Sewers.

How I loved a sewer visit. It is not everyone’s cup of tea I know, in fact it was rather like our hook ladders; a love or hate it thing; only here instead of going up you’re going down and normally wearing a ‘Proto’ oxygen breathing apparatus (BA) set.

It’s the late 1960s and I’m on Lambeth’s Red Watch. With four year’s operational experience under my belt I considered putting in for an emergency tender (ET) course. It was something I didn’t wanted to rush into as I felt it was necessary to get some decent BA jobs under your belt before making such a move. Historically, London Fire Brigade ET crews were generally held in very high esteem and were expected to ‘deliver the goods’ at any difficult BA job or at special operations requiring BA. That was in addition to their wider specialist rescue role. This ‘gaining experience’ view was not always shared by other watches at Lambeth. Some equally young firemen (I was only 22) put in for their ET course as soon as they had passed out in Proto BA. They argued that they would gain the necessary experience by riding the ET. This was not a view held by the Red Watch’s ET men, the very firemen I would ride along-side if sucessful on the examable course.

By the late 1960s the ET crews were seen by many senior officers as “Leete’s commandos.” In the 1950s the Brigade only had two; one at Lambeth and the other at Clerkenwell. These crews would have to combat their individual fears of hot confined humid spaces, face the risk of a sudden unexpected explosion of flammable gases or liquids whilst still working as an elite crew. They supported, and contributed, to the combined efforts that gave fire-ground crews their unique synergy.

Occasionally it was their skill that could make the difference between life and death in the rescue of a trapped BA fireman. In such situations it required every ounce of the ET crews’ combined expertise. It was not the place for a mere novice, a view of those that rode Lambeth’s ET on Red’s. So, it was with their blessing that I put in for the next possible course nomination. The course came through almost immediately, supported by my guvnor’s endorsement, but not before our monthly salary slips changed from pounds, shillings and pence (£. s. d) to pounds and pence on Monday 15th February 1971.

I attended the Southwark Training School for my three week ET course. Southwark was then the centre of all the Brigade’s ET training. It serviced the seven Greater London ET stations’ qualification needs. The course incorporated intensive BA training and covered the rigorous and demanding roles expected of its crews, this included visits to specialist installations and premises. One of these visits was to the London’s sewer system. Later on in my my career taking crews on a sewer visit became a bit of a party piece when I was stationed at Southwark, West Norward and Brixton fire stations.

We were taken to Southwark’s Cornwell Road, adjacent to the South Bank, where we were greeted by the ‘Ganger’ of one of the then GLC’s sewer crews. We were soon introduced to their subterranean world. The sweaty brickwork of the tunnel closed in on us no sooner than we squeezed down through the open manhole cover opening and descended the vertical metal ladder, a ladder that took us thirty feet below London’s streets. The hot and humid smell of detergent contrasted with the cold flowing water around our feet. This first visit was without any BA, a familiarisation of this strange, and at times, amazing place the sewer men spent their working day. With each step the dull turgid screen of mist parted to allow us through. Shafts of light from our torches picked out the glistening highlights of geometrical lines of brickwork, creating their own claustrophobic son-et-lumiere with each step we made. Distorted shadows transformed us into phantoms wandering in an aquatic underground maze.

We were wading along the tunnels in single file. Cold greyish water flowed eastwards and at knee height pushed against the backs of our waders, urging us on. We could not walk upright, the egg-shaped tunnel was only five foot high. Cramped, we moved at a stoop, the shadows mirroring our movements on the brickwork. After a while the Ganger, at the head of the file, turned around.

“Keep in your place,” he said, “and if you get lost, then don’t start doing anything clever like trying to find us. Just stay where you are, we’ll find you.”

The Ganger was the head of a team of five flushers. They spent their working hours cleaning the bowels of London. He had on heavy waders that came up to his waist. Beneath them he wore thick thigh length woollen socks like leg warmers. Above the waders and the leg warmers he was garbed in a blue jacket, kept in place by a belt and the all-important safety harness. Although the tunnel we were trudging through was egg-shaped, the sewer bed was flat covered by a layer of sediment that felt like sand and grit; our boots sank into it with every step.

“That’s what we call muck down here,” the Ganger said. “It’s full of little pockets of gas, waiting to overpower the unsuspecting sewer worker. That’s why if you ever get called to get us out of one of these tunnels only ever come down in your breathing apparatus, otherwise we will all be in the shit, literally.”

From that simple inconspicuous manhole cover we had entered just one of the very many miles of sewers running through the metropolis. Twisting and turning, beneath the roadways, fifteen hundred miles of neo-gothic sewers run below London streets, some much smaller than the ones we were in that day. Others were almost like caverns; storm relief sewers that direct away millions of gallons of rain water, thus protecting the capital from potential flood damage, during torrential rainfall.

On our second visit we were wearing Proto breathing apparatus sets. A different manhole this time and located near the Elephant and Castle. After a forty foot descent we entered a tunnel no taller than four foot tall. Our backs started to ache within the first 100 feet. The bottom of our breathing bags dragging through the sewer water. As we negotiated this subterranean waterway we were conscious that a rain cloud bursting some miles away might quickly fill these tunnels with torrents of water. Easily sweeping away the unwary worker. The only protection against this possibility was the ‘Top-man’, and his two-way radio, who gave regular weather forecast updates. Which for those working below could mean the difference between life and death.

We practised the rescue techniques necessary to lift, carry and raise an Injured/unconscious sewer worker. Later in the comfort of the classroom we supplemented our practical experience by learning of the health and biological hazards such rescues can expose the rescuer too. These include Weil’s disease, spread by rats’ urine, the virus of which can get into the body through cuts and scratches and end up in the brain and in most cases leading to an unpleasant death. Hepatitis is more common but is not the only organic peril since other bacteria will cause a range of potentially life-threatening conditions. It is therefore vital that the washing and decontamination procedures are rigorously followed, after the crews return to street level. Just as potentially lethal are the reaction of different chemicals mixing in the sewer system possibly producing a cocktail of toxic gases. Hence the importance of the sewer safety lamp which has been designed to warn of its presence.

The ET course was very “hands on”. We lifted, pulled, cut, spread with the full range of rescue equipment the ETs’ carried. We also visited various lift installations and learnt how to recognise the differences between electrical, mechanical and hydraulic systems. How to shut them down and hand-wind the lifts; how to open or remove lift doors and release the “dead” brakes so that we would be able to move a lift either up or down. These explorations covered the London Underground system too; we learnt the lifting points on varied rolling stock, how to isolate the electrical power supply to the tracks. We went beneath escalators; we entered cold store refrigeration plants (where the hairs in our nostrils froze solid within seconds). We performed drills wearing the full protective clothing only the ETs carried, and which will be the fireman’s only protection when dealing with serious leakages of toxic gases and refrigerants such as ammonia.

At the end of all this intensive course participants, Sub Officers, Leading Firemen and Firemen were extensively examined by the Training School ET senior officers. Every aspect of the course was covered. Attendance alone was no guarantee to gain a pass on this demanding course. A genuine camaraderie was established between us all. It helped ensure that the high standards expected were met. Finally, armed with our new skills and knowledge, we returned to our respective stations to put it all into practice, or so we hoped.

In the end I did actually attend two sewer incidents whilst riding the ET. One was in Brixton Road and the other in North London. Brixton Road was a sewer collapse and the lads from Brixton, under the command of their Irish born Station Officer, Declan Butler, did an exceptional job of extracting the injured sewer workers, whilst we just helped.

North London was a long way to travell from Lambeth and by the time we arrived it was done and dusted. Another good job done the local station crews. But the local sewer gangs around South London were always willing to give us a visit, although there were a few on the various White Watch crews I took along who did not share my enthusiasm for seeing what lay under their feet!

Today’s London firefighters, wearing the breathing apparatus that they would wear when committed to any sewer incident.