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What Happens If...?
By BACH BABY
01 April 2007
Welcome again, to the paternally patronising portable portfolio of knowledge that is What Happens If . Have you ever been woken up in the morning by a noise that sounds like an elephant trumpeting that’s been slowed right down? If you live next to an RAF airbase, like me, then you probably have. Unfortunately, not many people have the pleasure of sharing a wall with a military installation, so for the benefit of the residents of St. Andrews, I decided to find out What Happens If... You Set Off an Air Raid Siren In a Town Small City .
Background
It is a well known fact that there are two kinds of people in St. Andrews: students, and old biddies. Being one of the former, I decided to do the typical student thing and piss off the latter. This is referred to locally as “Town* and Gown** relations”. As this was going to be disruptive and slightly illegal, a crack team of operational geniii † would have to be assembled.
Hypothesis
My hypothesis was that the siren would be heard from one end of St. Andrews to the other (it’s only a few miles wide). Oh, and that we’d have to run like bloody hell.
Apparatus
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1 crack team of geniii
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1 air raid siren
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1 outdoor electrical socket
Method
An air raid siren was acquired. This was much easier than it sounds, thanks to the resourcefulness of my frequent partner in crime, Tom Moffat, who pilfered it from a closing down factory. Little was known about the device, but after much experimentation it was determined that the siren should be run directly from the mains (ie. 240V AC, for all who understand). It was decided that we would do a test run to wake up the rest of the hall at 2am, but with a finger on the off switch just in case. With bated breath and firmly lodged earplugs, the switch was thrown. What happened next was almost indescribable. Imagine the worst fire alarm you have ever heard and times it by about twenty. This was far, far worse. The ascending wail emanating from the siren made me wish I didn’t have ears, and literally half a second after switching it on we pulled the plug. Staggering a bit while trying to shake the deafness out of our ears, one thing was certain: this was going to be fun .
Assembled in the dead of night, in contact via walkie-talkie, Tom and I awaited the signal. Two members of our team were positioned at strategic locations to warn us of police, and the siren was plugged into a ball machine socket outside the tennis courts. Once the all clear was issued I nodded at Tom, who flicked the switch. Immediately, the cacophony started, and after a few seconds, the switch was pressed and the sound came down again. More power was applied and the sound came up a second time, followed by its respective descent. Three, four, and five more times we raised and lowered the terrible sound, when suddenly we got word of two men running towards our position. Quickly unplugging the cable, Tom picked up the siren (which was still making noise), and we ran. I noticed Tom stumble as he rounded a corner, and decided that this must be due to gyroscopic force acting on the still spinning siren as he turned it. Once we were a safe distance away, we packed the siren into a backpack and started walking nonchalantly back to the tennis court to meet our comrades. No more people followed us and we considered it a job well done.
Results
For confirmation of range, we phoned a few friends from different parts of town. It was established that the siren was heard more or less right to the edge of the city.
Conclusion
In conclusion, my hypothesis was correct; it was heard all over St. Andrews and a lot of running was indeed required.
Join me again next month for more gloriously gargantuan goings on, as I attempt to find out if it’s possible to build an elephant out of lego.
*Though it’s really a city.
*The University of St. Andrews has a bright red gown which is sort of a uniform, though entirely optional. They look pretty cool, though they were originally mandatory and designed to keep students from mischief ; you could get into trouble if you didn’t wear it, and they would recognise you easily in pubs and brothels.
†Geniii (n. pronounced: jee-nee-eye ): Plural of genius.