‘News about Fracking’ by Mairi Small
“Welcome to Reporting Scotland. Controversial plans for hydraulic fracturing, or fracking,-”
What?
“-have been finalised. The site will be in North Poltyre-”
That’s where I live!
“-just south of the Highlands. The construction is due to start in two months -”
Why haven’t I heard about this?
“-and will be run by the new company, ‘Fuel-Frack’”
I turn off the T.V., my head buzzing more than the glitching pixels on the screen. Fracking? In North Poltyre? But… I’m in North Poltyre. Right now. Don’t they have to ask for planning permission from the neighbours? Shouldn’t I at least have been told? Evidently not. But they can’t just do this… actually, now that I think about it, I had heard rumours, but I hadn’t taken them seriously. I always thought that fracking was just a phase and would stay in America. Again, evidently not. Struggling to keep down my rage, I force myself to think sensibly. Running outside and swearing at the top of my voice is not a good idea. Phoning the council is.
I pick up the phone and dial the number.
“The line you called is unavailable. Please leave a message after the beep!”
Ah! Stupid machines.
“Eh, hello. I live beside Doogan’s field, and I just heard on the news about the fracking and I was wondering why I hadn’t heard about it… and, if there was anything we could do about it, please let me know… thanks.”
Two days later
As soon as I return home from work, I dash for the phone to check my messages. There wasn’t anything yesterday, but today… yes! Ok, time to hear what it says.
Dear Sir/Madam. We received a call from this phone number about the hydraulic fracturing plans. Unfortunately, we ourselves had no knowledge of these events until the day before it was on the news, and didn’t have enough time to alert the citizens of this council. We cannot do anything about it as a contract has been signed. We apologise sincerely for any inconveniences this may cause. Thank you.
For a moment, I am stunned. Then my faculties return from their brief holiday and I start processing the information. They signed a contract but didn’t have time to tell us? What complete and utter nonsense. Looks like it’s time to take matters into my own hands.
One week later
“Listen up!” I bellow, trying to get the crowd’s attention. “We’re here right now because we all hate fracking. And fracking is going to take place right here, where we live. Are we going to stand for it?”
“NO!” the crowd shouts back.
“Exactly! So what are we going to do about it?”
I’m suddenly bombarded by suggestions, ranging from petitions to throwing eggs at the houses of parliament. I think that the former would be good.
“Alright! We’ll start off with a petition. One at a time- I said one at a time!- we’ll sign this sheet.”
After about five minutes, everyone has put their name down. The fact that we’re doing something sends a sense of hope through us all, but there’s still doubt lurking in the back of my mind. Will it work?
The next day
In short, it didn’t.
We’d managed to get some more signatures, including the MPs, but it was still rejected by Frack-Fuel. They said that “all objections had been overruled by the contract” and that they’re “sorry for any inconveniences”. It’s always inconveniences. But do they get any of the blight? No. They just get money, and lots of it.
So, we’re back to square one. The protesters and I are unsure of what to do. We’ve been thinking of a march, but the company isn’t actually coming here for another month or so. Until then we’ll keep phoning and pestering.
34 days later
They’re here, and we’re ready for them. Nervously, I put on my hoody that bears the message “Frack Off”, before making my way to the proposed site. It’s a lovely little orchard with a huge expanse of meadow behind it. I remember it well from my childhood. In spring, there were sun yellow daffodils all over the place, and the new lambs gallivanted about. Summer was peak season for strawberries and there was an abundance of butterflies. In autumn the trees were being weighed down with the apples and the bushes were covered in blackberries. And nothing beats sledging down a snow coated hill in winter.
All of this is to be destroyed.
Or not. We have a plan. Radical, yes, and with a possibility of getting into trouble with the law, but a plan none theless. It could work. I gather my band of protesters round for a final speech.
“This is it. The big day. I don’t want anyone to panic, or fluster, or do whatever else that might foil our scheme. This has to work, because if it doesn’t, that field, that glorious painting of nature, will be transformed into a horrid mutation of pollution and chaos. My friends, we can’t let that happen. It is our duty to protect the planet, because it’s the only one we’ve got. We all know the drill, so I can only say: good luck.”
I finish just in the nick of time. An impossible number of huge trucks chug down the road. Some are open topped and we can see their contents; giant poles, machines and goodness knows what else. Suddenly, a mingle of determination, hatred and hope rises up inside me and I run to the biggest tree, right in the middle of the orchard. I take the heavy chains out of my rucksack and fumble about with keys for a minute until I have successfully bound myself to the tree. Several others have done the same and the rest are marching down the road with their picket signs.
And now, the trucks are here. They grind to a halt with an unpleasant screech. Two people in white coats get out the vehicles and confront the leading marchers. I can’t hear, but I see one brandish their arm towards me. Sure enough, one of the two comes over. He looks exasperated and I can tell this isn’t the first time he’s had to deal with sort of thing.
“Would you mind moving, please?” he asks
“No, sorry. We are having a peaceful protest.” I reply in as polite a voice as I can muster.
“Look, I know you don’t like this but-” the man is cut off as his walkie-talkie starts buzzing. He turns his back to me but I hear him say “Just tree-huggers. They’ll be gone soon.”
I purposefully clear my throat and he spins back round. “Ok,” he says, clearly getting annoyed. “We will stay here overnight. You have twelve hours to get everyone out of here. If you don’t, we’ll get the police. They know what to do with you lot. So, please, make this easy for yourselves and scram.”
He gives me a determined nod as if to say “so there!” before making his way back to the trucks. The other protesters look to me uncertainly. Stay or leave? I know what I’ll do… they can throw me in jail or exile me forever but I’ll stick to what I think is right.
“Welcome to Reporting Scotland. The plans for hydraulic fracturing, or fracking, in North Poltyre, have been cancelled. A band of protesters…”
