Seven years ago, in 2018, I found myself facing evacuation from a small Portuguese town called Mortágua, just north of Coimbra, as wildfires ripped through nearby forestry and scrubland.

To begin with, the day started off fairly normally. Whilst there were numerous reports of wildfires burning to the south of Mortágua, there was little evidence of anything particularly alarming coming our way. Keeping abreast of the situation was relatively easy, thanks to the internet and the likes of Google Maps. Most of the fires were burning to the south of the settlement, so I’d planned a number of potential escape routes should the need arise.

Luckily, I paid heed to the advice of the Portuguese authorities who’d advised people to pack emergency baggage in case evacuation became necessary. My accommodation was actually surrounded by a combination of dry scrubland, ancient olive trees and some tinder dry vegetation. So, I did feel a bit vulnerable. Because of this, my bags were duly packed and safely stored in my car boot, alongside a supply of drinking water and some other essential kit.

In all honesty, all the dogs I saw seemed pretty sane to me, as they lazily plonked themselves down, panting and dribbling in the sun-dappled shade of the nearest olive tree. Quite frankly, there were precious few Englishmen to challenge local norms and any that did happen to be present were far more likely to join in the great mid-afternoon chill-out. This is Portugal; integrating into the ways of the local populace isn’t mandated by anything more than the absolute realisation that it simply makes sense.

Dusk finally arrived and the gin clear blue skies were gradually replaced by stunning pink and orange hues, as the blazing sun sank further below the horizon. Kids emerge, budding Ronaldos playing skilled football in the cool evening air as twilight is gradually replaced by electric street lighting and the metronomic chirp of crickets.

Outside seating at the cafes gradually fills with local families chatting and laughing as they catch up on the day’s events. But one topic trumps all. The wildfires. There’s talk that the fires are heading our way.

Then, all of a sudden, there it was. An orange hue lit up the sky, turning local hillsides into dark silhouettes dotted with lights from people’s homes. My estimation was that the fires were still several miles away, but the GNR weren’t quite so convinced of that. Both the GNR and the local Bombeiros estimated that the flames could be lapping around the fringes of the village within two or three hours, so their recommendation was that we all stayed put and didn’t venture anywhere that wasn’t absolutely necessary. They even shut some of the roads leading out of the village.

With blue lights flashing and sirens going off all around us, as well as groups of local people standing and chatting nervously outside their homes, I was now feeling quite unnerved. I decided to drive my car to a nearby vantage point, just outside the village, so I could judge things for myself. I was shocked by the sight of advancing walls of fire moving rapidly towards me. The fires probably looked a whole lot worse in the darkness but they weren’t small flames. Once they got the fuel they needed, the flames flared into 15-foot-tall arks of raging fire. This was suddenly getting very real indeed.

Mindful of the tragic events that had very sadly unfolded at nearby Pedrógão Grande only a year or so previously (2017), I no longer felt like leaving my fate in the hands of strangers. With mixed messages coming from GNR and other personnel, who were all clearly shaken by unfolding events, it was time to get my scrawny butt out of there - pronto!

All my possessions were already in the car, so all I needed to do was head out of town as quickly as I possibly could. By now, the sky was glowing bright orange as the flames drew ever closer.

But alas, and to my complete horror, the GNR had closed all routes in or out of the village. With smoke blowing in like fog in the air - this was getting extremely scary.

Then, as if by some kind of strange magic, the wind dropped and completely changed direction. The billowing smoke cleared and the intensity of the flames that had been raging all around us for hours died right down. The nervous bustle of people on the streets and the barking of dogs ceased, as the usual tranquillity of the village gradually seeped back onto the ancient cobbled streets. Only the crickets could once again be heard as people finally retreated back into the comfort of their homes.

In the dark distance, I could still see blue flashing lights as the bombeiros continued to dampen down the embers deep in the nearby forests. But this time, disaster had been averted. Graças a Deus.