There was a massive thunderstorm

early this morning. My bedroom was lit more brightly than it is now. We lost power for a brief moment. I had to reset the clocks but there does not seem to be any damage anywhere on our property. 

Other people may not have been so lucky. The Country Fire Service time line has a very long list of incidents like "tree down" and "grass fire". The "bushfire" season is upon us and things could get serious very quickly, especially if people do not remain vigilant. We didn't get much rain with that lot of thunder and lightning.

I was reminded though of the storms we experienced when I was a mere kitten.  We were living in a very remote location - not quite as remote as possible but still very remote. 

The country around us was dry. I remember our first sight of the tiny "township" - barely a hamlet in British terms. My mother's comment was, "Well, there are trees here."

What she meant was that there were a couple of gums in the school yard - bigger trees than the low, sparse, scrubby bushland that stretched for miles on either side of the dirt road that had led to our destination. The place was at the border between the dry wheat belt and the even drier sheep country. The land around us was almost flat apart from occasional rocky outcrops. There the "paddocks"  (fields) can be big enough to build a village on. Some of the farmers grew some wheat but the country was dry. 

For the three years before we went there the drought had been severe. Despite that there were thunderstorms. They were known as "dry thunderstorms". There would be no rain with them. The sky would darken. There would be thunder cracks so loud we kittens would put our paws over our ears and cower in our beds at night. During the day we would sit in the classroom at school and the Senior Cat would endeavour to go on teaching us knowing full well that the senior most boys might need to go rushing off at any time to help fight a fire. 

The fires were caused by lightning strikes of course. There was no fire alarm as such but word would go out over the rural party-line telephone network. If the boys were needed the school phone (in our classroom) would ring. The three most senior boys would go - and the rest of us would wait, hoping that there was enough water wherever they were going. Those boys were only thirteen. They were repeating the last year of the primary school, waiting to be old enough to leave school for good.

It wouldn't happen now. The school leaving has risen  twice since them. Even without that they would not be allowed to help. Back then it was the only way to do something. There was no aerial fire fighting equipment available and the "fire trucks" were ordinary farm vehicles. The men and boys would simply go out and do the best they could.

We were much more aware of the dangers of lightning there than people tend to be in the city.  Resetting the clocks this morning was irritating but of no importance.