First Calls for a Rookie

First Calls for a Rookie

The tannoy bursts into life, shattering the peace and tranquillity of
the fireman's Rest Room. The voice of the Fire Control Operator follows
almost immediately, and with maybe a hint of urgency in her voice she
announces clearly, 'Alpha three fire call. Alpha three one. Proceed to
rubbish skip on fire, Waterside Drive, Stocktonbridge.' She then
repeats the address a second time but I am already up and running and
don't hang around to hear it the second time.
'This is it! My first fire!' I say to myself as I attack the fireman's
pole for my very first time. I plummet with the gracefulness of a house
brick being dropped from an upstairs window, while my sweating palms
screech like a scolded cat against the slick, polished chrome surface
of the pole, before I tumble in a heap at the bottom of the
pole-drop.
While picking myself up and attempting to run at the same time, the
'fire appliance' as professional fire fighters call it -- not a
'fire-engine' as it is called in 'Civvy Street' -- seems to beckon me
with it's brilliantly polished red glow. In a matter of seconds I'm
leaping into the cab like a frightened gazelle.
'What kept you?' asks Bob sarcastically, as he brings the appliance to
life with a turn of the ignition key.
How could they possibly have got here before me? I think to myself as
I feel myself blushing to match the bright red paintwork of the
appliance. Still, this is it! My first fire!
My bright yellow drip pants that I painstakingly arranged not thirty
minutes earlier stand out like a beacon in the gloomy shade of the cab.
My boots are already inside the legs of my drip pants, so putting my
boots and drip pants on will be one single action: that way, valuable
seconds will be saved getting dressed for action. Tonight I am
occupying the No. 5 position, in the centre of the cab between two of
the more experienced members of the crew. But first, I have to
manoeuvre my way past one of them, Alan, who is rather large framed to
say the least. My arms and legs flail everywhere as he glares at me
like I'm some naughty child having a tantrum, and I sense that I don't
quite have the hang of it yet. Alan sighs heavily as I finally end up
where I belong: in the centre.
Dave -- at least I think that's his name -- to my left, is already
kitted out for action and gives me an arrogant look. Why, I don't know,
as I wouldn't mind betting that he was just like this on his first
call?
Having somehow completed the assault course, better known as Alan, I
now make a start on kitting myself out in my fire gear. Throwing off my
shoes just intensifies the already putrid smell of sweaty feet but
slipping my feet into my boots presents no problem. Standing up to pull
my pristine yellow drip pants up over my knees, I'm suddenly jettisoned
into the back of my seat with a violent thud. Like a bat out of hell we
are screaming out of the appliance room with sirens blaring above the
din of the engine. I can't help but notice how the blue flashing lights
reflect eerily off the surrounding buildings, and for a few seconds I'm
transfixed by it all.
This is it! My first fire!' I think to myself yet again. This is
certainly going to be a night to remember.
'The Route Book!' Alan shouts above the roar of the engine.
'What?'
'Get the Route Book. It's your job to look up the address in case we
get lost!' he reminds me.
But I'm still not kitted out yet; I think to myself, how can I do both
things at once? Give me a break!
'Go on, it's ok. I'll look it up, you just get ready.'
'Cheers Alan,' I reply with a sense of relief, and return to the task
of getting ready and equipped. Fire tunic, helmet, gloves, axe belt
(wherever they may be), axe, torch and my own personal belt-line neatly
coiled in the inside left pocket of my tunic. Or is it the inside
right? Anyway, I'll be ready to tackle anything. Anything at all!
Dave, if that's his name, must have been a fire fighter for nearly
thirty years and has probably rescued hundreds of people, not to
mention the proverbial cat up a tree. He now comes to my rescue and
hands me the other items of equipment one by one, without saying a
word. Axe belt. Axe. Torch. Finally &;#8230; my fire-helmet.

As we career round the corner into Waterside Drive a few seconds later
(on two wheels I'm sure!), I can see the incandescent orange glow of a
raging inferno directly ahead.
'Brilliant,' I say to myself as Alan and Dave (I'm sure his name is
Dave) glance over to each other and laugh. Now, the past four months of
training are going to be put to the test, and I'm up for it! Before the
driver has brought the appliance to a complete stop I thrust the door
open and am off like a bullet from a gun. I know where every item of
equipment is stowed and in which lockers. I mean I've memorised
everything at least a hundred times! I just want the hose. I just want
to tackle my first blaze. I just want to tame this monster!
The roller shutter lockers rattle violently as I throw them open; only
to find there is no hose!
'Must be the next one,' I spit out in frustration, as I slam the
shutter down and move on to the next locker. No. Not this one either!
Then it has to be in the rear locker!
By the time I find the 'treasure' in the rear locker, I'm devastated to
find that the hose from the other side of the appliance is already in
action and dumping the contents of the appliances' tank onto the blaze.
All four hundred gallons of it! Boy, that's enough water to float the
skip down the road!
As I turn around to see what I can do, the Officer-In-Charge
nonchalantly walks over. 'John,' he says, 'I know what you're thinking
but go and find the nearest hydrant. Everything's under control.'
I wander off dejected, in search of the hydrant. To add insult to
injury, I'm now heading off away from the fire! Aren't fire fighters
supposed to head towards the fire? Not really the ideal way to start my
first night as an operational fire fighter, I thought.
Small gatherings of children have appeared from nowhere and have
singled me out, asking me all kinds of questions:
'What's the biggest fire you've been to, mate?'
'Seen many dead bodies?'
'How many fires have you been to?'
'Do you watch 'London's Burning'?
I don't answer.

After finding the hydrant and shipping the standpipe and hose, I watch
the appliance water gauge slowly rise as the tank fills, ready for the
next call. I can't hide my disappointment at not fighting my first fire
- even if it was only a rubbish skip - and the other members of the
crew see the dejected look on my face.
'Never mind, John,' Alan says light-heartedly, 'you take the hose on
the next shout, eh?' A 'shout' is what experienced fire fighters call a
fire call.
*
On the more leisurely journey back to the fire station, this time with
all the wheels in contact with the road surface, I can't help but feel
proud that I played a part in what was after all, a team effort. I will
come to depend on these colleagues of mine, as they will of me, and in
no time at all I'll work well and efficiently with this close-knit
unit. First though, I have to find out if 'Dave' really is Dave. But I
don't really want to ask.
The radio suddenly bursts into life, interrupting my thoughts. It is
that same faceless Fire Control Operator, 'Alpha three one fire call,
over', she says with that same sense of urgency in her voice.
'Go ahead, from Alpha three one, over.' replies the
Officer-In-Charge.
'Alpha three one, proceed to fire at&;#8230;'
I don't quite catch the rest of the message. I am ready!
'This is it! My second 'shout'!' I cry out, but not to myself this
time.

I glance down at my once pristine yellow drip pants. Somehow, they no
longer appear so pristine.

***