The house shook. A noise like thunder rumbled, growing louder. The dogs rose up, barking.
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Was it an earthquake?
“They’ve started work on the road again,” mumbled the Moth, his head beneath the blankets.
‘They’ are the workmen engaged in laying new water pipes along our street. This involves digging up both verges and road, a process that has made getting in and out of our narrow access lane exciting at times.
The first indication that major work was in the offing was the depositing of a large number of pipes more or less opposite our home. They stayed there for some weeks, with no sign of further activity.
Then, when I walked down to the letter box one morning I found half a dozen workmen in flouro vests eating sandwiches beneath our honey myrtle tree.
We exchanged pleasantries, and I thought no more of it. They were possibly patching up holes in the road, I thought, an activity as never-ending as painting the harbour bridge.
Little did I know that I would see those faces on a daily basis for the next few weeks, so much so that the Stop/Go men and I were pretty much on a first name footing.
There was always one posted at the bottom of our lane, to prevent any cars emerging suddenly midfield to cause chaos when the large machinery got going.
I took to walking down to the letterbox before I drove down, to ascertain whether popping up to the shops or driving the dogs down to the river was going to be possible.
If a front-end loader was parked across the entrance, matters did not look hopeful.
Whoever was on duty was always very affable and helpful; but their idea and mine of being able to get out were a little different.
On one occasion I was directed to drive up the left hand side of a huge double-machine that was in the process of tamping down lime onto the road surface.
At least, I think that was what it was doing. I couldn’t see much because of the lime and dust being generated. The driver knew I was there, because he had been told I was creeping past on his near side via radio.
The dogs looked with apprehension at the huge wheels as we inched cautiously by; Zahli is protective of the car, and usually barks at people and vehicles that come too close, but even she was silenced by the enormity of it all.
On subsequent trips, an escort driver was supplied, and we tailed him and whoever else wanted to go up and down the street in and out. I felt a bit more confident in the lee of a milk tanker, and consoled myself that my neighbours faced the same dilemmas; stay at home or brave the roadworks.
The Moth is still trying to clean the lime I accumulated on that day from the car and garage.
We did our best not to make unnecessary trips; on a day that the Moth and I were both going out, we went out in convoy, so that we only interfered with the work once.
The dogs became used to the rumble of machinery in the street and the calls of workmen to each other, ceasing to bark at each eruption.
Thistle, who had at first shot inside at the sounds of work starting for the day, and stayed firmly hidden under a bed, took to sitting in the front window, watching the graders and front end loaders driving up and down, much as one might watch a tennis match.
As time went by, the Stop/Go men mostly waved me on, knowing I was only going a little way; sometimes they did this from a seated position, up on the bank, where they could see all comers. I didn’t resent them giving their legs a rest.
When you think about it, the work of a Stop/Go man requires a pair of strong legs, resilience to heat, rain and whatever else the weather does; good people and communication skills and a sharp eye and quick reaction as to potential mishaps.
Without them, we would either be prisoners in our homes for the duration; or have to forego the advantages that improved water systems and roads bring.
Well done, guys.