his device at a volume fit for a library. There has been no visual evidence of accounting for numbers or identities of who was outside. And no interaction with visitors.

 

The whole laissez faire exercise a distinct contrast from fire drills I have experienced in secondary schools over the years.

 

Hopefully, Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 is stored off-site.

 

 

More from Peter Crossing Here.

 

 

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