First appliance:

Sub Officer Julian Crichton, Officer-in-Charge of station

Fireman Tony Parkes (driver)

Fireman Sean Riley (breathing apparatus wearer)

Fireman Tommy Harrison (breathing apparatus wearer)

Fireman Bob Lennon (fifth crewman)

Second appliance:

Leading Fireman Tom Armitage, (officer-in-charge)

Fireman Dave Lannard (driver)

Fireman Harry Thomson (breathing apparatus wearer)

Fireman Mark White (breathing apparatus wearer)

The prey: a tramp, fast asleep on a bench in a little city centre park, motionless under an ancient raincoat.

The predator: P.C. Colin Lewis, quietly pacing along the park paths.

When the constable spotted this intruder on his beat, he was annoyed.  The cheek of the man!  It was only eight o’clock, dark by now on this October evening, but still a bit early for bed.  In his own opinion, P.C. Lewis should be catching drug dealers, perverts and the other nefarious types who make our parks risky places at night.   There were, unfortunately for Sleeping Beauty on the bench over there, none of these rogues around to occupy the constable’s attention, and his Sergeant would be a little piqued, to say the least, if the park became a place for the homeless to doss down.  So the constable advanced towards his quarry.   Inoffensive piece of human flotsam you may be, but you’re not staying here!

Out came the constable’s torch and he shone it in the face of the sleeping man.  Nothing happened.   He shook his shoulder.  Still no response.  He began to speak sternly, voice getting louder, the shoulder-shaking getting more violent.   The thing was, this particular tramp had
spent the previous night in a hostel, emerged to a bright new day and found a fiver on the floor.   This was quickly converted to a couple of big bottles of cider.   After a breakfast at the hostel, his only consumption through the day was the cider.  He had stumbled into the park and collapsed on a bench, only force of habit causing him to pull his old raincoat across himself before he dropped into a dreamless sleep.  It was no wonder he was out for the count when the policeman came across him.

The tramp suddenly jerked his head up and lurched into a sitting position.   Head hanging, he spent a little while trying to make himself aware of his surroundings.    “Off you go now, let’s be having you, get a move on, away you go!”  The gentleman of the road started to realise there was an officer of the law close by.   He lurched to his feet.  “What’s your name?”  “Arnold Westcott” he muttered.  “Off you go then,” and Arnold stumbled off to the nearest park gate, leaving the constable to his night shift.

Struggling to balance on unsteady feet, Arnold had no vestige of dignity as he walked along.  The last thing PC Lewis observed about him as he left the area was that his clothing was in tatters.  He reflected on the unfortunate condition some of his fellow human beings can end up in: Arnold’s trousers were in such a bad state that as his right leg moved forward, the trouser leg stayed where it was; and as his left leg moved forward, the right trouser leg caught up.   The regular appearance and disappearance of his right leg gave a flapping rhythm to his walk, but certainly no dignity.

Random chance took Arnold towards the city centre.  Still dazed, he paid little attention to where he was going.   He went a good two miles.  Nobody took any particular notice as he passed by.  At the bottom of the long, upward slope of Williams Road it struck Arnold that there was a hostel up there.  Food and some much-needed rest would be available.  His first coherent thoughts for several hours caused him to turn his trouser-flapping steps towards the hostel.   He was incredibly tired.  The nuns who ran the place would surely help him.   Although he still had no decorum whatsoever, he was now walking with some little purpose.

It was stand-down time at Williams Road Fire Station.  With no routine duties to perform, the watch could entertain themselves as they pleased, as long as they stayed on the station.   At the moment they were all in the recreation room.  Four of the lads had formed themselves into their regular card school, two were playing table tennis and two were sitting in the easy chairs at the side, barracking the tennis players.

Sub-Officer Julian Crighton stood by the window, watching life go by.   “I may not possess any formal qualifications,“ he would tell anyone who cared to listen, “but always remember that I have a degree in the University of Life.”  He was a bit above medium height and stockily built, but you would not have said he was a big man.  It was his loud voice and vibrant personality that had earned him the nickname “Big Jules”.   He could give anyone a ferocious telling-off, and it didn’t particularly matter if the recipient outranked him.  He could also devastate people with a quick-witted response, like the time Jack Edwards, a Divisional Officer had screamed at Jules, right into his face to “Get some f____  water on the fire!” when he thought the Williams Road lads were taking too long to lay the hoses while fighting a fire in a timber stack.   Jules paused, looked at the D. O. and without a flicker of expression pinched his cheek and said “Who’s a cheeky boy then?”  The D. O. was utterly lost for any response, the lads were laughing their heads off and Big Jules had regained his own self-respect.

The Firemen of Red Watch didn’t laugh so much when they were on the receiving end, but the respected their noisy boss because if he did get annoyed with them it was generally asked for.    He stood between Red Watch and the rest of the world, nobody bothered the lads because Jules ran a good tight ship and the men thought the world of him, even to the extent of his endlessly repeated jokes.

Only that evening, he had said something he trotted out every autumn.   The cook copped for it.  “Japanese pilot weather Madge!”   Madge looked blank but said nothing.   He slipped into his Oliver Hardy impression, “There’s a nip in the air!”  She said something like “Aargh” and carried on preparing the evening meal.    Madge wasn’t very humorous.  She didn’t laugh at the joke and that didn’t bother Big Jules in the slightest.   He did get her giggling once.  It was the morning shift and she was standing in for the day cook.  She had prepared tea and toast for the watch and they were good and ready for a little refreshment.   Jules came in, having been delayed by a phone call from HQ, to find all the toast had gone.  “What the…” he started to say, when Sean Riley had the temerity to suggest the “Sub” could well afford to lose a little weight.  “Just remember son,” he fired back, “When you’ve been on the job for an hour, I’ve had 59 minutes sleep!”  Sean laughed but had no answer, while Madge suddenly laughed out loud.   Jules looked affronted and she got a right old fit of the giggles that lasted the rest of the morning.

Jules worked part time for an undertaker, along with a few of the lads off the watch.   Four of them carried the coffin down the aisle of the church, with Big Jules the one at front, doing his John Wayne walk, which was what you might call a mincing gait.   Harry Thomson was the man behind him, watching this little cameo performance as he struggled to maintain the solemnity of the occasion.  He was the only person in the place who was aware of what Jules was doing.   They got to the front and laid the coffin on the ready-prepared trestles, ready for the service; and Jules made a tiny little “Eek” noise as he lowered the coffin.  The priest heard it and gave him a funny look.  Jules’ expression, as always, didn’t flicker.  He made a solemn bow towards altar and walked respectfully slowly to the side exit.   The other bearers were reaching their limits by now and they followed quickly, before someone burst out laughing.

So this was the extrovert man who stood watching the world go by from the rec. room window.  And what he observed was Arnold walking along, right leg emerging as he walked, left leg and right trouser leg following on the alternate step.    “Look at the state of this fella!” said Jules.  He had a sense of justice, considered himself a good socialist and was keen to help his fellow man where he could.  He slid the window up and shouted to Arnold to come round to the back of the station to be fitted with new trousers.   Arnold saw the sense of this suggestion and turned off as directed.

The fire-fighter and the vagabond met by the bins.  “Try these on.” Jules handed over an old pair of trousers.  Acceptable fit.  “Here’s a coat, try it for size.”  This was an old raincoat and that too was a good replacement for the ancient tattered relic that Arnold was wearing.  Arnold took his remaining part bottle of cider from a pocket and popped it into a pocket of his new raincoat.   And the best touch from Arnold’s point of view was a pair of shoes in excellent condition that fit a treat.   Jules got him to chuck his old things in the bin.  The two men got on well, Arnold explaining that he was off to the Nuns’ place down the road.    Standing there, as sartorially elegant as he was ever likely to be, Arnold couldn’t find the way to express his thanks.  His world was not one of handshakes and pretty speeches.  Jules’ the humanist realised there was a bit of a communication problem here and said “OK mate, off you go.  Good to see you’re a bit better protected”.  And Arnold marched off, looking remarkably like a fireman going off duty.

Back in the station the guys teased their boss.   “He’s got a Rolls-Royce just round the corner” and “There’ll be 50 more wanting to be kitted out tomorrow night.”  Jules wasn’t responding.  He was quite pensive.  “You know, he wasn’t really much different to me.   Doesn’t speak that well though.  Don’t suppose he spends much time in conversation, with his way of life.   There but for fortune “ he concluded pompously, “go you or I”.

Arnold went another 30 yards along Williams Road to the St. Bernadette’s Men’s Hostel.  Fireman Bob Lennon, red-haired, slim and mischievous, broke off his table tennis match with Tony Parkes to watch Arnold as he walked towards the hostel.   The gentleman of the road stopped by the gatepost.   Bob saw him reach into his new raincoat and pull out a cider bottle, which, after glancing up and down the road, he reached behind the garden wall and hid, well out of sight of passers-by; this because the nuns did not permit alcohol on the premises.     Arnold was not out of the sight of Fireman Bob Lennon though.    He went up to the front door, rang the bell and Bob saw him enter the hostel.

Two minutes later, Bob Lennon was by the gatepost, it was Bob who furtively checked up and down the road; and it was Bob’s turn to lean over the garden wall, this time removing the cider bottle from its hiding place.    He thought what fun it would be to watch the owner’s reaction to the loss of his bottle next morning – he would give it back of course.

Fireman are allowed to sleep through the wee small hours, so five of them settled down to take what sleep they could, whilst the card school, not unusually for them, played on.

An elderly nun admitted Arnold and immediately berated him for turning up so late.   The nuns weren’t there to be sympathetic to their guests; the hostel was run as a hard-headed business, not a smilingly charitable institution.  Nevertheless, Arnold got a good feed, something he was now in desperate need of, and then was shown to a room that to most of us would be Spartan but to Arnold was positively luxurious in comparison to the places he normally ended up in.

From a pocket of his newly-acquired trousers, Arnold drew out something the good sisters didn’t realise he had – cigarettes and matches.   Smoking in the bedrooms was not permitted.   Arnold stripped down to his vest, lay back in the unfamiliar comfort of the bed and lit himself a cigarette.  Not a bad day, he mused, all things considered.  Someone gave him some money, that fireman had sorted him out some better clothing, places like this hostel were there when he was desperate for food or the weather was awful.    He drew the smoke deep into his lungs, feeling totally relaxed for once.    Yes, not everyone was like the coppers.   His thoughts drifted pleasantly on.

The fire station dormitory was pitch dark and everyone kept it that way.  The first thing that happened if a fire call came in was that the lights went on and the firemen were always on a hair trigger if this happened.   So turning the dormitory lights on was a big issue.   On they went now, though, to be followed after a couple of seconds by the alarm call, loud warblers.   (Before the lights went on, there was a faint click of a contact coming together and some of the guys responded to this, jumping into action before some of the others realised what was going on.)

They had 45 seconds to get the address, mount the fire engines and move off the station and they normally managed it.   As a fireman, you get to the incident quicker if you start off nearer to it.  This call was to the St. Bernadette’s Men’s Hostel on Williams Road, not very far away at all.   Problem is, you can’t get your fire-fighting gear on quick enough before you arrive and have an urgent situation to deal with.   This time they had a real scramble to get ready.   Two nuns, wearing their black habits but currently bare-headed, and half a dozen rather sad looking men stood by the front door: one of the nuns said that someone was trapped.   A message “Persons Reported” was sent to Brigade Control.    Things became even more urgent, more frenetic and for firemen who were asleep five minutes ago it was adrenalin that fuelled their early actions and their training that kept the priorities in focus.

Sub-Officer Julian Crighton was at his best at moments like this.  “Two B. A. men!  Quick as you can!” he shouted.  The Sister told him that the fire was on the first floor in a bedroom that was smoke-logged and that the occupant was still in there.   The bulky shape of Tommy Harrison and the slimmer shape of Sean Riley came forward, fire kit and breathing apparatus all sorted out and ready to go.   As they got their masks on and switched on their air supplies, Tony Parkes pulled out the hose-reel for them to take with them.   Although rescue is the priority, it may be necessary to control the fire to make a rescue possible: plus which, in complex buildings when smoke makes the escape route less than obvious the hose reel shows a sure way back to the entrance.   It’s amazing how easy it is to become disorientated when visibility is lost.  Getting over-heated  can stop you thinking straight to compound the loss of sense of direction.  No arguments in this situation about the breathing apparatus team taking the hose-reel in with them.

Tommy and Sean dragged the hose-reel through the door.   Jules pushed up right behind them.   Jules could smell smoke, which they could not through the breathing sets.   Up the stairs they went with Jules and now Bob Lennon assisting to drag the hose-reel through.  “First room on the right!” yelled Jules.  “Got it!” came Tommy’s muffled response.   They held the spray nozzle up like gun-fighters expecting a shoot-out and pushed the door open.  Smoke billowed out, Jules and Bob being forced to keep low.  “Get in there!  Find this missing bloke!” yelled Big Jules.   The B. A. men disappeared from view into the thick smoke in the bedroom.   Jules crawled in behind them.  “Have you found him?  Get him found and bring him out!”  The muffled responses had the effect of saying he didn’t seem to be on the bed.      Jules crawled forward, to see a pair of scaly feet, then bloodshot shins, bony knees and as he looked up, lean thighs.  Look further up he saw a little more than he wished to see.   (The watch heard all about this in graphic detail later.)   A plaintive voice said “Can I have my trousers back please?”   This was a room full of smoke thick enough to keep an old smoke-eater like Jules down on the floor, yet Arnold, in his semi-stupor, was more concerned to cover himself up than to get out of the smoke.      “Get on the landing, come on out of here.  This smoke’s not good for anyone.  You’ll die in there.“   And Arnold staggered into the thinner smoke on the landing.

The B. A. team opened the window to ventilate the smoke away.   They doused the smouldering mattress and then picked it up and bodily chucked it out of the window.   Anyone down below should have been paying attention as far as they were concerned.   The smoke now cleared really quickly and Arnold’s trousers were recovered.  Bob Lennon brought them out of the bedroom and pointed out Jules’ service numbered marked inside the waistband.  “Well what’ve you been up to?” asked Jules.

Arnold shame-facedly pulled his pants on and stumbled down the stairs, with Bob Lennon making sure he kept his balance.

Tom Armitage had his crew get another hose-reel onto the mattress.   They gave it a good wetting, but Jules insisted the mattress was pulled apart to make sure the nuns wouldn’t try to use it again.   He was at an incident many years earlier where a householder took fire-damaged cushions back in the house: the fire broke out again and two children died.   No way was he going to risk anything like that happening again.

Arnold met Sister Alice, who ran the hostel, at the front door.   “What happened?” she asked, in a voice that suggested a volcano was ready to erupt.   He meekly requested that he be allowed to sit down.   He was exhausted.   The effects of a monumental hangover, terrible tiredness and breathing thick smoke were taking their toll on Arnold.  He fainted.   Bob Lennon got the resuscitator in double-quick time, and gave Arnold oxygen to help him recover.   His heartbeat and respiration were ok and he was beginning to wake up again.   That earlier message “Persons Reported” had caused Control to send for an ambulance, which had arrived, so now Arnold could be handed over to the medics.  The ambulance-men took him off for a check-up.

D. O. Edwards arrived to survey the scene.   He complimented Jules on the great job the B. A. team had done.   Casualty rescued and apparently in improving condition, not a spot of water in the room.    “That’s good fire-fighting, well done you Williams Road lads”.    ‘Blimey’ thought Jules ‘Make the most of it.   He’ll be kicking backsides soon enough when something’s up!’

Tom Armitage came up to show Jules and the D. O.  a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches that had fallen out of the fire-damaged blankets on the garden.   Sister Alice appeared on the scene and stared so angrily at the cigarettes and matches that Jules thought she would set them on fire again.

“No harm done eh?” he suggested breezily.   “No harm done?   No harm done!? Is that what you call it when the hostel’s evacuated and we’re nearly killed because some drunken idiot decides he’ll smoke in bed?  No, I’d say there’s a lot of harm done.”

“You know,” said Jules “I really like you when you’re angry.”  Sister Alice was speechless.  This was because either: (i) she was really getting mad now and everyone had better look out; or (ii) because she quite liked the compliment but was trying to think of a suitable reposte.  Before she could form any sort of answer, Jules said, ”Any chance of a cuppa for these lads?  They’ve worked really hard to put the fire out.  And it’s ok to let everybody back in now.”   “Well, I suppose they have worked hard.   Sister Agnes, would you be so kind?”  and Sister Agnes went to prepare the refreshments.

The night’s visitors returned to their temporary beds in the St. Bernadette’s Hostel, the nuns restored order to the building, D. O. Edwards left the scene before Jules started on him and the crews from Williams Road tidied up the fire scene as best they could.  The discolouration of Arnold’s bedroom walls was a problem they could not deal with – the room probably needed redecorating – but they checked carefully for any fire-damaged materials, swept the floors and generally left the room looking fairly presentable.   Most of the fire damage was to the mattress, which was outside, and the bedroom had suffered mainly smoke damage apart from this.

Arnold came back in.  He had recovered sufficiently by now to work up a refusal to go to hospital, despite the alternative being a face-to-face with Sister Alice.  And indeed she went for him. “You stupid, stupid man!  What do you think you were doing?” She ranted at him as she grabbed an ear and pulled him up the stairs to look at the damage he had done.   She finally steered him towards another spare room and sent him off to bed for the second time that night, although this time she checked he had no more matches or cigarettes before she let him turn in.

The men of Red Watch, Williams Road settled down to a much-needed cuppa.  It was beginning to get light by now and Jules remarked that he was so tired that when he got home he would “kick the dog, make love to the wife and get some much-needed sleep”.   Sister Alice glowered ineffectively, the other nuns giggled and Jules enjoyed his cup of tea.

All tidied up, they went back to the station.

At 8.45 White Watch were beginning to turn up for the day shift, which started at 9 o’clock.  Bob Lennon was in the watch-room, talking to two of the lads who had just come in and looking out over Williams Road towards the St. Bernadette’s Men’s Hostel.    They saw a man come out and begin to act very strangely.   He looked around furtively, before reaching into the bushes.  He failed to connect with his prize and leaned over the wall further, searching in vain for his part bottle of cider.   He started hopping about on the pavement like a manic Red Indian medicine  man.  It was Arnold and he was literally hopping mad, having gone to retrieve his bottle, only to find it was no longer there.   He leaned right over the wall, head and shoulders disappearing into the bushes, legs kicking up into the air: with, all unbeknown to him, a bunch of firemen laughing at his antics.

Bob produced the cider bottle, explaining to his colleagues that the object of the man’s search had been here in the watch-room all night.   Right now, though, Bob was thinking it might not be a good idea to return the bottle while its owner was so irate.  Arnold gave the garden wall a final kick and set off up the road.

White Watch took over at 9 o’clock, and Red Watch went off duty.  At least they were off until 6 p.m. when the next night shift started.  Bob put his fire-fighting kit away, got changed and left for home on his bike, cider bottle in hand.  300 yards up Williams Road he caught up with Arnold.

“Hello mate! Weren’t you the guy we helped out from the fire last night?”

“Aye lad, that’s me.”

“Are you ok now?  You don’t look too bad.”  And he thought ‘In your new Fire Service issue clothes’.

“Aye I’m ok.”

“I’ve got something that we think belongs to someone who was at the hostel.”

“What?”

“This”.

And Bob held up the cider bottle.  Arnold’s eyes lit up.  “Where’d you get that?”

“Kids were messing about near the Hostel last night and they saw the bottle.  We could see them messing about with it from the station, so we made sure to keep it safe.”

“Well it’s mine.”

“Here you are.   So where are you off now?”

“Somewhere the police don’t bother you. Somewhere they don’t pinch your drink.  Might head for Leeds.”

“OK.  Good luck,” said Bob and he prepared to cycle off home.

“Yeah, sithee.  You fire bobbies ain’t so bad.”   And that was the last Red Watch, Williams Road, saw of Arnold Westcott, gentleman of the road.

By Nicole WintersPublished: April 30, 2012, 5:03 PM

Is there a trick?   Can’t see one.  Don’t get the kids one of these torches!

So there we are, walking round the building being assessed.   The boiler room has a good fire door on it, but there’s no way the wall is fire resisting.  Contractors have bashed out a hole to pass a plastic pipe through.   Fire can pass through the gap.  Fire can burn away the pipe.  We need a thing called an intumescent collar here with a fire-stopping in-fill around the collar where it passes through the wall, all to maintain the fire resistance.

It is rather unusual these days to come across an extinguisher that still complies with old British Standard as opposed to the more modern European standards.   All extinguishers should be red-bodied with a little indicator sign displayed just above to show the type of fire the extinguisher is suitable for.

Storage up against cylinders and close to the electrical intake makes for a severe hazard, particularly to fire-fighters, if a fire occurs.   Get it shifted!

External stairway with a grating to walk on.  Suitable for hgih heels?  Not really.  Staff ahve to be made aware of this hazard so they don’t end up falling because of a shoe heel jammed in the grating.

To repeat – lots of different problems arise during the survey of a building, and the Fire Risk Assessor definitely needs his wits about him.

Hooks on fire doors!  The Fire Officer’s nightmare.   Self-closing fire doors can only be held open by devices designed to release the doors if there is smoke in the vicinity; and only then if smoke detection is installed on either side of the door to trigger the release .    Otherwise they must be removed forthwith.

Lookee here now. I wouldn’t want to trip on this stairway, it looks a long way down.   Isn’t it obvious that a handrail is needed?  Otherwise the means of escape isn’t safe to use.

And here, it’s unwanted mail and newspapers stuffed in around the gas meter right by the front door.  Could it be a problem if the papaer gets ignited?  You can bet your life it would be a problem!  Similarly, rubbish in the meter cupboard needs clearing out to avoid a fire hazard, again in this case in the entrance hall.

You can see that there’s lots to address whilst carrying out the Fire Risk Assessment survey.   You look at the macro – alternative exit routes, provision of a fire alarm, enough extinguishers etc. – and the micro, those insidious causes of ignition or fire spread that can put people at real risk.   There’s a lot to it when you start to think about it, you have to admit.

Liquified petroleum gases behave differently to compressed gases, in that because the contents are a pressurised liquid, the liquid will boil and over-pressurise the cylinder.  The cylinder fails with a violent explosion, but that’s not the end of it.   The gas expands, cools and becomes a liquid, burning because it’s close to a fire.  This burning liquid forms a fire-ball that affects a wide area around the fire.    So storage in a building, among other stored combustibles is definitely not advisable.  Anyone in the building and particularly fire-fighters can be exposed to a high risk if the stored materials are ignited.

Oxygen and other compress gas cylinders are dangerous because of the sheer energy stored.   Acetylene is unpredicatble, and that’s why the Fire Brigade start evacuating the local area if acetylene cylinders are over-heated.   These cylinders have to be kept cool for more than 12 hours before they are adjudged safe to remove.   We will ceretainly comment on the storage or use of any compress gas cylinders in a premises where a Fire Risk Assessment is carried out.

Read about a blaze in a Scottish tenement - fire-fighting in those blocks looks horrendously difficult.  There are other articles of interest that follow.

It might not look too bad now, but why wait until it gets so bad that the litter could be involved in a serious fire?   The litter needs clearing out on a regular basis.

What’s an old fridge/freezer doing in the corridor?   Fire here stops everyone in the building getting out.   Get rid!  Keep the escape routes clear.

What’s this bike doing in the corridor?   I ask you!   Actually, is it a fire hazard?  No.   Is it an obstruction if there’s a fire evacuation?  No.  So it’s all right where it is then.

Unwanted mail can add up to a hazard in the entrance hall of a residential property.   There should be a routine for removal of old mail at regular intervals.

Storage in the cellar of a residential block can pose a hazard to persons on the floors above.   Clearly, if this lot catches alight it will produce a ferocious fire.  And if the ceiling above lacks fire resistance…..

Lath and plaster ceilings are found in many older properties.  As a young fireman, I experienced the plaster coming down on my fire helmet whilst we were fire-fighting.  You quickly learned to keep your knuckles tucked in!   Such ceilings cannot give more than about 10 minutes fire resistance.  We would be looking for 60 minutes in a floor over a basement.   A mitigating feature is to install automatic fire detection right through the building and to remove any storage from the cellar.

On the credit side, timber floor are clearly combustible but they do not tend to collapse unexpectedly.   If a fire were to start in the cellar, smoke would seep through to the room or area above and give plenty of warning of the danger developing below.

What we have to find is a reasonable answer to what is a clear and significant hazard.

I’ve a fire report to write because we went out to a fire earlier.  For any fire where there is damage to property a report is required.  It’s midnight now, so there’s a chance things will remain quiet while I get this done.

Date: 27^th March 1976.    Brigade incident number, Brigade area and the code for Williams Road Station area all carefully entered.  There’s also a box to tick if the fire spread to any other property, which it didn’t, so I don’t.

Address of fire: 27 Rumston Close, Rumston, Welshtown.

Postcode: WE2 7JJ.  (The report lets you put in the OS grid reference if you are out in the sticks and not post-coded.)

Risk Category: C. (Meaning this is your normal built-up area away from town centres, ports, etc.)

Name of Occupier: Mrs. Stella Peacock.

Times:

Estimated time from ignition to discovery: I tick the box that says “immediate”, on the basis that as Mrs. Peacock lit the fire, she was immediately aware of it.

 Estimated time from discovery to first call: I tick the box that says “5 -30 minutes” – it wasn’t Mrs. Peacock that called us.       

First call to Fire Brigade: 1920. 

Arrival of Brigade: 1924.   Now this bit of information is vital.  I wouldn’t wish it on anyone to stand outside a house that’s on fire waiting for the Brigade to turn up.   Those 4 minutes can seem like forever and people sometimes complain that we took too long.   But think of the officer-in-charge arriving at the scene, working out how he and his crew will deal with what is so often a catastrophic situation: beyond all that distraction, he simply must remember to inform Brigade Control of his arrival at the scene.

Being in charge of the first attendance at a fire is incredible: everything that needs doing needs doing urgently, lives can be at stake and you have to fall back on your training: on arrival (i) estimate what assistance may be required and if it’s going to be needed, send for it now, because once the frenetic early rescue and fire-fighting operations start you may find it difficult to make time to send a message; (ii) are all persons accounted for? Rescues are the first priority: (iii) where is the fire? In a smoke-logged building it may not be apparent; (iv) how long is fire-fighting likely to take?   What is on fire and what is needed to tackle the fire?  (v) What can we do to mitigate the damage? (Salvage work, rescuing precious objects, ventilating the smoke away, protecting undamaged areas from fire-fighting water.    It’s a difficult job for all fire-fighters to commence operations quickly and effectively, but everything falls on the guy in charge in the final analysis.   It’s difficult and it’s a wonderful job.   After all, there’s nothing like a good blaze!

Fire under control: 1945.  When the fire is under control, the Officer-in-Charge sends a “Stop” message, to indicate that no further assistance will be required.  The Station Officer on one of the other watches turned out to a grass fire next to a petrochemical complex.   Small fire, grass beaters in use, no problem, soon dealt with, so he sent his “Stop”.  Unknown to him, a pipeline had been leaking oil into the area for quite some time.  The grass fire got to the oil and up it went.  He was embarrassingly obliged to “Make Pumps 10” to get the manpower to deal with the conflagration.  Meanwhile, the fire was in danger of affecting the petrochemical complex, so their security people sent in a fire call that resulted in 10 more pumps being sent into the complex.   I reckon 20 appliances at a fire after the “Stop” has gone has got to be the record.

Last appliance returned: 2310.   There’s up to half an hour of frenetic activity at a fire and then the clearing up starts.  Anything that might harbour a spark is dug out, cut out, torn out or ripped out of the property to get a good wetting outside.   The absolute worst thing that can happen is that the fire reignites: not much credibility for a Fire Brigade that doesn’t put the fire out.   The Officer-in-Charge gets it in the neck big style if a repeat fire occurs, so any combustible material that might have been affected is removed.

Was this a late fire call? No.  As a Fire Safety Officer many years later, I was called to a hotel where they asked me to look at some damaged chairs.  A stack, in the basement, was fire-damaged all up one side, where someone had clearly attempted to start a fire, probably by pushing papers in between the chairs and lighting them.

“When did this happen?”

“Five days ago.”

“Did you call the Fire Brigade?”

“No.”

“Well what if the fire wasn’t out and it started again and spread around the hotel putting all the guests and your staff at risk?”

“Er, in that case, I think you won’t like what’s in the store upstairs….”

We went to the store to find another stack of chairs that were fire-damaged.   I never figured out why the fire alarm didn’t go off.  Knowing this lot, I’ll bet it did go off and they silenced it.   Luckily, neither of these stacks developed into an established fire.  Phew!  Lucky hotel management.

Now that’s what you call a late fire call – they send for the Brigade although the fire is already out, or so they think.

Discovered by: person.  Well, it could be a detector, or even a dog, that gives the first warning.

Method of call: person. 

Automatic fire alarm?  No

The next Section concerns the location of the fire.     

Type of property where fire started: two storey semi-detached dwelling house. 

Residential accommodation affected by fire?  Tick “Yes”. 

Multi-seated fire?  Tick “No”.  When the “yes” box is ticked, these are the really sinister ones, where several fires have been set and the person doing it definitely meant to cause harm, or at the least a lot of damage.

Occupancy of building where fire started: tick “single”.

Place where fire started: living room. 

Floor or deck of origin: ground.

And now it’s all about putting the fire out.

Method of fighting fire before arrival: none.  I have attended several chip pan fires where elderly ladies had successfully tackled the blaze, using damp towels as advised by those Home Office ads.  One such lady was hovering over her chip pan when we arrived, standing in some quite thick smoke and daring the fire to show itself again.   That spirit in people always remains, even when the body starts to slow down.

Method used by Fire Brigade: one jet.  Each fire appliance carries about a ton of water.   Use a hose-reel and you have about 20 minutes supply before the tank runs out.   Use a jet and this reduces to about 7 minutes.   With two fire engines at the scene you can double that to 14 minutes.  Even so, the time to find a street hydrant and get a mains water supply to the fire engine will pass all too quickly during fire-fighting operations if the fire is big enough to warrant a jet.

So I now enter in that one main jet was used and two fire appliances attended.  And my driver, Norman, ran himself silly finding the nearest fire hydrant and getting a water supply to the fire appliance from it.

Another section follows, all about the fire itself.

Most likely cause: not accidental, not malicious.   I tick “deliberate”.

Caused by: adult. (The Home Office always wanted a “most likely cause”.  “Children with matches” generally meant “I don’t know”).

Additional information: the occupier, Mrs. S. Peacock, admitted to deliberately starting the fire.  

Defect, act or omission giving rise to ignition: quantity of paper placed on dining table and ignited. 

Source of ignition: match.

Material or item mainly responsible for development of fire: settee.   This was in the days before regulations about fire retardant furnishings and once the settee got involved the fire was firmly established.      

Composition: expanded polyurethane foam filling.   The Home Office was the department responsible for the Fire Brigades at that time, and the Civil Servants in that mysterious place collated the information we gave them about fires.  This must have presented overwhelming evidence as to the danger of p.u. foam in fires, yet it took until 1988 to actually bring in regulations that made a difference to foam-filled furniture and the danger it posed in a fire.  This was because the manufacturers didn’t want the extra expense of using safer foams and fire retardant coverings and they would have lobbied hard to retain the status quo.  Government, after all, has to look at all aspects, like job losses and foreign competition.   And now – nobody has any issue about safer furniture.  To the best of my knowledge costs didn’t significantly increase with the new standards.   Anyway, Mrs. Peacock’s settee burned so fiercely that the living room was completely wrecked.

We’ve just turned out to a Reliant Robin that had crashed.  Anyone in one of these cars is definitely at more risk if there’s a collision.  This one had ended up on its rear end, standing forlornly against a tree.   A Police Sergeant at the incident had everyone chuckling when he reported back to his Control “It’s ok. It’s just a Robin up a tree.” Can’t think what they made of that.

Material or item ignited first:

Description: various letters and bills.

Composition: paper.    Yes, the lady lit the fire.  She piled up all her bills on the table and lit them.

There is nothing to enter into the next parts of the report about dangerous substances and explosions.

Abnormal rapid fire development:

Yes: expanded polyurethane foam filling.   The fire grew fast and caused more damage than it would have done if, say, the settee was filled with horse-hair.   Not that I want to go back to using horse-hair, you understand.

Damage caused to:

(i) Item ignited first: paper;

(ii) To room of origin: severe damage by fire 100% contents of living room and to ceiling structure.    The fire got to that point where everything in the living room that could burn was burning.  This is known as the flashover point.

(iii) elsewhere on floor of origin: slight damage by smoke to kitchen and hallway;

(iv) elsewhere in building: slight damage by smoke to contents of first floor.    

(v) outdoors beyond the property: no further spread of fire. 

It was amazing that the fire, well-developed and burning well when by the time we arrived, did not break through the flimsy door of the living room.  Plaster came off the wall and ceiling in the living room, but the bedroom floorboards and that flimsy door held the fire back long enough to protect the rest of the property until we controlled it.

A section follows that’s all about life risk.

Number of non-fatal casualties: none;

Number of fatal casualties: none. 

Fireman can be awkward what-nots to work with, but you get someone involved in a fire and they all, without exception, give it 110% to rescue trapped persons or give first aid or other assistance.  But it’s all a bit flat when our efforts have been unsuccessful.   There’s a cynical acknowledgement too that you can bust a gut to rescue someone, but if they die nobody acknowledges your efforts, while a fairly easy rescue that brings a whole family out of a fire can merit an award.

Number of persons in room or cabin of origin at discovery of fire: one. 

Number of persons who left the property because of the fire (whether injured or not): one. 

And then there’s a table to enter in details of fatalities and casualties.  None of that needed here.

The last section asks for further information if appropriate.

Occupier deliberately lit fire then left property.  Neighbour spotted fire, with occupier standing outside: called FB and took neighbour in.

Occupier began to show signs of overdose of unknown substance.   Officer-in-charge requested ambulance.  Occupier hospitalised.  

The fire-fighting was going well.   I left the Sub-Officer to supervise and went over to a neighbouring house where the lady I spoke to earlier was now being cared for by a neighbour.  I asked what had happened.  “I’ll show ‘em!” she shouted, “Can’t keep sending me bills!  How can anyone cope when they keep sending bills?”  She was a bit excited, but seemed otherwise ok.  But as we talked, her eyes became glazed and she slurred her speech a little.    I sent a message “Ambulance required” as she steadily became worse.  It looked like Mrs. Peacock had over-dosed and the adrenalin from the excitement of lighting and then keeping clear of the fire had sustained her til now.   I got one of the guys to bring in the resuscitator in case she needed oxygen.

The Sub-Officer now came in with a purse full of money and two carrier bags of notes.  The lads had found them in the bedrooms while ventilating the smoke away.    We and the neighbours were perplexed to say the least that Mrs. P. was apparently well-off yet driven to such a desperate act.   We had to count out the money and hand it to a policeman when one finally arrived – in exchange for a receipt, of course.   The bobbies sometimes get to the fire when we do, or even before we do, but it depends on what other commitments they have.

Further investigation: I tick the box that says “No”. 

I’m glad things have quietened down since the fire, so I have a chance to finish the report.  It’s got to be done before I go off shift.    8 hours to go, through the wee small hours.  Will it stay quiet?  As always, that’s in the lap of the gods.