Please be patient.
I've been investigating – perhaps a little too scrupulously – the 'Broughton Whirr'.
You may or may not realise that this neck of the woods – like Bristol – experiences its own peculiar and disturbing noise once a week, or that discovering its origin has been a challenge that has taken over my Sunday mornings and those of my unfortunate nearest and dearest for the past seven months.
In the beginning was the Whirr
For me, it all started two years ago when it was mentioned in the Spurtle that an unidentified flying siren sounded early in the neighbourhood, each and every Sunday morning (Issue 234).
I didn’t think much about it at the time, but over the next year I too began to hear the noise and became curious.
I couldn’t shake it. It was always there. Every Sunday. And each time I heard it, I wanted to find out what it was.
I should state from the start that the noise doesn’t bother or annoy me here in Bellevue. This isn’t a complaint and I’m not setting out to silence it. I was just curious about where it came from and why.
I should also state that whilst to me it sounds like a whirr, to others it sounds like a whoop, or a hurrl or an oowee.
From the very outset, what struck me as odd about the noise was its regularity.
It occurred every Sunday, roughly between 8.30 and 9.15am. It didn’t continue for the full 45 minutes, but happened at random intervals and could be heard from Bellevue.
It was too consistent to be a rubbish lorry or a delivery truck. It didn’t sound like a fire alarm test, and I later realised that it couldn’t have been from building works because it had been going on for much too long.
At first I thought it would be easy to track down. I had my suspicions, and I expected that a couple of weekends walking around the block would quickly identify the source.
I was wrong.
Broughton is particularly busy on Sunday mornings, and when you’re out and about it’s difficult to tune your ears to a particular sound.
On the first few weekends I stalked my suspects – Drummond Community High School, the Lothian Bus Depot and the Mansfield Traquair Centre – there was no activity that could possibly explain the noise. I moved on to Batleys on McDonald Place, a couple of nearby car-hire places and several churches – all to no avail.
Two weekends later, I positioned myself at the bottom of London Street and waited for the Whirr. When it sounded, I tracked it up Broughton Street, but when I reached the top, everything went quiet.
The further up Broughton Street I’d got, the louder the Whirr had been, which meant I was definitely getting closer. But it also meant that there was a hugely greater number of possible city-centre origins to check out.
Seven days later, I lay in wait outside the Portrait Gallery on Queen Street and didn’t hear a thing until 9am. Then, when the Whirr manifested, it seemed to be coming more from Princes Street. But when I tracked it through St Andrew Square, the noise began bouncing bafflingly off the buildings.
It could have been coming from any direction. I was flummoxed.
The trouble with tracking down the Whirr was that I could only look into it once a week, and it was getting more and more frustrating not knowing what it was or where it was coming from.
I took some consolation from reasoning that at least I was making progress – I had to be because now each time I searched the Whirr was getting louder.
And then, next, I noticed with a thrill that the Whirr was preceded – just before sounding – by a recorded female voice on a tannoy.
By now, I’d become convinced that the origin of all this was Waverly Station. At the next opportunity, I positioned myself mid-concourse and waited for the big reveal.
No siren sounded. I waited 15 minutes. Not a sausage.
Returning home disappointed, I suddenly heard the Whirr again – Princes Street’s din must have been drowning it out earlier – but before I could make further progress it had stopped.
I am not a sad and sorry specimen. I couldn’t spend every Sunday morning tracing this mystery. Unfortunately. A couple of weekends passed without progress.
When I returned to the quest, I still had no idea where to look. I now thought it could be coming from the bus station, the Royal Bank of Scotland, a passing Sunday morning tram, Register House, or perhaps even the St James Centre.
Over several more Sundays I crossed the above places off the list without ever being entirely convinced that it wasn’t one of them after all. Weeks and weeks and weeks had now passed, and I just couldn’t crack it.
Finally, in July just past, I made a recording of the Whirr whilst walking along Multrees Walk.
There was a burst from the siren at 8.25am and then the voice said something like: 'An emergency situation has arisen. Please leave the building at the nearest available exit.'
Experience the full, extraordinary thrill by clicking on the YouTube link below. (Sound kicks in straightaway, images follow a few seconds later.)
Whirrll, who’d have thought it?
I am now – tentatively – absolutely, cautiously certain that the Whirr emanates from Harvey Nichols … without a shadow of a doubt.
Since that last visit, I haven’t heard it again. Perhaps it’s stopped. Perhaps they’ve turned it down. Perhaps I was hallucinating all along.
You’re probably thinking: Why doesn’t he just pick up the phone and ask them?
You’re right. I could probably nail all this down now and never worry about it again as long as I live.
And where would be the fun in that?
[With thanks to Becky and Sophia, who endured many a cold Sunday morning in search of solutions.]
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@theSpurtle In our household we call it The Woops, eg, "Oh there you go, that's the woops started, we'd better get up and put the kettle on"
Broughton Spurtle @theSpurtle
Glad to hear you've heard it, too. Was afraid @TheLHTD had many spiders between ears.
Claire Miller @clairehimiller
@theSpurtle Happy to be able to verify their existence, though it's possible @TheLHTD does have an aural infestation, unrelated to the woops
@theSpurtle @TheLHTD The woops started up RIGHT NOW! [10:05, Monday] What have you done? Have you angered them? Is a hellmouth opening in @MultreesWalk?@clairehimiller @MultreesWalk don't tell @theSpurtle , they might make me investigate it.
Fergus Smith
Fergus Smith @oldscotbooks@clairehimiller @TheLHTD @theSpurtle @MultreesWalk The clue's in the name - Harvey Nick's = St Nick's ...
Hannah Marshall Sounds like the emergency alarm from the Omni Centre - they must use the same system as Harvey Nics.
@theSpurtle is this timed to coincide with the end of #thearchers ?
@theSpurtle there is a similarly creepy alarm test if you visit Waverley at around 9am on Sunday, rather than 8
This is why I love The Spurtle!
Pulitzer Prize worthy levels of investigative journalism. They'll make a film about this one day.
The LHTD @TheLHTD
@_d_O_S_s_ a wooden spoon to play @theSpurtle?
Matt Damon: as strong but silent Mansfield Traquair. Scarlett Johanssen: the siren. Harvey Keitel: Harvey Nichols @_d_O_S_s_ @TheLHTD