Yesterday’s man, just an old London fireman’s tale. (Old Kent Road and another ordinary night duty.)

Such was my LFB life. With not so much as a four pump-BA required-fire, or some difficult extrication to my name with my newly gained emergency tender (ET) qualification I was sent off to the Old Kent Road fire station. Pikey’s name had appeared on the Leading Fireman’s panel and I got my taste of some long-term temporary promotion. Before then however, the first couple of shifts riding Lambeth’s ET had been decidedly uneventful! The ET did have a few shouts but we were either “returned to base” (as the crews attending were more than capable of handling the situation unaided) or we just stood there-breathing apparatus sets on, at the ready, as others did not want Lambeth’s ET crew stealing all their hard-won glory!

I had sat my one, and only, Leading Fireman’s promotion board interview before my ET course. I had got my guvnor’s recommendation so success, or otherwise, at the interview rested with me. However, it had always seemed strange to me, when it came to keeping fire engines on the run, that anyone could ride in charge of a fire engine, without this required knowledge! Anyway, with the interview now behind me those coming top of the list were promoted immediately. The remainder, like me, were placed on a published panel. The knack (or rather our hope) was to get promoted before the next bloody round of promotion interviews. If there were not enough vacancies before the next interview round you started all over again!

I had knew the L Fms’ panel had been published in Brigade Routine Orders just by the look on Eric’s face and the way he said, “Well done” through gritted teeth. About half a dozen candidates had been promoted straight-off which left around thirty-five of us on the ‘panel’. So, without even getting my seat warm on Lambeth’s ET I was given three months ‘temporary’ at the Old Kent Road (B26) remaining on the Red Watch.

B26 was a new station. It replaced the former Victorian station which now stood empty on the other side of Old Kent Road. The station was one of a new breed of fire station design. It was bright, airy and had a proper fireman’s dormitory, something which those at B26 had not previously enjoyed. Like many older London stations the ‘lads’ had to find a space anywhere there was room enough to put down iron bed frame and bung a mattress on top.

Old Kent Road was a pump-escape (PE) and pump station. So, if I was not riding BA on the back of the pump I would be in charge of the PE. I had stood-by at the ‘old’ Old Kent Road a few times so was not a total stranger to B26’s Red Watch. Old Kent Road’s pump had a formidable reputation of being one of the busiest in the Brigade which was due to the station’s strategic location. Its “ground” was a mixture of residential, light industry, commercial property, the vast Bricklayers Arms Goods Depot, and the great swathes of now dilapidated, decaying, housing stock. Acres of these Victorian slum dwellings had been under on-going wholesale demolition. In part, to make way for the new Southwark housing estates and the GLC’s much heralded ‘open green space’ which was meant to be south London’s equivalent of Hyde Park. However, so far the only green to be seen was to be found in the former Surrey canal that had been partly drained in preparation for the open space project.

By the late 1960s, next to the deliberate fire-raiser and the malicious caller, the demolition workers were now becoming a right “pain in the arse”. To save time, and money, they would deliberately set fire to the buildings they were demolishing. Such irresponsible actions led to many firemen being injured unnecessarily. That the “knock’ em down” brigade had a really poor reputation with fire station crews was not difficult to understand. Calls to rubbish burning on demolition sites, in the inner London divisions, were now totalling many hundreds every year. Sometimes we were going out to the same sites so often that we were almost on first name terms with the demolition crews. However, when confronting these downright dangerous contractors, as opposed to just the inconsiderate, their names were best described as sexually explicit! However, their handy work also provided me with my first opportunity to “make pumps” at the Old Kent Road.

B26’s Red Watch had the usual watch strength for a two-appliance station but on the night in question there were just seven of us on duty. There had been nine but the Sub Officer and one driver had been ordered out to stand-by at other near-by fire stations. The couple of early evening shouts were of little consequence; a rubbish fire and a shut in a lift. Fireman Sam Butterworth, the loveable senior hand, was also the Watch mess manager. His supper of sausage, eggs, chips and beans had been prepared with the care that a master chef would dedicate to a gastronomic delight. Sadly, it had been stuffed into the oven to keep it warm whilst we attended a call in a waste paper merchants on Deptford’s ground. An hour later, the shrivelled remains of our supper were removed from the warm oven. Only the sausages were salvageable, which we ate between slices of bread and marg. At midnight the pump was sent to stand-by at Whitechapel as their crews were attending a four pumper on Shoreditch’s ground.

I was enjoying the luxury of having a bed in the junior officer’s room for the first time. There was no one farting, nor the sound of someone snoring. It was just me. The ringing of the station bells summoned us around after 1.00 am. The pump bay was still empty. The dutyman said it’s ‘shout’ to a fire off Neate Street on our own ground. On route, the staccato sound of the two-tone horns were the only thing to disturbed the peace of the deserted south London streets. As our PE turned a corner, off the Old Kent Road, a glow-so bright-it could have been a magnesium flare marked our destination.

A disused, two-storey, warehouse was ablaze end to end. The heat of the fire was already starting to blister the dilapidated paintwork of the adjacent derelict buildings separated only by a narrow alley.

With just four of us on the PE, no BA, the next few minutes passed like seconds. I told Sam, the driver, to “Make pumps four” whilst I sent another fireman to set into the hydrant shouting (unnecessarily) to twin it as I and the remaining fireman threw out two hose lines. Whilst I directed my jet into the blazing building he covered the surrounding property to prevent the fire spreading over the alleyway. My shouted commands were lost in the sound of burning timber cracking in the heat of the flames.

Our feverish activity continued as Peckham’s appliances, with horns blaring, arrived. I handed over to their Sub Officer. Peckham were soon followed by Lambeth’s pump and TL. Slowly, the deep red glow of the fire started to dim. Lengths of water filled hose snaked down the street and into the building whilst water poured from the monitor at the head of the TL and directed through the void that had once been the roof prior to its collapse on to the burning interior. We had worked our socks off. I was thanking my own crew for their efforts when a voice behind me said,

“Trying to make a name for yourself Pikey?”

I turned to see my Lambeth ‘guvnor’, Station Officer Don Brown, giving me a satisfied smile.

“It’s a shame you can’t type or spell otherwise you might make someone a decent Leading Hand Pikey! Now bugger off and start getting the details for the fire report, then come and tell me what you’ve got.”

Leaving two pumps at the scene, to damp down, we returned to the station to the jeers of 26’s pump crew who were sitting in the station watchroom drinking tea.

“The crew did well,” I told the temporary Station Officer Mike Keenan, whilst trying to look nonchalant but failing abysmally.

“OK smart-arse, let’s see how good your fire report is. See you in the morning.”Chuckling, he went to bed, leaving the six of us to re-stow the appliance and for me to type up the fire report.

God; I loved the job I once did…