Holy smokes!

Din­ner was a dis­as­ter, un­til my son saved the day...

Chat - - Contents - Ali­son Mccready, 38, Glas­gow

Stir­ring pots and pans on the hob this 28 Jan­uary, I felt some­one be­hind me.

‘Smells good, Mum!’ my son Jonathan, then 12, said, hun­grily.

He was sup­posed to be help­ing me to make pasta but, in­stead, he just wanted to taste ev­ery­thing.

He hov­ered about when I turned on the oven to cook some chicken to go with it.

‘Haven’t you got some home­work to do?’ I teased. ‘I’m hun­gry!’ he cried. As I laughed, with my back turned from the cooker, a hor­ri­ble smell sud­denly filled my nos­trils. Smoke! Turn­ing back to the hob, I thought some water from the pasta must’ve bub­bled on to one of the rings.

Ex­cept, I gasped at the sight of my cooker.

In­stead of its usual stain­less steel fin­ish, it was bright-or­ange. The back of the cooker was smok­ing. I had no idea what had caused it, but it had started when the oven was turned on... Quick as a flash, Jonathan darted from the room. I as­sumed he was fright­ened. My fi­ance Don­ald, 37, was out at work and I was home alone with Jonathan and his sis­ter Lily, 6. Try­ing to keep a calm head, I tried to de­cide what would be the best thing to do. But, with ev­ery sec­ond that passed, the smoke was get­ting thicker and thicker. Pan­ick­ing, I flung open the back door. I knew that you shouldn’t throw water on to an elec­tric cooker, so I hoped that the cold air from out­side might help to cool things down. The breeze just made the smoke worse and spread it across the room. ‘Oh, no!’ I shrieked, flap­ping about in a panic. Then, sud­denly, I heard a loud bang and ev­ery­thing went dark. The cooker had tripped the electrics. ‘Mum, where are you?’ I heard Jonathan shout. ‘Lily’s with me!’ His poor sis­ter was sob­bing with fear. ‘Don’t worry, Mummy has it un­der con­trol,’ I shouted back. Truth was, I ac­tu­ally didn’t have a clue what I was do­ing! It sounds silly, but it just didn’t oc­cur to me to phone the fire brigade.

I was pan­ick­ing so much, I couldn’t keep a clear head.

With smoke fill­ing the room, I darted to the cir­cuit breaker un­der the stairs.

I hoped that, by get­ting the lights back on, I could see what I was do­ing and sort ev­ery­thing out.

Then, through the dark­ness, I heard a voice.

Jonathan was on the phone to the Fire Ser­vices.

‘Come quick!’ he told them. I felt so stupid. Call­ing them should have been my first thought.

But I’d worked my­self into such a state, it was as if the smoke had fraz­zled my brain.

I ush­ered the kids out­side and we stood there, wait­ing for the Fire Ser­vices to ar­rive.

Brave Jonathan had given them our ad­dress and had calmed Lily down.

Thank­fully, the fire­fight­ers ar­rived quickly and they man­aged to con­tain the fire in­side the cooker in the kitchen.

The floor was scorched and the cooker’s wires had melted – but the main thing was that we’d all es­caped un­harmed. ‘You were so brave!’ I told Jonathan, smoth­er­ing him in kisses.

‘It was noth­ing,’ he shrugged, ex­plain­ing his Scout’s train­ing had helped him to act quickly.

I tried to call Don­ald’s mo­bile but there was no an­swer, so Jonathan looked on­line and found Don­ald’s work num­ber, as I could barely con­cen­trate. Whan my brave boy told Don­ald what’d hap­pened, he couldn’t be­lieve it.

He was so relieved that we’d made it out alive.

In June this year, Jonathan re­ceived a spe­cial brav­ery award.

The Scot­tish Fire and Rescue Ser­vice had been so im­pressed with his ac­tions.

But I have to say that no­body is more proud than I am.

To think, my 12-year-old boy knew ex­actly what to do in an emer­gency!

I don’t know what I would’ve done with­out him.

He’s my very own lit­tle hero.

Flap­ping about, I didn’t have a clue what I was do­ing

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