Circa 1960, when I was 12 years old, Canada installed a string of 1700 early warning nuclear attack sirens. They had a distinctive baleful sound that could not be confused with any other siren. The sirens had a dry run test one day while we were in school. The idea was we had at most 20 minutes to get home and die with our parents. I lived 4 km (2.49 miles) away. I asked what was the point where I died: at school, at home or somewhere in between. I got an irritated scowl, but no answer in response. One morning, about a year later, the sirens went off. We turned on the radio for news. It was dead. Cold war tensions were high at the time. I figured this was it. I made my bed, and went out to sit on a giant granite outcropping in the front yard. From there I could see the entire harbour and the entire city of Vancouver and its environs. I waited for the bombers to come. I was disgusted with my fellow man for creating weapons with such an idiotic purpose as killing us all. I waited and waited. Nothing happened. It turned out the radio not working had a perfectly ordinary explanation, and we were told the sirens had gone off because the damp (It rained half the year in West Van) had short circuited them. Ever since, I have been a strong anti-nuclear advocate.
~ Roedy (born: 1948-02-04 age: 64)