Retired Firefighters & Fire Service Personnel
www.ex-
Short Stories
Two British traffic patrol officers from North Berwick were involved in an unusual
incident, while checking for speeding motorists on the A-
One of the officers (who are not named) used a hand-
The radar had in fact latched on to a NATO Tornado fighter jet over the North Sea, which was engaged in a low flying exercise over the Border district.
Back at police headquarters the chief constable fired off a stiff complaint to the RAF Liaison office.
Back came the reply in true laconic RAF style. “Thank you for your message, which
allows us to complete the file on this incident. You may be interested to know that
the tactical computer in the Tornado had automatically locked on to your ‘hostile
radar equipment’ and sent a jamming signal back to it. Furthermore, the Sidewinder
Air-
Saturday night -
Come back -
“Excuse me, Sir, may we have some of those leaves from your tree over there?”. Pointing vaguely into our garden. Me “Why?”
“This is for to make tea for the old people”
I think -
To keep a long story short -
He became a bit toey and said “Are you going to get it tested”
Yours truly replied “Now that I know what you are after, course I bloody well am, and should you come back, he will be loose”.
Found out it is ‘Khat’ or ‘Qat’ it is a class 3 drug here!!
There you are, I am a drug dealer! Got in touch with the old Bill and gave them the SP.
I will be cutting down a tree shortly!!
Should any of my non Brit mates not be able to understand certain aspects a translation is available!!.
Black Jake -
He walked up to the bar with a swagger, Unzipping his jacket, he placed it on the back of a stool. The stool wobbled with the weight, and then promptly fell over. Hitting the corner of the table as it fell, dislodging the sausage that had sat uneaten on the plate that had been left upon it.
A bee flew backwards across the room, (zzub zzub zzub). It Collided with the fan, accelerating forward, (buzz Buzz Buzz), and came to rest on the arm of the man who now stood at the bar. I could tell he was a motorcyclist, as when he smiled at the barmaid, as I could see the flies, stuck fast to his teeth. Outside, his motorcycle stood gleaming in the afternoon sun, its side stand now slowly sinking into the melting tarmac. Soon it would fall over.
Outside, by the doorway, was a thin and wizened man, dressed purely in an animal skin loin cloth I judged he was probably of the Cherokee or Sioux tribe; it was to far north for Apache. His face was passive, as he ran silently on the spot.
At the bar, the stranger’s eyes held the barman in his gaze, as if anticipating trouble. His order of a pint of Guinness was placed in front of him; you could almost detect his upper lip reaching out for it under the thin veneer of hair that adorned it. Silently he watched it, the swirling mass, slowly settling in front of him.
The change of temperature from the heat outside, to the air conditioned bar was making its presence felt on him, a dew drop was forming under his nose. The Bee, still on his arm, seemed to be watching the dew drop form. I shuddered as I remembered the time that a Bee had stung me, Thirty quid for a jar of Honey!
His arm and his upper lip reached out for the Guinness. Just as his lip met with the glass, there came a crash, the motorcycle outside had finally given way to gravity. If he had heard the crash, he gave no sign His upper lip slid further into the glass as he enjoyed the experience of his chosen drink.
The upper lip emerged from the glass with a rime of thick froth adorning it. Like a whiplash, his tongue flickered out to erase all trace.
Outside in the midday sun, petrol from the fallen motorcycle carved a lazy trail toward the centre of the road.
With a move of his finger, he motioned the barman to refill the glass. As he did so, there came a thunderous voice from the doorway.
“Hey you” He turned to look at the mountain of a man who had entered, Eyes, filled with hatred, his face as hard as the clenched fists by his side.
“Are you Black Jake”? The question was levelled at the stranger at the bar, who turned to meet the threat with a belligerent ease.
“So what if I am” , He hissed with a snake like venom, his knife now within easy reach in his belt.
The huge man still in the doorway, pointed outside, to the wizened man.
“You left your Injun running”.
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The Middle Wife
I've been teaching now for about fifteen years. I have two kids myself, but the
best birth story I know is the one I saw in my own second grade classroom a few
years back. When I was a kid, I loved show-
Well, one day this little girl, Erica, a very bright, very outgoing kid, takes her turn and waddles up to the front of the class with a pillow stuffed under her sweater. She holds up a snapshot of an infant. 'This is Luke, my baby brother, and I'm going to tell you about his birthday.'
'First, Mom and Dad made him as a symbol of their love, and then Dad put a seed in my Mom's stomach, and Luke grew in there. He ate for nine months through an umbrella cord.'
She's standing there with her hands on the pillow, and I'm trying not to laugh and wishing I had my camcorder with me. The kids are watching her in amazement.
'Then, about two Saturdays ago, my Mom starts saying and going, 'Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh!' Erica puts a hand behind her back and groans. 'She walked around the house for, like an hour, 'Oh, oh, oh!' (Now this kid is doing a hysterical duck walk and groaning.) 'My Dad called the middle wife. She delivers babies, but she doesn't have a sign on the car like the Domino's man. They got my Mom to lie down in bed like this.' (Then Erica lies down with her back against the wall.) 'And then, pop! My Mom had this bag of water she kept in there in case he got thirsty, and it just blew up and spilled all over the bed, like psshhheew!' (This kid has her legs spread with her little hands miming water flowing away. It was too much!)
'Then the middle wife starts saying 'push, push,' and 'breathe, breathe. They started
counting, but never even got past ten. Then, all of a sudden, out comes my brother.
He was covered in yucky stuff that they all said it was from Mom's play-
Then Erica stood up, took a big theatrical bow and returned to her seat. I'm sure
I applauded the loudest. Ever since then, when it's show-
...................
A Farewell to Alarms by Ernest Downes
I squeezed the handles of the pliers on my multi-
I gazed at it for the last time, in a few minutes it would be tossed into my bag and ‘returned to stores’ with the rest of my kit.
I recalled how, when as a young man of twenty, I had struggled to fit a similar badge to a fireman’s cap for the very first time.
The cap badges of the British Fire Service are mounted on an eight pointed Silver Star based on the cross of St. John, each point or ‘tenet’ represents a personal quality that was deemed essential for a fireman to possess.
Those qualities were Tact, Gallantry, Dexterity, Observation, Perseverance, Loyalty, Explicitness and Sympathy.
Throughout my career I aspired to those personal qualities, but did not often achieve them.
A few weeks earlier, with retirement looming large on the horizon, I had sat idly
in front of a computer staring at the Government ‘Fire Gateway’ Website. I noticed
a link to a self selection multiple choice questionnaire designed to help you decide
whether you have the potential to be a successful fire-
I took the test, and was assessed in the nine essential qualities required of a modernised
fire-
‘Your responses suggest that you may not be suited to a career as a firefighter and
that you may find some of the day-
‘You should reconsider whether you are really suited to the role of firefighter’.
‘Your responses suggest that you have the potential ability to meet the requirements to be a firefighter in the following areas: Effective communication, Problem solving’.
‘It would be difficult for you to meet the requirements to be a firefighter in the following areas: Working with others’.
‘It would be very difficult for you to meet the requirements to be a firefighter in the following areas: Commitment to diversity, Confidence and resilience, Commitment to excellence, Openness to change, Commitment to development, Situational awareness’.
The computer definitely ‘says no’; but I have been in ‘the job’ for 30 years, 20 of those years as a Station Officer I thought indignantly. I took some time to reflect on my dismal results.
Working with others: ok, I can live with that criticism; I know I prefer to work alone, or to be in charge, I have always forced myself to be a team player.
Commitment to diversity: I try to comply with all my employers’ policies on diversity even though the politically correct restrictions they imposed extend well beyond ‘the job’ and caused me to behave very cautiously in my private life. I wouldn’t want to prejudice my livelihood by failing to toe the required line. Thankfully, I always managed to suspend my conscience, and became a master of ‘doublethink’. I recall with an ironic smile that George Orwell’s real name was Eric Blair.
Confidence and Resilience: More ‘Newspeak’ I suspect! I have served for thirty years during which time I have undergone setbacks in my professional life and tragedy in my personal life, but here I am after 30 years. I know I can persevere, but it gets harder as the years go by.
Commitment to Excellence: I admire true excellence, when many of my superiors do not, they just want to do the minimum required to end up in the upper quartile of the next ‘league table’ , therefore effort must only be expended in those areas that attract little ticks in the boxes of BVPI’s, LPI’s, FAPI’s IPDS, FSEC. Spin not substance is the order of the day.
Openness to change: I am open to change, where change is for the better, but these days change seems to be driven by career crazed senior officers trying to create the socially engineered dream world required by their transient political masters.
Commitment to development: I was always prepared to develop essential skills, but admit I was very cynical about learning rubbish that I thought unnecessary, and far removed from the traditional roles of ‘the job’.
Situational awareness: I guess that means at incidents? I loved going to fires, still do even now! I would never wish a fire on anyone, but when they do occur, well, let’s get stuck in and stop it where we saw it! Fires mean a bit of excitement, danger, challenge and a chance to test your leadership where it really counts, and of course they get you away from in front of the computer!
My mind wandered from the computer screen back to a fire station lecture room in January 1977. Six very young looking recruit firemen were undergoing an induction week before being shipped of to Training School at Washington Hall, Chorley, Lancashire.
My colleagues and I were being given a ‘Trouser Pressing Lecture’ by a little martinet of a fireman with a dapper moustache and a ‘slashed peak’ on his cap.
He told us a few home truths about ‘the job we had just had the privilege to join.
The essence of what he said that day has remained with me for thirty years.
‘You will be beasted all the time at training school, but stick it out because the job is a lot more relaxed when you get back on station. Beware when you join a watch though, as you will come across some lazy individuals who don’t care a bit about the job, they will try to lead you astray, don’t be taken in. You just remember, everytime the bells go down there is someone out there who is in trouble, and you and the others on your appliance are probably the only people who can help them.
I mused on a few of the changes since ‘old Arra’ was on Blue Watch, and wondered
what he would make of things today. Probationary firemen had shiny shoes and short
hair in his day, now development firefighters have pony-
Instead of firemen reaching up, the appliances squat down so that firefighters can reach the ladders on the roof. Firemen learnt topography, firefighters have mobile data terminals and satellite navigation. Firemen tested their hydrants, firefighters peddle free smoke detectors door to door. Firemen called senior officers ‘Sir’, firefighters are on first name terms with the Chief Officer. Drill, once a daily institution, is now an occasional activity that takes place when a concensus of firefighters thinks themselves in need of a little light refreshment.
The job was once run as a disciplined service, now it is run as a branch of the Social Services. Ranks are roles, and solid, practical Fire Officers tested by examination and experience have been replaced by inept ‘managers’ who PRINCE from department to department, often clueless about the realities of ‘the job’.
I recalled the advertisement for firefighter vacancies I had seen recently. The main part of the advertisement was extolling the exciting challenges of Community Fire Safety, and the opportunities that existed to network with local partnerships. Firefighting was mentioned in the small print at the foot of the page as an occasional activity that may inconvenience the performance of ‘prevention’ duties.
Firefighting hasn’t changed much though, the kit is better these days, the BA sets are lighter, modern RTA gear lets us extricate casualties before they die on us, and we now have the proper equipment and training to carry out water and rope rescues, but it is still a dirty, strenuous and sometimes dangerous job. You experience some situations that you will only ever want to share with others in ‘the job’. Because they alone will understand. It is, and always was a decent and honourable occupation, with the immense satisfaction of delivering help to others when their need is greatest.
The mist cleared from my eyes and I peered through my spectacles to focus again on the computer screen perched on the desk in front of me.
I was still puzzled why I had done badly in the test, when after all, I was in ‘the job’.
Slowly the answer dawned on me, the modernizers were now recruiting people with the qualities to do ‘a job’.
.............
In the year 2007 the Lord came unto Noah, who was now living in England (where else?)
and said, “Once again, the earth has become wicked and over-
He gave Noah the CAD drawings, saying “You have 6 months to build the Ark before I will start the unending rain for 40 days and 40 nights.”
Six months later, the Lord looked down and saw Noah weeping in his yard -
“Forgive me, Lord,” begged Noah, “but things have changed. I needed Building Regulations Approval and I’ve been arguing with the Fire Brigade about the need for a sprinkler system. My neighbours claim that I should have obtained planning permission for building the Ark in my garden because it is development of the site, even though in my view it is a temporary structure. We had to then go to appeal to the Secretary of State for a decision.
Then the Department of Transport demanded a bond be posted for the future costs of
moving power lines and other overhead obstructions to clear the passage for the Ark’s
move to the sea. I told them that the sea would be coming to us, but they would
not hear of it. Getting the wood was another problem. All the decent trees have
Tree Preservation Orders on them and we live in a Site of Special Scientific Interest
set up in order to protect the spotted owl. I tried to convince the environmentalists
that I needed the wood to save the owls -
When I started gathering the animals, the RSPCA sued me. They insisted that I was
confining wild animals against their will. They argued the accommodation was too
restrictive, and it was cruel and inhumane to put so many animals in a confined space.
Then the County Council, the Environment Agency and the Rivers Authority ruled that
I couldn’t build the Ark until they’d conducted an environmental impact study on
your proposed flood. I’m still trying to resolve a complaint with the Equal Opportunities
Commission on how many disabled carpenters I’m supposed to hire for my building team.
The trades union say I can’t use my sons. They insist I have to hire only accredited
workers with Ark-
To make matters worse, Customs and Excise seized all my assets, claiming I’m trying to leave the country illegally with endangered species. So, forgive me, Lord, but it would take at least 10 years for me to finish this Ark.”
Suddenly the skies cleared, the sun began to shine, and a rainbow stretched across the sky. Noah looked up in wonder and asked, “You mean you’re not going to destroy the world?”
“No.” said the Lord “The British government beat me to it.”
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The Good old Days by Geoff Chaplin
“Send a message to all fire crews, Station Officer”
“Yes sir”
“Hold on, that’s not what I dictated. Station Officer, what’s the meaning of this?”
“Sorry sir?”
“The County expects every fire person to do his duty, regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, religious persuasion or disability. What gobbledygook is this?”
“Fire Service policy, I’m afraid, sir. We’re an equal opportunities employer now. We had the devil’s own job getting ‘The County’ past the censors, lest it be considered racist.”
“Good god, Station Officer. Give me a cigarette”
“Sorry sir. All Fire Service areas have been designated smoke-
“In that case, break open the canteen vehicle. Let us have tea before we commit more men to the fire”
“Tea has been abolished sir. It’s part of the government’s policy on binge drinking”
“Good heavens, Station Officer. I suppose we’d better get on with it. Get to the job as quickly as possible”
“I think you’ll find that there’s a 20 mph speed limit in this stretch of the road and there are speed enforcement cameras every 150 yds”
“Damn it man! We are on route to the biggest fire in the history of the county. We must get there as quickly as possible, get a report from the aerial ladder at the fire ground, please”
“That won’t be possible, sir”
“What?”
“Health and safety have closed the aerial appliances sir, no harness. In addition, they have said that the safety ladder doesn’t meet regulations. They won’t let anyone up there until a proper scaffolding can be erected”
“Then get me the brigade handyman without delay Station Officer”
“He’s busy knocking up a wheelchair access to the Chiefs office sir”
“Wheelchair access? I’ve never heard anything so absurd”
“Health and safety again sir. We have to provide a barrier-
“Differently abled? I refuse even to hear mention of the word. I didn’t rise to the rank of Divisional Officer by playing the disability card”
“Actually, sir, you did. The Fire Service is under-
“I’ve never heard such cobblers, tell the men to standby to fight the fire”
“The men are a bit worried about that as well sir”
“What? This is mutiny”
“It’s not that sir. It’s just that they’re afraid of being charged with murder if they actually find anyone in the building. There’s a couple of legal aid lawyers on the fire ground, watching everyone like hawks”
“Then how are we to put the fire out?”
“Actually sir, we’re not”
“We’re not?”
“According to the Fire Services Policy, we shouldn’t even be in this area of the county. We could get hit with a claim for compensation”
“But the fire must be put out”
“I wouldn’t let the Fire Service diversity coordinator hear you say that sir. You’ll be up on disciplinary”
“You must consider every man an enemy who speaks ill of your Officers”
“Not any more sir. We must be inclusive in this multicultural age. Now put on your reflective vest sir, it’s the rules”
“Don’t tell me -
“As I explained sir, tea is off the menu, and there’s a ban on verbal punishment”
“What about sodomy?”
“I believe it’s to be encouraged sir”
“In that case, kiss me Station Officer”
Ah the good old days!
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