They were the best of times; the worst of times.

The formative years of a young London fireman…

Cut away those fire brigade cliches, the London Fire Brigade nostalgia and what have you got? Most will say a mixure of memories from real people; recollections of real situations plus, reminiscences of the real ‘working’ life of the London fireman. It is some recipe. Much of our time at work was spent, well if not actually laughing then at least very happy. We were left, at times, wishing something would happen and then, occasionally, regretting it had!

Lambeth’s Dennis pump-escape. The first operational fire engine I rode at the age of 18 and 4 days old. The appliance was new to the LFB fleet but the equipment it carried would have been familiar to those who rode London fire engines in the 1950s. Picture credit-London Fire Brigade.

For those now deemed dinosaurs ours was a generation of smokey jobs, of snotty noses and blood shot eyes. The adrenalin rush when the bells went down, regularly followed by the ‘downer’ of arrriving at another shit’n rubbish shout. But you never, ever, took things for granted especially when the shit’n rubbish was going like a bastard and is involving surrounding property, sometimes even lives!

The refuse collection strikes in the early 1970s resulted in piles of rubbish and uncollected waste lying for weeks in London streets. Hundreds of rubbish fires were started which kept firemen extremely busy in addition to their normal workload. Picture credit-London Fire Brigade.

To be fair, ours was a generation of different rules. Some things we took for a certainty: Of putting on a cold wet tunic on those long winter nights: Of getting a wet arse because the seperate black leggings never actually covered your bum: Of ears acting as thermometers, when wearing a BA Proto set, and knowing you’re going to have to push yourself down (or up) through a heat barrier to reach the fire. Then there’s the coughing fit! Normally atributed to sucking up smoke, whilst crawling into a fire on your belly, because you’re not riding BA. Then, for the unlucky few like myself, who were not natural ‘smoke-eaters’ there were the terrible headaches whilst the carbon monoxide exited your system.

Slipping and pitching the wheeled escape. Picture credit-London Fire Brigade.

There were the straining sinews whilst expending the maximum amount of effort in the shortest possible time when pushing in a wheeled 50 foot escape ladder or lugging heavy, charged, lengths of hose up flights of stairs into the unknown. All delivered with the satisfaction of working as part of a well-oiled team and only very occasionally having a sense of unease knowing that some ‘skate’ was taking the ‘pee’ especially when it mattered!

We dinosaurs all started very much the same. We learnt our craft from those that came before us. From the people wearing black cork helmets and having bicycle lamps issued as firemen’s torches and when we all sat on fire engines that carried bells.

The engine below just happens to be Brixton’s, but it could be anyone’s. A fire engine carrying a ladder that, to us oldies, brings a certain wistfulness. There was one at every London fire station. It one of so many common bonds we share. All individual segments of a tale that made us who we are. It might come as a surprise but I don’t actaully live in the past but I feel so privileged to have lived that LFB past.

These were the heady days of Dennis and of boxy shaped fire engines. Engines with wooden ladders, some with big wheels, others had teeth, bills and hooks. Days of heavy, rubber lined, canvas hose and large, red, weighty hand-controlled branches named London! Proto breathing apparatus sets came in two colours; blue and yellow. It was a black fire-ground uniform except for silver tunic buttons and a belt buckle plus the red plastic gloves! Ours was a uniform consisting of Melton woven material, leather and cork helmets. A uniform we once wore to fires. Days when we were told, ‘You stick with so and so. Do whatever he tells you and do nothing else’. Of old LCC fireman who taught you your craft. Of firemen with WWII medal ribbons on their undress uniform-of others who had also won them but said nothing.

Lambeth’s iconic Station Officer Jack Stacey-a true character and highly respected fire officer. A modest man who had signed up to join the Army at the start of WWII. He was part of the long-range desert patrol group (foreunner of the SAS) and conducted raids and sabotage far behind enemy lines, and operated in conjunction with the existing Long Range Desert Group (formerly No.8 Commando). They had looked for suitable recruits with rugged individualism and initiative. Jack fitted the bill perfectly, both then and in his London Fire Brigade career. Picture credit-London Fire Brigade.

The flat jobs were, in the main, in the LCC styled flats, the house jobs in old style brick housing stock They might have been anywhere in London; Hackney, Hammersmith, Holloway or Peckham. The next pictured happens to be ‘sarf’ of the river, and despite what you read the a common ‘stop’ message: ‘Small fire flat/house, hosereel. BA.’ Behind those five simple words was many a tale. Tales of smoke-filled room’s, easily involving the whole flat or house. Of horse-hair mattresses, or armchairs, producing smoke so thick you could cut it with a knife. Its distinctive odour filling nostrils as firemen crawled in low, sometimes on bellies pulling behind them the hosereel tubing and seeking the fires origin. So pernicious was the smoke its malignant effects could deprive the occupants of life and it frequently did. Adrenaline charged firemen always went the extra mile whenever the possibility of someone, especially a child, was believed involved.

Rotherhithe. Original LCC built council flats now-in the late 1960 and 70s-managed by the GLC and local borough councils. Picture credit. London Borough of Southwark

For the terraces, be they two-storey or the bigger three and four storeys, many where in multi occupancy. Regardless, the smoke and its consequences were no respecter of colour or creed. Fireman rushed in where others were rushing out. Their coughing and spewing part of the price of getting in low with a hosereel jet whilst others, with streaming eyes. checked around to make sure everyone, that should be, was out and safe.

Fire at Perrins Court, Hampstead. Two girls jumped 25 foot as fire swept through the building. Tragically one of the girls later died in hospital. 12 April 1974.

The melton tunics acted like blotting paper, soaking up both water and the stench of the smoke. Its lingering reek filling the gear room with its unique aroma at the end of the shift. And with the drama resolved, not always with the fire out, the guvnor sends his simple message. The crews, with sore eyes and snotty noses, tick off yet another ordinary ‘bread and butter’ job.

Dark days.

For me, who was once a London fireman, the Grenfell Tower fire remains off the scale! It started as one of today’s London firefighters ordinary ‘bread and butter’ jobs. A job that went ‘tits up’! Through no fault of their own, London firefighters are still ‘left holding the baby’ for the consequences of tower block fire covered in highly flammable cladding despite the fact that for so many it meant getting struck in close up and personal. Clearly those on today’s frontline maintain the same pride in the LFB I will carry to the grave even when there were dark days…

The details of the 1969 explosion, and its aftermath, one that killed six, five of whom were East London firemen were there to read in the watchroom teleprinter message book. Stark messages, in its typical scant fire brigade speak, were repeated across the Brigade . The Chief Officer’s message announced ‘with the deepest of regret etc’… Deaths that seemed all the more poignant by the fact that they had died at an incident which appeared, at the outset, to be almost trivial.

At Lambeth, that evening, a Brigade Headquarters principal officers’ car driver, the late Johnny Guy, added grim details to the briefest of information given out on the official teleprinter messages. He told of his small part in the extraction of some of the bodies from the oil laden sludge in the partly demolished oil tank farm at Dudgeons Wharf.

It was on that fateful Thursday morning, the 17th July, that Millwall’s pump escape and pump, Brunswick Road’s pump, a foam tender from East Ham together with the fireboat Massey Shaw that were dispatched to Dudgeons Wharf on the Isle of Dogs at 11.22 a.m. A small fire had broken out in one of the huge oil storage tanks at Dudgeons Wharf. An expansive former tank farm site situated between the riverfront and Manchester Road. The tank in question, which was empty but not purged, had a capacity of twenty thousand gallons. The demolition workers believed they had actually put the fire out. The land fire crews, which totalled twelve in number, arrived to make sure it was. Meanwhile the Massey Shaw fireboat was en-route to the scene from Greenwich.

What later became common knowledge was that the Dudgeons Wharf disaster was caused by a workman hot cutting away an inspection cover securing bolts on an oil tank. An oil tank that had contained flammable substances. Although the affected tank was marked ‘light oil and linseed oil’ the lettering was indistinct. There was certainly no warning of the potential dangers to firemen having to deal with a fire within them. The national papers, the following day, gave fitting tributes and reported, “They died simply doing the day-to-day job of a London fireman.”

What the papers didn’t report at the time was the lead-up to that awful July day in 1969. It was in 1951 that commercial operations had stopped at Dudgeon’s Wharf. It remained empty for many years before any demolition work actually commenced. By 1967 the company owning Dudgeons Wharf tank had no further use for it. But unable to find a suitable buyer they decided to demolish it, clear the site and sell the land for development. Despite two large and experienced demolition companies tendering for the demolition contract it was awarded to, what effectively was, a one-person contracting company. Whereas the larger companies would have required the tank farm owners to clear the site of accumulated refuse and receive assurances that the tank farm vessels were thoroughly clean inside the small scale, inexperienced, contractor was prepared to take on the job as seen. It was for that reason he was awarded the demolition contract!

It was during the subsequent public inquiry, conducted by A. W. M. Davis QC, into the fatal disaster that the attitude of the demolition contractor and that of the scrap dealer, to whom it was planned to sell the salvaged was metal, was found to be purely a commercial one. Even the site owners gave safety a low priority.

The funeral service, at West Ham Parish Church, was held for the other four and when the procession reunited the five comrades started their final journey to the City of London Crematorium and Cemetery in Manor Park.

The East End went into mourning following this tragic loss. Hundreds of firemen from all over Britain arrived the following week for the funeral of their comrades: from Millwall, Sub Officer Michael Gamble and Firemen Alfred Smee; from Brunswick Road, Firemen John Appleby and Terence Breen; and from Clerkenwell fire station Fireman Trevor Carvosso – who had volunteered to stand-by at Millwall.

City of London Crematorium and Cemetery in Manor Park.

On the 29th September, the same year Acting Leading Fireman Michael Lee was killed at a fire in Goswell Road. EC1. Like myself he was a former Junior Fireman. Only a year seperated our ages. The month before disaster could have repeated itself when nine London firemen were injured in a gas expolsion in East London. In the first five years of my service 10 London firemen died in the line of duty. Seven at operational incidents, three from on duty accidents. In modern peacetime, post WWII, the 1960s remains the worst decade for LFB fatalities.

2nd August 1969. Mile End Road/Burdett Road. 9 London firemen and 2 Metropolitan policemen were
injured in a gas explosion.

Methy’s…

In age before ‘PC’ we simply called them ‘Methy’s’. Homeless people who lived on the streets and, in the main, drank cheap liquor such as British Ruby Wine and, it was said, methylated spirits! Their fires, either caused by them or the lit fires to keep warm, were a frequent shout. Occasionally they were the beginning of a much bigger blaze, especially when they chose to occupy a derelict warehouse or factory.

Southwark firemen assist the London Ambulance crew remove a homeless man to Guy’s Hospital after a fire in a derelict shop fire in London Road. SE1.

The fires, large or small, also resulted in regular rescues of those overcome, normally by smoke, but others were just ‘dead’ drunk! In many slum clearance areas, but especially around the Elephant and Castle prior to its redevelopment in the early 70, hardly a night went by when we weren’t pulling a ‘methy’ out of some smoky job; normally with them not wishing to leave or even rescuing an unfortunate, unconscious, man and giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. (There were very few homeless women then.) Sadly, some never made it. Their death becoming another fire statistic and given a simple paupers grave in the local council graveyard.

However, one such man did teach me a valuable life lesson. Living in a Kennington back street it was a frequent shout as people reported the small fires in the derelict houses awaiting clearance. We had meet this man maybe half a dozen times, and me still being the junior buck, I was normally tasked to escort him out of the house even we all knew he would return as soon as we left the scene to relight his fire. He was very well spoken and amoung his few treasured possession were some books in French and Latin (my Sub-told me it was Latin!).

This way of life was all very new to me. One night he managed to set the derelict house properly alight! I was again his minder whilst the others put the fire out. It turned out the man had been a college professor, the death of his wife meant his world fell apart and he turned the man to drink, ending up living on London’s streets. It was not unknown of some riding fire engines to treat the ‘methies’ like vermin or, at best, a bloody nuisance. However, this old bloke had a way about him, you might call it a dignity…My lesson was to not to judge a book by its cover. I didn’t always succeed but reminded me there are individual stories behind those we simply referred to as ‘methy’s.

Brixton Hill. SW2.

It’s 1967 and I am sitting in the rear of Lambeth’s pump. We were ordered to a shout in support of Brixton’s pump-escape and pump crews’ and a ‘person’s reported’ fire on Brixton Hill. I was a total ‘make-weight’, no experience, and a very ‘junior’ buck.

Brixton’s Red Watch were a tour de force. Old, steady, experienced LFB hands. Some were ex-army and one former Royal Navy sailor. Tony Sowerby was their ‘junior buck’. Like me a former Junior Fireman but with almost two years’ service now. On our arrival there was a serious house fire, one involving children. Brixton’s crews were fully committed. Lambeth’s pump crew seemed to know exactly what was required to be done and immediately set about doing it. I was left standing there like a spare-part!

Brixton’s Red Watch- Tony Sowerby 4th from the left of the picture. Acting Station Officer ‘Nobby’ Clarke in charge. Picture credit-London Fire Brigade.

Blackened, crazed, gazing at the front first and second floor windows gave a clue to the extreme heat inside. One of Brixton’s experienced hands was vomiting on the door step. A clue to the vile smoke that filled the house as I walked up to the front door to peek inside. Three with BA, the others without, the house seemed full of firemen. Firemen desperately searching for the missing children whilst fighting the fire.

Suddenly there was a commotion coming down the stairs. Shouted orders and some confusion too. Sowerby is holding a one child and I am given another as the fireman about turns and heads back into the smoke filled house. Sowerby cradles his child wrapped in something, I can’t recall what. The toddler I am holding is covered with grime and is smoke stained. Neither child is breathing but neither Sowerby nor I wish to believe the children are dead. They can’t be. We find ourselves on the back of an ambulance being driven at break neck speed, under police escort, to Kings College Hospital in south London. Neither of us stop trying to revive the unmoving children. The ambulance man in the rear, monitoring our progress, tries to hold us steady.

“Keep going lads” he encourages.

The arrival at ‘King’s’ A&E sees an initial frenzy of activity. The children are taken from our arms and carried inside. We seemed to wait for ages but in reality it was a short time. The doctor’s face told us what we never wished to hear. The children never made it. He thanked us for our efforts, which counts for nothing when you fail!

It was the police car that returned us to the fire scene. There was a palpable sense of loss in the firemen’s faces. Their blood shot eyes, snotty running noses and blacked faces telling its own tale of their determined efforts to rescue the two children. Sowerby and I say nothing. Not to each other nor to anyone else either. We try to avoid the faces of the other firemen. Brixton’s guvnor calls us to one side. He was a big, gruff, powerful man and tells us we were already fighting a losing battle. We could not have done anything more than what we did. However, it was not his words that mattered it was the nods and a wordless pat on the back from firemen. Firemen who I was in awe of and which showed a compassion, a sympathy and benevolence that this eighteen year old had not seen, or ever experienced, before. You could see the genuine sadness in their eyes that their efforts, this time, had been in vain. But they left me feeling that they would do it all again in a heartbeat to try and save a life. It was because of them (and so many more that followed them) this still sticks. I knew I had made the right choice to be a fireman. It was a feeling that lasted for the next thirty plus years.

The rank of fireman may, in the opinion of some, be a humble one but they know the work which a fireman had to do, in all its guises. To be able to climb up, get down, to crawl in and use your senses when common sense tells those getting out to run even faster. We young firemen learnt our craft from people called FIREMEN. The senior hands who took and believed in this noble calling. A proudest moment was to save a life. Yet we were full of pride when told by these ‘old’ hands “We’ll make a fireman of you yet son”.

1968. Lambeth’s pump escape and turntable ladder at a Vauxhall Walk fire. ‘Small fire in flat. Hosereel. BA’

‘Small fire flat-hosereel.’

These were different times. Times when we sent messages over the R/T, more often than not underplaying what was actually happening. Small was a relative term. If it hadn’t spread up, down or sideways, it was normally the ‘stop’ message of choice for so many London ‘old school’ guvnors. Occasionally, they might add two simple letters after it which said ‘BA’.

It didn’t matter if two or more rooms were well alight, providing no life risk was involved, ‘small fire flat’ seemed to tick their stop message box! Whilst the message might have been a simple one, for those getting low and crawling in the task was anything but straightforward. The taint of horsehair filled mattress would hang heavy in the air. As families updated their homes foam filled furniture became their preferred choice. In either event the noxious, foul, horrible and injurious smoke drove those crawling in with the hosereel down to the floor. What the smoke failed to do then the heat barrier would try its very best to do exactly the same thing. All the while, the smoke you could cut with a knife, gave its own signature of a small fire.

For the fireman edging into the flat, sometimes clambering, frequently struggling to inch forward, their eyes watered from stinging fumes and lungs getting a dose of harmful smoke, they were encouraged to get in with a range of expletives that could make a Billingsgate fish porter blush! The hosereel might be two or occasional would disguise itself as pip-squeak jet. Often the ‘stop’ message was sent as an act of faith. The faith of the guvnor in his crew, a crew who had yet to actually put the fire out! When the fire was covered, to the informed observer, came the next clues that this was a little ‘job’ The pump delayed for a few hours turning over and cutting away or the London Salvage Corps (LSC) requested to ‘secure the premises’. This had little to do with putting a padlock on the front door but rather sheeting up the fire affected windows.

Station work.

Once, at any London fire station, you could divide the average working day of a fireman life into thirds They would consist of drills, volley ball and station work. Which, if you were lucky, might be interrupted by a ‘shout’ or two. Our blue work overalls (No 4 rig for the purists out there) were worn in a range of hues, depending on their age, and were the normal rig of the day. Even at station drills only shoes were exchanged for ‘boots and leggings’ but overalls, together with your soft cap, remained the accepted rig.

The firemen at Euston fire station restowing a pump-a Home Office, former Auxiliary Fire pump, which were ofter placed into service due to the dire state of the reserve appliance fleet!

At Lambeth it was the Sub Officer who had day-to-day responsibility for the detailing the morning or afternoon station work routines, including appliance and equipment maintenance; outside station work, or station drills. The leading firemen monitored the progress of station work, or appliance maintenance, throughout the day.

It was a long-standing tradition on Lambeth’s Red Watch that the very senior hands were excused certain station routines, but in particular station cleaning. As the mere sprog I had no such privileges and certainly not as their youngest ever junior buck. I soon built up an intimate relationship with cleaning every corner of the Fm’s toilet. At Lambeth this was the size of large public lavatory. Two long troughs of separate, full length, urinals, six crapper booths and an adjoining multi-sink fireman’s washroom. I would eventually get ‘promoted’. I moved onto cleaning the junior officers’ toilets; but only after a next junior buck had arrived on the watch.

Fireman Ken Thorne (and myself) at the Old ‘folks’ Christmas party held annually by Lambeth’s Red Watch at the headquarters station. Ken was the station’s senior hand and only ever drove the Emegency Tender. A consummate and respected fireman he joined the LFB, in the AFS, in 1938. The winner in both Brigade pump escape and pump competitions in the 1950s he was a giant of a fireman and human being too.

But in my four years at Lambeth I never reached high enough in the pecking order to polish the locker room floor or, the very best job of all, the iconic Lambeth billiard/snooker room floor, with its two full size snooker tables that sat in this majestic timber panelled room. Here framed photos of Lambeth’s winners of the Brigade’s Pump and Pump Escape competitions hung in pride of place from the walls and a young, handsome looking, Ken Thorne; Taff Webber and Bill Skipsey, (both now serving on the fireboat), looked down on a room that hadn’t changed a jot in appearance since the Headquarters first opened in 1937.

Lambeth’s, central, main corridor ran almost the whole length of the headquarters building. It was named the ‘golden mile’ and was cleaned daily. Occasionally I would be extended the honour of scrubbing, then polishing the ‘golden mile’. But not with the Electrolux floor polisher, reserved for the more senior hands and the floors of the locker and billiard room. No my polishing implement was the bumper… the weighty breeze block on a stick. Given an application of liquid polish the bumper was pushed and pulled the length of the corridor. The sweat soon started to pour as our collarless shirts took up the excess perspiration. Pushing a bumper was a serious work-out and not for the faint hearted. I was always told there were many naval traditions in the fire brigade and that bloody bumper was akin to holy-stoning the deck of on a ship of the line.

But the one aspect of station cleaning that was always welcome. It was a real joy. The weekly scrub-out of Lambeth’s seven-bay, tiled, appliance room floor. Our scrub-outs were always carried out on a Friday. The rota system meant that we got to scrub out twice every six weeks. With the vast appliance room cleared of its fire engines, senior officers’ cars and the Brigade’s control unit and parked in the drill yard the metal drip trays were finally pulled clear. Then we all armed ourselves with a bass broom. With the surface of the appliance room floor thoroughly soaked from a jet fixed to a hydrant in the station yard comprox was poured onto the wet surface and we scrubbed the floor. We worked in a long line across the width of the appliance room, pushing our brooms from one end to the other and mixed the comprox with the water.

The water, the comprox and the sweeping action brooms resulted in a blanket of white soapy foam that covered the whole appliance room floor. It was incredibly slippery, especially on the grooved tiled floor of Lambeth’s appliance room. It became a great surface on which to play the brigade’s version of ‘ice hockey’. Using a large bar of carbolic soap as the puck, bass brooms as hockey sticks and fireboots as ice skates we had thirty minutes, or so, of unrestrained rough and tumble as we slid about trying to hit the “puck” from one end of the appliance room to the other. The junior officers often joined in this frivolity and passing senior officers would gaze in at our game, privately wishing they too could let their hair down and pick up a broom.

Lambeth’s empty appliance room-great venue for ‘Comprox’ hockey on a Friday.

As the suds slowly disappeared so the surface lost its slimy veneer and the game was over until the next scrub-out. Now it was just a matter of cleaning off the grime and stains by washing the appliance room clean with jets of water. This, more often than not, resulted in the inevitable water fight. But especially so on hot summer days when the temptation to give someone a thorough soaking became overpowering. Occasionally it all got out of hand, or rather the jet did, and a passing bus would get a dousing too, much to the annoyance of the guvnor who had to mollify an irate bus inspector from the local bus depot.

The new Lambeth headquarters when opened in 1937. The Lambeth fire station accommodation, on the first floor, had remained the same ever since. Picture credit. London Fire Brigade.

It was an era when us young boys ‘learnt by rote’. We carried that message into the 80’s, some more successfully that others and always reliant on those crawling in with the hosereel. I have no idea what today’s firefighters would think of our dinosaur attics-but they were special times. Glad to have been part of them. It doesn’t matter if you call yourself a London fireman or a firefighter. It remains a badge I wear with pride.

Wrong place-right time. Receiving a ‘pat’ on the back from Fielf Marshall Geradd Templer at the 1969 Annual Review.

Arthur Reginald Dyer-Chief Officer of the London Fire Brigade-A man of his time.

In 1928 a funeral took place, that of Mr John Herbert Dyer who had served with the Alton fire brigade for over 50 years and had eventually became their Chief Officer. He was a founding member of the National Fire Brigades Union (1887). He would become a Union Vice-President and was subsequently awarded several foreign decorations for his outstand contribition to the NFBU. (Which should not be confused with the Fire Brigade Union that was formed in 1928.) He was also the father of one Arthur Reginald Dyer, who between 1918 and 1933, was the London Fire Brigade’s Chief Officer.

A gathering of the National Fire Brigades Union at the London Fire Brigades headquarters-Southwark. Circa 1912.

Arthur was born in Alton in 1877. By his early twenties he had worked with pupillage training with the fire engine manufacturers Merryweather & Son at Greenwich for two years, followed by a further year of study at King’s College, London before travelling to the United States.

He joined the British Westinghouse Electric & Manufacturing Company Ltd in January 1900 at their works in Pittsburgh. Having spent one year in their electric works, and one year in the machine company’s works, he was involved with the manufacture, erection and testing of large gas and steam engines. Returning to England in March 1902, he spent the next two years attached to the mechanics staff of the British Westinghouse Company where he was engaged in installing gas engines for the Birmingham Small Arms Company under Messrs Henry Lea & Son, consulting engineers.

In 1904, the year of his marriage, he applied to join the London Fire Brigade (LFB) as a direct entry candidate. Aged 27, notices of Dyer’s marriage listed him as an Associate Member of the Institution of Civil Engineers. The London County Council (LCC) Selection Boards was impressed with the Dyer and he was appointed as an Assistant Divisional Officer. A principal officer rank within the Brigade.

1904. The London Fire Brigade’s principal officers (front row seated) with the Superintendents standing at the rear.

Arthur Dyer, born a Victorian, would become one of the most successful Chief Officers of the LFB. He was an exceptional leader of his men. One that was highly respected by both rank and file, something that was attritubed to his noteworthy courageous actions. An officer who lead from the front. Awarded for his bravery he was seriously injured, more than once in the line of duty. By any measure he proved himself to be an outstanding LFB officer. He ranks amongst the finest of the LFB’s Chiefs. During his fifteen years at its head he brought about some exceptional challenges. Was he a unique man? Is is not for me to say, but it was a remarkable career.

At 31 years of age he started his 29 year career before being promoted to Divisional Officer (North) in 1909. That was the same year a new LFB Chief Officer was appointed; Lieut-Commander Sladen. RN. Sladen was not a ‘hands-on’ Chief Officer. He was however considered very much a LCC Committee man but never obtained the full confidence of either his officers or his firemen. A man who never really made the transition from the Royal Navy into the London Fire Brigade culture. It is reported that he once attended particular large fire and fully expected his men to stop fighting the blaze and parade whilst he issued his instructions! Thankfully, it was Sladen’s more than able deputy, Sidney Gamble (later Dyer) who protected the man’s reputation by their own leadership qualities. Both men having carved out reputations as a capable fire-fighting officers and highly respected by their firemen.

Divisional Officer Gamble-Deputy to the Chief Officer.

Dyer was deemed a cool and determined man. A firm disciplinarian, and a good sport, he was also board minded and far seeing. He took the keenest interest in the welfare of his men and their sports. A capable sportsman himself there was not a branch of the Brigade’s Athletic Association he did not take a personal interest in, particularly boxing, fishing, walking and running.

Dyer’s brigade of 1908. As the Divisional Officer North-residing at Euston fire station-he covered the area north of the Thames but could/did attend major fires anywhere in the Brigade area when required.

Operationally he never let his men venture where he would not go himself, and was known to personally try out a position of danger before placing firemen with hose lines in it. Dyer was highly commended for his actions in helping save the lives of two children from a south London fire. He and Senior Superintendent Moore were attending a burning oil shop and Dyer assisted Moore in a daring rescue. Moore was awarded the Silver Medal, the Victoria Cross of the London Fire Brigade. Dyer’s actions resulted in the presentation of the London County Council’s Distinguished Conduct Medal. Such was Dyer’s determination to lead from the front that during his career he was injured seriously five times in fire-fighting operations including at the Siege of Sidney Street in 1911.

Rescues at a Fleet Street fire on the 21st September 1912.

As the Divisional Officer (North), Dyer resided at Euston fire station. He and the Divisional Officer (South) {Major Morris} answered only to the Chief Officer and his tenure from 1909 until 1918 Dyer took charge of some of London’s most problematic fires of the time, including many of the resultant 224 fires due to enemy air raids on London during WWI. Not least of them when on Tuesday 7^th September 1915 fifty sets of premises were damaged and set ablaze. In the City no fewer than twenty-two pumps fought the fires in Wood Street and Silver Street and the loss of property amounted to over half a million pounds.

Dyer was seriously injured during firefighting operations at the Sidney Street seige and aftermath. One of many injuries
during his career on the London Fire Brigade.

In 1911 Dyer was the officer in charge if the fire-fighting operations at the Sidney Street siege in east London. On Friday 19^th January 1917 Dyer led the Brigades considerable response to the Silvertown explosion. Although outside London and in the West Ham fire brigade area London, who were already busy dealing with the many calls arising from the disaster in East and South-East London, the most severe being the ‘great fire’ at the Phoenix Wharf, East Greenwich, where over 9 million cubic feet of gas was destroyed and a gas holder collapsed as a result of the concussion effect of the Silvertown explosion.

Two London firemen were killed in this Southwark blaze-a short distance from the Southwark LFB headquarters station.

On the 9th August Dyer took charge of the Charlton Hotel fire in the Haymarket.

Although Dyer was formally appointed Chief Officer in June 1919, he had been carrying out the duties of acting Chief Officer since December 1918 following Sladen’s sudden resignation. Sladen had faced public criticism for losing the confidence of his Brigade due to inability to command it. Dyer was appointed Chief Officer both of the London Fire Brigade and the London Ambulance Service. Taking up his post he moved back into the Southwark Headquarters. However, his earlier days were challenging. He commanded 82 land and river fire stations.

The published picture of Arthur Dyer upon his taking the position of Acting Chief Officer.

Arthur Dyer’s Southwark London Fire Brigade headquarters building, and the extended Southwark fire station which opened in 1911. Built for the Metropolitan Fire Brigade it opened in 1878 and was located in Southwark Bridge Road SE1. Southwark remained the Brigade’s headquarters until the headquarter’s relocation to the new Lambeth site on the Albert Embankment in 1937. (The arched frontage, with the spired tower, was demolished in the late 1960s by the Greater London Council.) Circa1920. Picture credit-London Fire Brigade.

London’s major fires, classified as ‘Brigade Calls’, were a frequent occurrence for the new Chief Officer. In fact it is highly likely that Dyer faced some of his greatest challenges both in combating some of the largest, peacetime, fires in recent times and being an agent of change. Not least amongst these changes were the introduction of the two watch system and the continued extensive motorisation of the brigade’s operational fleet. This lead to the rationalisation of London’s fire cover by Dyer (due to the introduction of motorised fire engines) and which would see 15 of his fire stations close.

In 1920 Dyer hosts a Royal visit by the Prince of Wales (later crowned Edward VIII) to the Southwark Headquarters.

The Prince of Wales makes a presentation to Superintent Crowe (North-based at Euston) under the watchful gaze of Chief Arthur Dyer at the Southwark headquarters during the Royal visit. 1920.

However, Dyer also presided over a considerable fire station modernisation programme and new builds. In 1921 the London Salvage Corps handed over its Shaftesbury Avenue station and Soho was born. In the same year the very last horse drawn fire engine, a turntable ladder, was withdrawn from service. By 1923 the extension to Euston was completed and agreement was reached on the rebuilding of a new Peckham fire station adjacent to the existing station. Prior to his retirement in 1933, Dyer had overseen the opening of the new Whitechapel fire station plus the creation of a new sub-station in Downham.

An historic and sad occasion for the London Fire Brigade in November 1921, when the Brigade said farewell to the last pair of horses (together with their horse-drawn fire engine) used in the capital seen here at Kensington Fire Station. Date: 1921

Operationally, within the space of eleven days in October 1920 Dyer commanded two of London’s fiercest fires in decades. The first was the Hop Exchange in Southwark Street, SE1.So severe was the fire that within minutes a ‘Brigade Call’ had forty pumps, four turntable ladders and other special fire engines battling the flames. After two hours the fire was deemed subdued and only four fire engines remained. At 2.20 a.m. a dust explosion occurred in part of the building which had been saved. The explosion blew out the rear upper floors. Fire ravaged the whole of the central and westerly end of the six floors and once again Dyer was commanding over forty pumps. It was not until the 11^th November that the Brigade finally left the scene.

The Hop warehouse fire-Southwark Street. October 1920.

Lower Oliver’s Wharf caught fire on the 31^st October. The first crews to arrive found the second and third floors alight and fire was issuing from the roof at the rear. After entering the building the officer in charge noticed strong fumes and ordered the immediate withdrawal of crews from the ground floor. No sooner that they had exited than a massive explosion blasted windows, doors from the ground to second floor into the street. The resulting falling debris caused both many casualties and three firemen fatalities. The fire proved very difficult for Dyer to deal with owing to highly flammable nature of the rubber stocks which filled the warehouse. Again forty pumps and three fire-floats were engaged extinguishing this fatal blaze.

Lower Oliver’s Wharf caught fire on the 31^st October 1920.

In 1917 Dyer had welcomed back into the Brigade Major Morris, who had been awarded both the Military Cross and the Royal Humane Society’s Bronze Medal for meritorious actions during WWI. He had been recalled to the Brigade and in the following year was promoted to the post of Divisional Officer. Dyer also welcomed Major Frank Whitford Jackson as a direct entry officer. Jackson had been awarded the Distinguished Service Order for Gallantry and was considered to have had a noteworthy ‘War’. They, together with Divisional Officer Aylmer Firebrace, who had replaced Dyer at Euston, would provide London with its Chief Officers for the next 25 years. Announced in ‘The Times’ on February 13,1917 following the award of three King’s Police Medals to members of the London Fire Brigade for gallantry appeared the name of “ARTHUR REGINALD DYER. Divi. Officer. Conspicuous gallantry in attempting, to save a child by climbing up the front of burning premises by a hook ladder attached to an insecure balcony. Has twice previously shown conspicuous courage, and as a Divi. Officer shows marked ability.”

The director of the Berlin Fire Brigade showing a mechanic turntable ladder to his guest, Arthur Dyer from the London Fire Brigade. Photographer: Alfred Gross – Published by: ‘Berliner Morgenpost’ 23.04.1931

Chief Arthur Dyer upon his retirement from the London Fire Brigade at his Southwark headquarters. 1933.

Dyer retired from the London Fire Brigade in 1933 and was replaced by Major Morris. MC.

At the age of 73 Arthur Dyer. KPM. died at his home in Filsham Road-St Leonards, where he had moved to after retirement. He loved Hastings and was a keen sea fisherman becoming a member of both the East Sussex Club and the St Leonards Sea Angling Club. His funeral was befitting someone of his standing. His coffin, drapped in a Union Flag, was borne on a fire engine of the borough brigade. His guard of honour were 17 firemen and local officers from Hastings, six of whom acted as bearers. Among his mourners were his son, Major H B Dyer and daughter. Two former London Chief Officers, Sir Almer Firebrace and Major F W Jackson led the party of many fire service representatives. Arthur Dyer was cremated and his ashes scattered in the Garden of Remembrance.

Eldon Street – A Sixty Pump Fire. December 1951

Two years and a day after the fatal Covent Garden Market fire, a fire which took the life of Station Officer Charles Fisher, on the evening of the 21^st December 1951 another fire took the lives of three London firemen and seriously injure many more.

The ‘spit and polish’ Fire Brigade Union official industrial action of 1951.

1951 had not been a particularly good year for London’s firemen. Since the return of the Fire Service to Local Authority control in 1948, following WWII nationalisation, their wages were poor. Attempts to gain pay parity with the Police failed despite the Fire Brigade Union (FBU) making a strong case that firemen were deserving of similar financial remuneration. The FBU’s referral of their case to the Industrial Court also failed. However, the firemen did receive a small increase in their basic wage but it was not as much had been claimed by their Union. Then in 1951 the Police received another pay rise! The fire brigade employers, in particular the London County Council, refused once again to countenance any pay parity with the Police. In its response the FBU instructed, that over the 19^th and 20^th November, its members to demonstrate by only attending fires and special service calls. All other normal duties were curtailed by the firemen and their Union officers.

The London County Council through the LFB Chief Officer, Frederick Delve, warned London firemen that refusal to undertake station work, perform drills and inspections would infringe their Discipline Regulations. Although the dispute was nationwide in London some 1,420 firemen and junior officers were considered to have rendered themselves liable to discipline proceedings and a stoppage of pay. With charge sheets being drawn up this was the setting to the events four days before that Christmas of 1951.

The London Fire Brigade’s Chief Officer-Frederick Delve.

Eldon Street stood a short distance from the Liverpool Street main line railway station. The ‘old warehouse’ was once part of the Broad Street Station goods depot. At five storeys tall it contained a basement and sub-basement. Constructed in 1886 it covered an area of 112 ft. (34 metres) long fronting Eldon Street and was 256 ft. (78 metres) deep. Its floor capacity was some 2,500,000 square ft. (232,257 square metres). Having no internal load bearing walls, the upper floors were carried on steel joists and unprotected cast-iron columns. Both the floors below ground and the ground floor were concrete and the upper floors of timber construction.

The roof was built on timber trusses having close boarded timbers covered with waterproof felt. Items stored in the warehouse included carpets, hosiery, rubber flooring, cotton, wool, textiles, paper, glass and stationery. On the second floor an area had been partitioned off and used to hold records on timber racking. A canteen and kitchen were located on the first floor whilst the ground floor was used as a loading and unloading area. The basement was sub-divided and stocked with wool which was undamaged by the subsequent disastrous fire. At the time of the fire the whole building was used for the storage of commodities. Only the top floor was rented out, to a company called Anglo-Overseas Transport Co Ltd. The remainder of the building occupied by British Rail with some space rented to various traders.

On that fateful December Friday afternoon all employees had left the 3^rd and 4^th floors at their ‘clocking-off’ time of 5.00 p.m. There was no evidence presented to suggest that these floors were visited after that time. Work had ceased in the warehouse area on the 2^nd floor but the staff were still at a Christmas party being held in the Claims Dept. annexe until 5.30 p.m. when only a few staff remained in the building. The foreman who locked the 2^nd floor partition door at 5.50 p.m. stated he noticed nothing unusual. At 6.55 p.m. two cleaners arrived and stayed until 7.15 p.m. They swept up after the party and again they noticed nothing untoward.

At 7.15 p.m. and in the private telephone switchboard room, serving the railway station, the operator noticed the ‘dolls eye’ had dropped on the switchboard. That particular ‘dolls eye’ indicated that a distance telephone receiver had been lifted in the Claims Dept. The operator answered the call but got no response. He assumed the line was out of order. Five minutes later the same thing happened again, this time indicating the receiver was removed in the 2^nd floor Book Room. With no response again no further action was taken. It was two railwaymen, sitting in the first-floor canteen, who heard a noisy thud on the floor above them (that might have been caused by falling furniture) around 7.25 p.m. but they took no action.

The first reported sighting of a fire is credited to an off-duty City of London police officer (PC Armfield from Bishopsgate Police Station). He and two colleagues were walking in Finsbury Square at about 7.32 p.m. when he saw smoke issuing from a second-floor window overlooking Eldon Street. On reaching the corner with Finsbury Avenue he later stated he saw smoke belching out of the first six to eight windows of the second floor. He ran to the gatekeeper’s cubicle in Eldon Street and was told by its occupant:

‘We know all about it’ or words to that effect.

Then at 7.34 p.m. the same PC saw smoke still coming from the window. He returned to the gatekeeper only to be told:

‘Everything is all right; my people have been told.’

The gatekeeper later subsequently denied all knowledge of these events! No call to the fire brigade was made. One of the two railwaymen, a Mr Court, left the canteen and clocked off at the gatekeeper’s office at 7.41 p.m. Making his way back to the canteen he smelt smoke. Through an open lift shaft, he saw the glow of fire on the second floor and ran to the canteen to confer with the other railwayman, Mr Silver, who was a railway fireman. Both men ran to the second floor and saw the red glow of flames through the glazed partition. They realised the Book Room was well alight. Silver instructed Court to summon the fire brigade whilst he, assisted others members of the railway fire brigade, connected lengths of hose and prepared to attack the fire. The first internal main they connected too was dry, so was the second and the third. In the heat of moment and general confusion Silver had forgotten that the internal water supply was turned off.

The LFB control room, located in the basement of the Lambeth HQ building, Albert Embankment SE1.

Court had run to the gate-keeper at the Eldon Street entrance and told him of the fire. Together, they went to a public telephone box to summon the fire brigade. However, when they arrived the phone was already in use. Whilst the gatekeeper demanded that the caller let him ring the fire brigade, Court ran to the Shipping Clerk’s Office and asked for the fire brigade be summoned. The first call to the Eldon Street fire was logged at the London Fire Brigade’s Lambeth HQ basement control room at 7.43 p.m. It was the first of three calls, the second via the Clerk’s Officer and the railway’s switchboard operator was received six minutes later.

Lambeth control room staff mobilised the pump-escape and pump from the Bishopsgate fire station, a pump from Redcross Street and a turntable ladder from Cannon Street. In addition, the pump from Shoreditch was sent with its Station Officer for officer cover (Station Officer Glendenning). In two minutes the first fire engines arrived at the scene. Leading Fireman Wheeler was in charge of Bishopsgate’s pair. Upon arrival he found considerable quantities of smoke issuing from the upper floors although no fire was visible from the street. Despite difficulty in finding the building’s entrance he did not hesitate in making ‘pumps 4’. The time was 7.48 p.m.

The oxygen ‘Proto’ breathing apparatus sets of the LFB-shown here carried on a pump.

Sub Officer Green was in charge of Redcross Street. He arrived as the priority message was being sent. Entering the building he ordered a hose line be got to work whilst he investigated the extent of the fire. Reaching the second floor he discovered the fire had got a firm hold and he sent a runner back to his pump with instructions to send the message ‘make pumps 8’. That was at 7.50 p.m.

Green then left the second floor with the intention of getting an additional hose line to work and increasing the attendance yet again. Seeing the railway firemen, who were still attempting to find an internal hydrant with a water supply, he ordered then out as his firemen had arrived on the second floor with a charged hose line. In the meantime, Assistant Divisional Officer Vardell had arrived. He was met by the fireman who was about to send Sub Officer Green’s priority message. Vardell made a quick survey of the building and was briefed by Station Officer Glendenning who had just exited the building. Vardell had seen fire visible in the centre of the upper floors and burning debris was falling on the parked vehicles in the loading bay. At 7.53 p.m. and five minutes after the first crew arrived, Vardell made ‘pumps 20 and turntable ladders 4’. He also instructed the railway staff to set about moving the parked vehicles before re-entering the building. He ordered jets got to work at both the north and south ends of the building and instructed Cannon Street’s turntable ladder to get to work at the south-east corner of the building.

At 7.58 p.m. Deputy Chief Officer McDuell arrived. He was followed three minutes later by Chief Officer Frederick Delve, who immediately took command. By now all three upper floors were involved. The Chief Officer instructed McDuell to take charge of the south and west sides of the building and to get turntable ladders to work in Eldon Street with additional jets got to work from the heads of the escape ladders pitched in Eldon Street and Finsbury Avenue.

Delve covered the north and east sides of the building, and assisted by Divisional Officer Alfie Shawyer, he told Shawyer to get jets to work on the second floor. A further six crews, under the direction of Divisional Officer Leslie Leete, were directed to work inside the east of the building. The conditions were such that neither Shawyer nor Leete could make much progress into the heart of the building. Jets had to be directed from the head of the second-floor staircases. With seven jets at work within the building it was rapidly becoming smoke-logged and the heat was intense. At 8.13 p.m. the Chief Officer made ‘pumps 30’.

London fire crews-wearing their ‘Proto’ oxygen breathing apparatus sets at the Eldon Street blaze.

At the southern end of the building Sub Officer Cregeen had two jets at work on the second-floor central staircase where the conditions were becoming untenable. With one of the jets manned by a crew wearing breathing apparatus the other was manned by firemen without it. A leading fireman and two of his crew were overcome by the extreme heat and smoke. They had to be removed to hospital by ambulance. Another fireman received serious burns to both his hands and was also taken to hospital. Eventually Sub Officer Cregeen was forced to withdraw the remaining crews from this area.

In Eldon Street the Deputy McDuell had got two turntable ladders to work with their jets directed to the roof of the building and three escapes pitched to the second-floor windows with crews bringing four jets to bear inside the building. However, despite the firemen’s efforts, access to the main bulk of the fire was hampered by what appeared to be a series of partitions. By 8.35 p.m. 15 jets were now at work but were having little effect on the fire which was growing in intensity. The greater proportion of the upper three floors were burning furiously. It was evident to the Chief Officer that many more jets would be required. At 8.46 p.m. he made ‘pumps 40’. It was the biggest blaze the London brigade had faced since the end of WWII.

The aftermath of the Goods Depot building collapse.

Immediately after sending the assistance message disaster struck. A catastrophic series of structural collapses occurred. First, there was a collapse at the north-east corner of the building. This was followed by a collapse at the south end in Eldon Street; followed by a collapse at the west side in Finsbury Avenue with a further collapse at the north end of the building. Finally, a collapse on the east side involved part of the roof over the goods yard. At the first collapse the Deputy McDuell reported to the Chief on the north corner of the building. Following a brief discussion McDuell informed the Chief he intended to attack the fire at the north end using crews with three jet and two turntable ladders. He returned to Eldon Street.

It was at about 8.53 p.m. that Assistant Divisional Officer Trust was informed of a bulge in the wall at the south end of the building. Trust was the officer in charge of the Brigade control unit. He sent a control unit Station Officer to warn the Deputy Chief. The Deputy said he was already aware when given the warning and had issued instructions for personnel to withdraw from the building. He instructed the Station Officer to assist with the evacuation of the firefighting crews.

The aftermath of the collapse in Eldon Street.

At 8.59 p.m. a substantial collapse occurred in Eldon Street. McDuell was struck by the falling masonry which crushed his leg and pinned him to the ground. (His leg had to be amputated in hospital.) Eldon Street looked like something reminiscent of the Blitz. In its length it contained two wrecked turntable ladders, several broken 50-foot wheeled escapes and debris filled the road covering hoses and other fire-fighting equipment and, tragically, the bodies of dead firemen.

Coverage of the fatal building collapse and fire in The Illustrated News. January 1952.

Of the escape ladder crews it was the centrally located escape ladder which was the scene of the three fatalities. The crew from Whitefriars had descended and was preparing to move the ladder. A hose line was still on the escape and secured to the ladder. Station Officer Handslip, Whitefriars officer in charge, climbed the ladder with the aim of releasing the hose when the wall collapsed smashing into the escape. Firemen Leslie Skitt (age 39) and Edward James Harwood (age 32) were killed outright. Fireman Thomas Albert Joy (age 39) would die a short while later from his injures. Station Officer Handslip was flung from the ladder. The remaining crew were all injured and Handslip and the leading fireman were admitted to hospital.

The escapes, on either side of smashed ladder, were also severely damaged and the crews from Cannon Street, Shadwell inured. Some had such serious injuries that they were detailed in hospital.

Confusion and chaos reigned in the immediate aftermath of the collapses. There was a temporary lull in firefighting as all efforts were directed to the rescue and recovery of fallen colleagues. While this was going on the fire gained in strength and ferocity. Personnel were instructed to withdraw but many remained in imminent personal danger in Eldon Street as they continued to support the rescue of injured firemen with others leading the walking wounded to safety.

Eldon Street was only 40 feet wide and Finsbury Avenue was even narrower at 22 feet wide and fallen masonry filed both streets. In response to the collapse, and the dire circumstances, the Chief Officer made ‘pumps 60’ at 9.03 p.m. and he organised the return to firefighting. The last collapsed occurred at 9.21 p.m.

In view of the dangerous nature of the building the Chief Officer ordered that all firefighting to take place from strategic locations around the site. On the East Side Assistant Divisional Officer Vardell had 12 jets at work from the Goods Yard. Divisional Officers’ Leete and Shawyer had further jets to work on the West and North sides. By 11.45 p.m. some 41 jets were at work. With the fire surrounded the Chief Officer left the scene to visit his men in hospital. He handed over responsibility for firefighting to Divisional Officer Shawyer and it was soon possible for the crews to re-enter the building and deal with the fire at close quarters.

The remains of the Broad Street Station goods depot.

The majority of the LFB personnel had been in constant action for around four hours. They had been working under extreme difficulty and in very challenging circumstances. A 20-pump relief was requested at midnight. The ‘Stop’ message was sent at 1.50 a.m. on the 22^nd. Damping down would continue until the 27^th when the last LFB pump was withdrawn.

Footnotes on Eldon Street.

The Old Warehouse, part of Broad Street Station Goods Depot on Eldon Street. A London firemen giving first aid to one of their injured colleagues as he is moved away from the heat of the burning fire. (Photo by Staff-Daily Mirror)

As a direct result of the collapse three London firemen died. Eight other officers and firemen were seriously injured and required to be detained in hospital. A further seven were treated in hospital but released following treatment. St Bartholomew’s, The London and St Leonard’s hospitals were all put on standby. In total thirty firemen were taken to hospital with others treated at the scene for various minor injuries. Ambulances were conveying three firemen stretcher patients at a time; one on each bed and one on a Furley stretcher in the gangway of the rear of the vehicle.

The Brigade Control staff, at Lambeth, where under considerable pressure throughout the incident but were praised for their efficiency. In addition to the Eldon Street fire, in the four hours between 7.43 p.m. and midnight, 20 other calls were handled without incident. The Control staff handled 497 messages in that time in addition to dealing with numerous press inquiries about the Eldon Street fire. 18 fire engines from 5 surrounding Brigades where brought into London to cover empty London stations.

London control officers who handled the Eldon Street mobilising and dealt with other 999 calls during the fire.

The attendance by the London Fire Brigade included 62 pump escapes and pumps, which included an Auxiliary Fire Service (AFS) pump from Euston fire station. Eight turntable ladders attended plus the Brigade’s two emergency tenders and a hose layer. After midnight the initial crews were relieved by 20 relief pumps, including five pumps each from Kent, Essex and Surrey Fire Brigades. The two turntable ladders that sustained serious damage came from Kingsland and Cannon Street fire stations.

Deputy Chief Officer McDuell never returned to duty and was medically retired. As Superintendent. Charles Philip McDuell he had, during WWII, taken charge of several serious Blitz fires which were caused by enemy action on oil depots, wharves and factories in London. On one occasion there were as many as eight distinct fires burning at once. Superintendent McDuell attended all of them throughout two consecutive nights. He showed conspicuous ability and leadership, particularly in organizing water supplies and he awarded the OBE for his officership and gallantry.

Following the Eldon Street fire an Honours and Awards Committee was instituted to consider acts of meritorious conduct at the fire and the subsequent building collapse. Both Chief Officer’s Commendations and Letters of Congratulation were awarded however the names of the individual recipients are, sadly, not recorded.

Funeral procession of the three London firemen killed at theEldon Street blaze.

As a result of the fatal major fire the Chief Officer submitted a report to the Fire Brigade’s Committee of the London County Council. In his report Delve formally recorded his admiration for the officers and firemen who attended and fought the blaze. A fire of such intensity and challenging conditions that it presented exceedingly dangerous and difficult problems. He made special note of the unflinching devotion to duty and courage displayed by London’s firemen throughout the trying firefighting operations. As a consequence of the Chief Officer’s report and appraisal of the Brigade’s response to this incident the LCC withdrew the disciplinary charges against all individuals across the Brigade.

The memorial plaque to the London firemen who perished at Eldon Street blaze. Erected in 2012

At the subsequent Coroner’s Inquest, conducted by Mr H.G. Broadridge, deputy coroner of the City of London, the hearing into the three firemen’s deaths lasted three days. Miss Rose Heilbron KC. Acted on behalf of the Fire Brigades Union’s solicitors, W.H. Thompson, representing the widows and dependents of the dead firemen.

A formal verdict of ‘Accidental death’ was recorded for each man.

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.

The former Old Kent Road fire station. 1905-1969

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.

Trafalar Street-Walworth. Typical of the street by street house clearences in L.B. Southwark in the late 1960s.

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.

Typical roll-call at the start of a shift. (Not Old Kent Road personnel.)1970

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.

Pump escape circa 1970. Show is B22 Lambeth’s PE but Old Kent Road’s would look the same.

God; I loved the job I once did…

Competitions in London’s Fire Brigade.

Possibly the origins of London fire brigade competitions lay in the Metropolitan Fire Brigade (MFB)? To be honest, I have no real way of knowing as reference to them is rather scarce! Probably the earliest competitions came with the London Insurance Companies and the various brigades racing to the scene of a fire and trying to get to the latest blaze first! Capt. Eyre Massey Shaw (the first Chief Officer of the MFB) was certainly aware of fire brigade competitions when, in 1881, he witnessed the New York brigade competition on his famous American tour. But they were, in fact, more horse races, with the teams of horse-drawn fire engines competing against each other. The idea would eventually come to London but not on Shaw’s watch. He just returned to London with the American idea of introducing firemen’s poles. They soon became a popular feature in all his London fire stations.

Up until 1889 men of the Metropolitan Fire Brigade were not permitted to take part in any national fire brigade competitions, partly because of the unfair advantage they had as the UK’s premier fire brigade. The idea of these professional MFB men sweeping the board, and collecting all the trophies, did not sit well with the competition organisers. After Shaw’s retirement in 1891 neither the disgraced MFB Chief Simmonds, or his much-revered replacement Capt. Wells (1896-1903) appeared to encourage their men into such competition ‘trivialities’.

But by the brigade’s change of name in 1904 (when it was formally named as the London Fire Brigade) the idea of the benefits of inter-station competitions grew both in momentum and popularity. They would involve both land and water races, with both professional skills and sporting prowess gaining impetus. In the space of a few short years’ competition became part of the LFB’s way of life for its firemen, and whilst the age of the horse-drawn engine was in decline the racing of the wheeled escape cart crews had entered the annual LFB calendar.

**1912**-Kingsland Road fire station. Their horses won the International Horse Show in their category.

Under the brigade’s sixth Chief Officer-Lieut-Commander Sampson Sladen, it is fair to say the idea of regular brigade competitions had become firmly established. By 1905 a new competition was initiated; the turnout competition. A cup was awarded to the winning team with the fastest response to the station alarm being sounded. The competition would continue until the late 1960s. The Brigade Regatta, a Thames River race, would become one of the longest running LFB competitions, morphing into the inter-divisional/brigade whaler race, and later still the inter-services Fishmongers Cup. It finally fell off competition shelf in the late 1990s when support by the Brigade for those entering competitions went into terminal decline. (By then, most of the former competitions had already been consigned to the brigade’s history book!)

In 1912 the annual escape competitions were initiated with the finals held at the Southwark headquarters and a cup awarded to the quickest station crew. The first winners being Southwark; who were able to raise their ladder and climb into the four-storey tower to extinguish an imaginary fire in 41 seconds! The pump competitions followed as did the LFB entering their teams of horses in the International Horse Show in London.

Despite the onset of the first World War in 1914 it did not diminish the williness of stations, or individuals, to take part in competition. Not least was the growth in sporting competitions, with road races, boxing matches and the annual athletics meeting taking place at one of London national stadiums, but most notably at the White City.

With the arrival of Arthur Dyer in 1918 as Chief Officer competitions moved up a gear. Dyer was a keen sportsman and highly competitive. He saw the merit in competitions and would eventually add a fireman’s technical quiz to the annual LFB calendar.

The London Fire Brigade regatta on the River Thames. It would lead to the inter-divisional Whaler races and Brigade finals

**16th August 1919.** London firemen watching the races at the London Fire Brigade Sports at Herne Hill, south London.
(Photo by A. R. Coster/Topical Press Agency/Getty Images)

**1920** and the Brigade finals of the pump competition held at Southwark HQ.

**1920** and firemen roll up their hose during the Brigade finals of the pump competition held at Southwark HQ.

**1931-**The finals of the pump-escape competition at the Southwark HQ. Firemen, using dummies, have to rescue casualties
from the third and fifth, by carry-down and lowering line, tower in the fastest time.

**1935**-The finals of the pump-escape competition at the Southwark HQ. Firemen, using dummies, have to rescue casualties from the third and fifth floors, by carry-down and a lowering line, in the fastest time.

**1935.** Station No 1-Southwark-winners of the Brigade pump-escape competition held at the London Fire Brigade Southwark HQ.

Up until 1937 all Brigade finals of the various skill competitions were held at the Southwark HQ in Southwark Bridge Road. But the HQ founded by Capt. Shaw in 1878 was considered passed its sell by date. The current Chief, Major Morris. MC. had secured agreement with the London County Council to build a new, bespoke, headquarters station on the Albert Embankment. SE1. Lambeth would be the home of all future pump and pump escape finals until the 1960s and 70s.

**1935.** The Brigade finals of the pump competition at the Southwark HQ.

**1937.** The Lambeth fire station crew, first winners of the pump-escape competition held at the new Brigade HQ. Albert Embankment. SE1.

**1938** and the Brigade competition final held at the Lambeth HQ.

It took the Second World War, in particular the Blitz from September 1940 to May 1941 to suspend the LFB’s competitions. However, it was only a temporary lull and with the creation of National Fire Service in August 1941 various pump competitions continued to be held in the enlarged London Brigade, with finals held at the Regional Lambeth HQ. It was also a time that the Home Office introduced the first Manuals of Firemanship. In the years that followed a technical quiz competition, based on answers from the manuals, took on a national focus with regional finals and a UK national winner. (To my knowledge London has always been a runner-up, never a winner.)

Post war the LFB returned to local authority control (LCC) and the range of competitions both on land and the Thames returned to the Brigade’s regular annual calendar. In addition, the Brigade’s sports associations added competitions involving athletics meetings, swimming galas and the occasional inter-divisional boxing tournament. There were also Divisional football and rugby teams, each addingplayers to the respective Brigade team, whilst station volleyball reached international status. The LFB team playing continental fire brigades.

**1951-52**. Manchester Square fire station- pump competition Brigade final winning crew.

**1952.** The winning crew of the annual Brigade whaler race. The race started at the Lambeth river station pontoon and finished at
HMS President, moored on the Victoria Embankment.

**1957.** The London Fire Brigade’s Internation Volleyball team (in vests) playing the Paris fire brigade at the Lambeth HQ.

Tragically, on the 17^th March 1961, the death of a Battersea fireman practising for the Brigade pump-escape competition at Brixton fire station (SW London) brought about an immediate hiatus to those particular competitions. He and a colleague fell from the escape ladder. Fireman Albert Hunt died at the scene and fireman Bob Maloney, also from Battersea, suffered serious injuries. These competitions were never reintroduced into the London Fire Brigade.

It was as a teenage fireman, arriving at Lambeth in January 1967, I discovered that there was a lot more to station life than just cleaning, regular drills and waiting for the inevitable fire and other emergency calls. There was taking part in, and aiming to win, Brigade pump competitions. For some this was clearly a religious calling, especially the watch govnors’ whose whole life seemed to centre on this particular event. Lambeth’s Blue Watch govnor was one such animal. He would go to the most extraordinary lengths to give his team every possible advantage. Dedicated lengths of hose would be washed and ironed, by hand, so as to make them run out smoother and faster!

1967. A pump competition crew in the Lambeth drill yard.

Devoted competition men would rip their fire tunic linings out to make them lighter. Standpipes were modified to make them fit on the hydrant quicker. Even the hose coupling lugs were dismantled and oiled to make them rotate and release faster. Every minute part of the pump drill underwent scrutiny to achieve the maximum possible time advantage.

However, the actual competition was a relatively straightforward and simple affair, albeit physically demanding. A four-man pump crew had to start, sitting on their appliance (the pump), dismount and set into a hydrant; run out two lines of hose; knock down two targets with their jets of water; before making up all the gear and return it to a marked area on the drill ground, before re-mounting their appliance and drive it over a finish line in the fastest possible time.

It sounds easy but it was much more complicated due to the time penalties. The senior officers, acting as judges, would add seconds for any technical error that any member of the pump crew made. Drop a hose; penalty points. Miss a target; penalty points. Not under-running the hose correctly; penalty points. Then there was the burden placed on the pump operator. Too little pump pressure and you could miss the target; too much and there’s a danger of losing control of the branch. Months of arduous, and demanding, training could be in vain, all because of a momentary loss of concentration.

Underhand tactics were not unheard of either. Pump crew’s competition hose mysteriously going missing! Hose couplings were sabotaged so they would not connect properly. Strange furtive figures, lurking around the fire station back gates, could be seen spying on the opposition practising their competition drills. The individual, making notes, looking remarkably like the team trainer from a nearby fire station.

The Divisional watch related elimination rounds would start the competition season. These were followed by the Divisional finals where the fastest three crews ran off against each other. One winning team from each of the eleven Divisions progressed to the Brigade pump competition finals, held each autumn, in Lambeth’s yard at the Brigade Headquarters. Supporters filled the tiered balconies, cheering on their particular crew or Division. Competition was always keen. The team’s enthusiasm spurred on by the chanting of their supporters, chanting that would have done credit to any London local football derby.

As someone fresh from training school, and built like a racing snake, I was picked for the Red Watch team that year. Despite our best efforts and winners in the Red Watch run offs we never reached the Brigade finals. (Our chances not helped after our prized competition hose went missing!). We were well beaten by Lambeth’s Blue Watch. We fared no better the following year (1968) when a new Brigade record time was set by Edmonton’s Blue Watch, of one minute 47 seconds, from dismounting to passing over the finish line. A truly remarkable time. It was a record that was to remain unbeaten. Lambeth’s Blue Watch, with their bellowing govnor Alan Jackson, urging them on, gave an excellent account of these themselves being only 1.8 seconds behind the winners. (The Jackson brothers were both pump competition aficionados. His elder brother Peter led his Brixton crew to win the Brigade finals in the early 60s.)

Station Officer Peter Jackson (standing) with his Brixton pump competition Brigade winning crew in the early 1960s

When our govnor was not trying to encourage some of the watch to enter the pump competition, he was putting others in for the Brigade’s technical quiz competition. Another annual event and being the junior buck, it seemed I had an automatic pass into everything that others had to actually volunteer for!

1964. Burdett Road fire station winning technical quiz competition team (standing) with the Brigade senior officers who adjudicate and Mr Cunningham-Deputy Chief Officer (middle) who was the question master.

The technical quiz competition led to onto national UK finals. London’s winning team would represent the Brigade in the southern counties district, which covered some ten different surrounding fire brigades. All the questions were drawn from any of the Manuals of Firemanship, which ran to eleven books. Thousands of pages and tens of thousands of potential questions. If you learnt all the answers to the questions there was not one promotion examination you could not pass. Our Red Watch Lambeth team managed not to get kicked out in the first rounds but we got nowhere near the Brigade finals. This was won by an exceedingly knowledgeable Battersea team. Battersea later went on only to be narrowly defeated by Bournemouth Fire Brigade in the District finals.

In the late 1960s the Fire Brigade Union was not a fan of the pump competitions. By 1970 the Chief Officer, now Joe Milner, found himself increasingly embroiled in more and more matters involving industrial unrest across the Brigade. The pump competitions became a casualty of this and they were stopped in favour of one and two-man competitions. It was the final straw in the long running era of skill competitions and, by the time of the first national firemen’s strike in 1977, there was little appetite for competitions from those at fire stations.

In today’s London Fire Brigade, if there is enthusiasm for this style of competitive activity there appears little eagerness from those in the managerial driving seat to promote it. Competitions do exist on the national scene but the freedom to give time off, with pay, for those undertaking such activities belongs to a time long gone by. These are different times with different rules. For London’s modern firefighters these former competitions are now just an entry in its historic past.

Just some old bloke on his soapbox!

I’m well passed my London Fire Brigade (LFB) sell-by date but it doesn’t mean you stop caring about those still serving in today’s LFB. There is much I don’t understand, the machinations of today’s modern politics, how to work my blooming computer when it plays up, or the injustice shown to so many of those firefighters who attended Grenfell in 2017. Those who went above and beyond the call of duty and it remains something this is firmly stuck in my craw!

What is another word for injustice? The common synonyms suggest grievance and wrong. Injustice applies to any act that involves unfairness to another. The scandal, and tragedy, of Grenfell (the deadliest fire in a residential building in Britain since the blitz) occurred in 2017-over FOUR years ago now. Yet not one act of bravery-acts that were highlighted by the Inquiry Chairperson-during Phase One has been recognised, either by the LFB or the Home Office via the Honours System.

However, it is OK to produce, and show, a stage play that the writer believes is a damning allegory of contemporary British society. Their project, Grenfell: Value Engineering-Scenes from the Inquiry looks at what happened in the fire on that fateful night of 14 June 2017 and, who was responsible for the deaths of 72 people. It will be a powerful story and what is being exposed by the Inquiry. Highlighting how companies and local authorities passed the buck … the incompetence, secrecy, cost-cutting, the consequences of government austerity policies, deregulation, the cosy and unaccountable networks of people who knew each other.

There has been, and will be more, finger pointing to the identify the failures and missed opportunities. It continues as you read this. This September (2021) speaking for one group, Mr Danny Friedman QC. said that the blaze saw the LFB face “the limits of its competence”. “The depth of its deficiencies exposed an organisation that could not cope with an emergency beyond the normal or standard fire,” he said. He warned that the country still has “a fire service that is incompetent to meet contemporary challenges.” He said that an “inescapable function” of the fire service was to compensate for errors in architecture and design and said neither “gross negligence of the contractors” or “the economics of successive governments” could serve as “full excuses” for the failures on the night.

Mr Martin Seaward QC. appearing for the Fire Brigades Union, and responding to direct criticisms levelled by the lawyers for the bereaved and survirors (plus Sir Martin Moore-Bick, the inquiry chair) defended the actions of the first firefighter to take command of the incident, Watch Mananger (Station Officer) Michael Dowden. He was criticised in the first-phase report for not ordering an evacuation when the fire tore up the outside of the building in the early stages of the blaze.He reminded the inquiry there are “still no national guidelines on evacuation” since a government steering group on this procedure has not yet reported its findings. He said. “If he had considered revoking stay put and moving to evacuation, he would have had to improvise to carry it out; improvise in the face of the formidable dangers arising, including a risk to life.”

You might think the most important priority would be to learn from what went wrong and make sure the mistake was never repeated and lessons are learned.Yet the blame game, especially one directed towards the LFB and those there that horrendious night, continues as the highly paid QC’s and lawyers advocate for support/recommends for a particular cause, most notably the victims and families caught up in this unprecident UK fire. Those seeking real justice.

But the fact remains this totally sidelines those who tried their very best that night to save lives; those who put their own lives safety in danger; and those who went the extra miles for the sake of those in peril. London firefighters.

And whilst the LFB Honours and Awards procrastination goes on Avon and Somerset Police’s mounted team have been given bravery awards and commendations following their role in policing the Bristol riots this March (2021). The courage of police horses and their riders were recognised when they faced a “hostile situation” in which missiles were thrown at officers, police vans were attacked and set on fire and a police station targeted. “The courage and resilience they displayed was a credit to their characters, their training and to the outstanding bonds of loyalty and trust. Seeing our mounted section team recognised for their professionalism, bravery, dedication and commitment with such a prestigious award makes us immensely proud and we thank them, and all of their colleagues who experienced the terrible events in March, for their outstanding work in protecting the public and their colleagues. They are, beyond doubt, a hugely valuable asset to our service.” Said the Chief Constable.

In stark contrast, in 2018, the LFB heroes of the Grenfell Tower fire were snubbed for a second time both locally and in the Queen’s, birthday honours list. It may be years for these actions to be finally recognised. The official response being-officials feel unable to hand out awards to firefighters (and local volunteers) while there is scope for failings to emerge from several inquiries.

To the best of my knowledge the crews attending that night were not implicated in the failed policies and building practices that saw the tower clad in a flammable cladding. Their only role was to deal with the consequences. If there were failings in existing LFB practices and policies, again those on the engine had simply no part in drawing them up!

Not to recognise and honour the few remains a complete INJUSTICE. Those sitting on the awards, whoever they are, (awards that have been considered and agreed) should hang their heads in shame. As this tragic saga rolls on I don’t think I will be putting my soapbox away any time some.

The Hills Hotel fatal fire. London. 1971

Arthur Nicholls was born in North London in 1921. Educated at Tottenham Grammar School he joined the army in his late teens and during World War two served with the Army in China, Burma and then Italy. After the war he became a police constable in Palestine before returning to the UK and in 1948 joined the newly created Middlesex Fire Brigade. Serving at Wood Green, Tottenham and Edmonton this intelligent young man rose to the senior rank of Assistant Divisional Officer in Middlesex before it was absorbed into the new Greater London Council’s London Fire Brigade in 1965. His talents were quickly recognised and in 1967 he was promoted to Deputy Commander of London’s “A” Division, covering the West End of London, Chelsea, Kensington and Paddington. A year later he was promoted to be the Commander of that Division. He would eventually rise to principal rank, and in 1974 he became an Assistant Chief Fire Officer.

Arthur Nicholls. O.B.E. QFSM. -former Middlesex fire brigade and London Fire Brigade senior officer.

An accomplished writer, he was a frequent contributor to the former London Fireman magazine. His acclaimed account of the New Langham Hotel fire won him a prestigious writer’s award from a panel of national journalists. This is his account of that challenging, and tragically fatal, blaze.

“At varying times before six o’clock of the evening of 10^th May 1971, according to the distances that had to travel, a number of men left their homes in and around London. With a nod, a cheerio, an affectionate kiss or just a friendly pat on the arm, they took their leave of their families and set off on their journeys to the fire stations at which they would be on duty for the coming night.

Paddington Fire Station, Harrow Road, West London. A Divisional headquarters station.

Arriving, they dressed in fire gear ready for the roll call. The usual exchange of banter, the voicing of complaints, “Not my turn. I was on the pump last night as well.” “Not my turn in the mess, what about Harry, he hasn’t done it for weeks”. “Me? Stand-by. Has he gone sick again? I ought to get some of his bloody pay!”

After the roll call and allotted to their various appliances, the men check the equipment, test the BA sets. Replenish petrol/diesel, oil and water as necessary and stand ready for what the night has in store.

The work programmes are arranged; drills, lectures, equipment maintenance, hydrant tests, visits to risks, each station according to the pressing need of the time. But already at some stations the programme is disrupted before it is even under way.

The urgent ringing of the fire bells sends the men running to their appliances, which in turn roar out of the station in response to the urgent call for aid. On through the evening the calls mount. Time and time again at fire stations here and there all over Greater London appliance bay doors crash open and the big red fire engines sally forth carrying their black-helmeted crews. With warning horns, or engine bells sounding, they are cursed for their noise by all but those in trouble and anxious for their aid. The radio wave, carrying the message from the appliances reporting the situation they were meeting, were seldom stilled:

‘Stop for Commercial Street. Flat of five rooms. Half damaged by fire. Two hosereels, BA.’

‘Stop for Southwark Bridge Road. Unoccupied factory of four floors. 40 feet by 50 feet. 50% of third floor, 25% of top floor damaged by fire. 3 jets. BA.’

‘At Under Croft, Westcombe Park Road. Smell of smoke on second floor, Crews investigating.’

‘Stop for Chapell Farm Road. Sports pavilion of one floor. 20 by 60 feet. 25% damaged by fire. One jet.’

‘Priority….From Station Officer Vaughan at 23 Croydon Road. Persons reported.’

‘Stop Kingston by-pass. One car and one bus in collision. One person trapped, injured, released. Five persons injured. All removed to hospital by ambulance. Police in attendance.’

The variety was unending. A small fire here, petrol spilled on roadway there, a false alarm caused by burning rubbish, fire and explosion in a cable tunnel etc. Then, soon after 10 p.m. in Commerce Road, Brentford, a fire in a paint manufacturers that was only to be quelled by the combined sweating and gut straining efforts of the crews of 25 pumps and two turntable ladders. While the fight to control this blaze is still at its height an urgent (priority) message comes for reinforcing pumps to help deal with a fire at Friern Barnet Hospital, in North West London.

The city quietens.

Still the score of other incidents mounts, although the rate slows down as life in the capital city quietens and people turn to their beds to sleep. To sleep, they hope, in peace, until the morrow. For most, this is to be. For some, the night will hold its terror. For some, it will demand the ultimate – life itself.

But first, the men at Croydon are called to a warehouse in Selsdon Road. Again the fire is of such proportion that they ask for more assistance pumps and once more the men of the LFB sweat and toil in blinding heat and choking smoke to combat the scourge of mankind.

In London’s West End it was an average night. The men at the stations had only snippets of news about what was going on elsewhere. Some of their appliances had been involved at the Brentford fire, indeed some were still so engaged. But generally the pace was normal. The clock passed midnight and ticked on.

At Paddington the fire station grew quiet, some men talked over a cup of tea, others reclined to rest. In a hotel annex, less than a mile from the station, staff and guests settled down for the night. Destiny would have it that these two separate groups of people would meet this night to play out a drama together. A real life drama of fire, death, destruction, pain, agony and courage, rarely to be met outside the realms of fiction. For those in the hotel, the drama began when fire flashed through the corridors and stairways of the hotel in minutes to mushroom through the upper floors. For the firemen it began at precisely 00:48 hours when the silence of the station was broken by the harsh sound and continuous ringing of the call bells. Automatic lights flashed on throughout the station and in the watchroom the teleprinter clacked out its cryptic message: “Fire. Hills Hotel, Kensington Gardens Square.

A red angry glow.

5th May 1971-The Hills hotel blaze. (New Langham)

Away they went, these men, some young, some not so young. Ordinary men who are dad to their children, “son” to their parents, “uncle this” or “uncle that” to nephews and nieces. Who are “dear” to their wives or “mate” to the man next door. Away they went to Kensington Garden Square. Their journey was short. One hundred and twenty seconds in time as they sped along Bishops Bridge Road and on into Westbourne Grove. Over the tops of the tall buildings that they passed en route there could be seen a red, angry glow reflected against the night sky. Inside and outside the hotel the drama was already being enacted. Some of the residents, frightened but unharmed, had made their way out safely. These were the lucky ones. Others, not so lucky, had crawled along a wide ledge at fourth floor level into the window of an adjoining house. They suffered burns and shock but were safe. One man, trapped at a ground floor window, and prevented from escape by a deep basement area surrounded by heavy iron railings, was helped by passing policemen, who bridged the gap by pushing a wooden plank to him. A woman, caught on the upper floors, made her way via a metal fire escape at the rear of the third floor, which led her via intervening buildings to an adjoining house. Badly burned in making her escape, she fell and sustained other injuries en route.

A young girl, clinging desperately to a window sill on the upper floors, driven by heat and smoke lost her grip and fell to be impaled on railings surrounding the property. At windows at the front of the hotel men and women stood crying desperately for help. A crowd, already gathered, called encouragingly. “Don’t jump, they are coming”, for in the distance could be heard that most delightful of all sounds to those in peril from fire, the urgent sound of two-tone horns as fire appliances speed on their way.

Thus it was as the first appliances turned the corner. Flames spewed from the windows of the two upper floors at the front of the building, thick smoke spilled from the windows of the lower floors. A man and a woman called excitedly from the second floor, below them on the first floor another man and woman screamed their distress.

The pump escape pulled in first. Its doors opened and men leapt out before it slowed to a halt. The escape ladder was slipped, turned and extended as only a well drilled crew, working as a team and reacting automatically, can do. The appliance itself then moved on to clear the area of operations. Its driver, acting on instructions, radioed the priority message. “Make pumps six-persons reported”. As background to his voice as he transmitted the message could be heard the cries of the crowd and of those in distress.

Now the other appliances from Paddington, the ET and TL, halted at the scene. One man raced to the escape and began mounting it as the top of the ladder crashed to rest at the second floor window. He was closely followed by a second fireman. As the first man reached the top, the trapped woman was already on the ladder. He moved aside to let her pass and went on into the room where the man still waited and then helped him on to the ladder. Both people were assisted down to the ground by other crew members. While waiting until the ladder was clear of people, the attention of the fireman, still in the room from which the man and woman had been assisted, was drawn to an adjacent window. There he saw an elderly lady standing in the thick smoke. Clambering along the top of a narrow balustrade, which fronted the windows, he made his way into the room to comfort the woman.

A crew from Kensington fire station, arriving with a pump, pitched its thirty foot extension ladder to them. Its head rested two feet short of the window of the room. With difficulty, and assisted by a fireman on the ladder, the lady was helped to it and down to safety; and none too soon for the heat and smoke was worsening rapidly, and fire was breaking through the door to the room. Meanwhile the escape ladder had been re-pitched to the first floor and the man and woman trapped there were brought to safety.

By now a clearer picture of the fire situation was available. The hotel, taking up a corner site, was comprised of two and five floors. It was alight on all five floors. Flames were roaring from a doorway at the side of the building and had engulfed the two storey section and was licking from the windows at the side of the hotel. At the back, the windows of one half of the building showed red with the fire inside. Already the roof had collapsed, flame licked skywards, and myriads of sparks shot high and the whole scene reflected the angry red glow.

The raging fire…

But more, much more, remained to be done. A survey had shown more people trapped on a top floor at the rear of the hotel. A TL, extended over a projecting flat roof, reached a window and a woman was helped on by others inside. But the TL was at its maximum safety limits. The woman was afraid and could not be left to make her own way down the ladder in the choking smoke and past the raging fire. Quickly the ladder was housed and a fireman this time raced up to the woman and led her down. Again the ladder was extended. This time a man was helped on to the ladder and again it was housed and the man helped down. But yet another cry for help was heard and, below the very window from which these two rescues were performed, in the thick smoke, another man could be seen at a window, calling, pleading for help. Once more the ladders were extended. Now the smoke was so thick that the operator of the TL could not see the head of the ladder he was controlling. Coolly, magnificently, he persisted, and although the projecting flat roof prevented a direct pitch to the window at which the man was trapped, a pitch to the flat roof was achieved.

The fireman at the top the ladders jumped off on to the flat roof and then crawled to a parapet at the side from where he was a little above, but only two to three feet from the trapped man. Here he was joined by another fireman. Together they reached over towards the man. Struggling and holding his arms, they helped him on to the roof. By now the man was almost hysterical. “My wife is in that room”, he cried out frantically, time and time again. One fireman climbed the parapet to enter the room, but could not make it without help. The other fireman tried to calm the man, but recognising the difficulty got him to the ladder, assisted him down and ran back up to rejoin his colleague.

Conditions on the flat roof were atrocious. Flame belched from windows overlooking it and the heat and smoke from the fire beneath them made the atmosphere scorched. Yet again they tried to enter the room. Helped by his team-mate, one of the firemen got over the parapet into the room. The heat and smoke made it impossible to move far into the room, but reaching down he felt a bare ankle of a woman and, pulling her towards him, managed to get her head near the window before having to get back out into the air for respite.

Now they were joined by a BA fireman, summoned by the TL intercom, and they felt the cooling, refreshing water from a jet directed at them from ground level to protect them. Over the parapet and into the room went the BA man. Fire was actually curling round the door edges of the room, but though the heat was intense the BA man lifted the woman until her head and arms were out of the window. Then his two colleagues, reaching over the parapet, grasped her arms, swung her out over the drop beneath and pulled her on to the roof. She was unconscious and had to be lifted on to the back of one of the men who had already mounted the ladder to be carried down to safety. Subsequently, it is pleasing to note, she recovered completely.

For this particular act there is only one sad note to record. One of those who had worked so hard on the roof to effect this rescue complained; “I was so glad they put the jet on us ’cos I’ve never been so hot outside a building before, but they wet my last four bloody fags!”

Hook ladders.

The London Fire Brigade hook ladder being used in training.

While these rescues were going on yet another old lady had been seen sitting on a window sill, clinging desperately to a drainpipe at first floor level. Beneath her was a drop of some thirty five feet to a rear basement area which was enclosed by a one-foot wide, twenty feet high brick wall. Crews with hook ladders made their way to her. Negotiating adjoining premises, intervening roofs and a variety of minor hazards, they reached the top of the basement area wall. From here they pitched their hook ladders to the window and, mounting them, helped her on to the ladder. With two hook ladders pitched side by side so that a man on one could assist the other man with the woman, she was gradually helped down to the top of the wall. Then, it all proved too much for her and she collapsed.

Now the real struggle. Somehow they got her off the wall, then precariously inched their way along the top to the rear. A distance of no more than ten feet, but every foot fraught with difficulty and no little danger. Hesitating none, they pitched a hook ladder. One of the men put the woman across his back and, assisted as much as possible by the others, carried her up the hook ladder to the roof. From there she was carried through adjoining premises to safety.

The deeds, as must be, are described in isolation, but of course the general operations were now in full swing. Reinforcing appliances were arriving in their numbers and jets were increased. Escapes and extension ladders festooned the faces of the building and crews struggled upwards with heavy hose, moving into the windows to begin extinguishing the fire.

In the main entrance crews attempted to use the stone staircase and narrowly escaped serious injury when, en-bloc from the ground to fourth floor, it collapsed with a resounding crash. But the staircase was replaced with scaling ladders built up gradually to each floor in turn and jets were taken in. From adjoining roofs jets of water were directed through the collapsed roof of the building involved into the holocaust beneath. A TL, in use as a water tower, added its power from the side street. At the front of the building one of the saddest tasks of all had been accomplished. After a prolonged struggle the unfortunate girl who had fallen on to the railings had been cut free. Showered with sparks and falling debris, the crew had stuck to their task and, aided by a medical team, hoped their effort would be rewarded with success. But now, with the girl en route to hospital, they joined in the general fire-fighting.

Smoke to steam.

An hour or so had passed and then the flames were beaten. Here and there a little flicker, a glow. Smoke has turned to steam. Inside the building the men carefully pick their way, avoiding weakened sections of floors, bridging the gaps where collapse has occurred. Cold, wet and so bloody tired now that the adrenalin has drained from their systems they push on. Damping down a smoldering ember here, a burning mattress there, they seek and search for those who may have perished and, finding them, wrap the sad remains in sheets to carefully lower them to the street outside where ambulances wait to receive them.

Crew by crew they are released from various tasks and given short respite at the canteen van parked in a nearby road, where a steaming cup of tea or Bovril, a biscuit and a quick smoke helps put the world back in shape. Then, back again into the now cold, dank, steamy atmosphere of the building, the depressing smell of charred wood tinged by the occasional whiff of acrid smoke in their nostrils. For ages, it seems they work on until a new, fresh crew of men come to them and say; “We’re relieving you”.

Outside again, dawn is beginning to break. In the light the tall gaunt walls of the hotel look forbidding and the black scorch marks above the window openings bear witness to the rage of the fire that once tormented it.

Still, elsewhere around London, all is not at peace. The calls still come in. F Division, in the East End of London, now take their share when a paper warehouse is involved in fire and a priority call for more assisting pumps comes over the air; and the night’s totals mount as the operators in the controls receive the calls and dispatch the necessary aid. But with all things there is an end. At nine o’clock in the morning a new watch reports for duty. The men who have worked throughout the night go home, unless they happen to be out on a call or with one of the many relief pumps still attending the scene of the night’s major fires. Even these will go home soon. They will walk indoors and the wife will say, ‘Have a cuppa?’ and then tell of Alfred’s cut knee.

A little later home than normal will be the few casualties among the firemen of the night’s battles. They will have had their treatment at hospital and not been detained, but will be late enough for families to have been told so that undue worry will not arise. Soon, however, they will all be there. Back with the missus, the kids, the people next door and they’ll worry about the rent, about food prices, about the holiday. Then at varying times before six o’clock on the evening of the 11^th May, 1971, according to the distance they have to travel………oh! and if they are lucky they can buy the evening newspaper and see a picture of a fireman lying injured on a stretcher. The caption read: “A policeman, having played his part is carried away”.

Paddington’s turntable ladder returns to the scene of the fatal hotel fire.

Footnotes:

The ‘stop’ message:

“Hotel 2 and 5 floors and basement, 50 by 80 feet, all floors damaged by fire, roof off. 12 jets, Breathing Apparatus. 1 woman jumped before arrival, 1 person rescued by extension ladder from 1^st floor, 2 persons by extension ladder from second floor. 2 persons by escape ladder from 3^rd floor, I man and 1 woman via escape ladder from 1^st floor, 2 men and 2 women rescued by TL from 3^rd and 4^th floors. I woman rescued by hook ladder from 3^rd floor- burned-overcome. 7 bodies found. All persons accounted for.”

2. The Gallantry Awards;

The highest accolade for bravery in the London Fire Brigade then, and still is, is a Chief Officer’s (now Commissioner’s) Commendation. The Chief Officer, Joe Milner, issued ten Commendations following the serious and fatal fire at Hill’s Hotel, Kensington in May of 1971.

The commended men were; Temporary Station Officer David Ellis and Fireman Bernard Cannon of North Kensington fire station.

Temporary Sub Officer Colin Livett, Firemen Leslie Austin and Thomas Richards of Kensington fire station. Leading Firemen Ray Cleverdon and George Simpson, Temporary Leading Fireman Howard Winter and Firemen Ken Salmon and William Willis of Paddington fire station.

Leading Fireman Simpson and Winter brought a man and woman down an escape ladder from the second floor. After climbing along a narrow balustrade Leading Fireman Salmon reached a trapped woman on an adjacent window ledge and brought her down to safety via an extension ladder.

Leading Fireman Cleverdon brought down separately a man and woman from the window sill of the fourth floor. Then with Firemen Richards and Willis he rescued a man and wife from a third floor room in extremely punishing conditions. Having assisted the man down the ladder Fm Willis returned to the room wearing BA, where conditions were very bad, and managed to drag the overcome wife to the window. Fireman Richards carried the woman down the ladder to safety.

Temporary Station Officer Ellis & Temporary Sub Officer Livett and Firemen Cannon and Austin, using hook ladders together brought down a woman trapped on an upper window sill at the rear of the hotel and having collapsed had to be carried down.

Fireman Salmon skillfully operated a turntable ladder, even beyond its limits of safety and made possible a number of rescues.

Leading Fireman Ray Cleverdon and Fireman William Willis, and Fireman Thomas Richards were subsequently all awarded the British Empire Medal for Gallantry.

The Chief Officer congratulated all the crews that attended the fire on their efforts.

3. Nine people died as a direct result of this fire. However, although the conditions were appalling, ten were brought out to safety by the Brigade.

4. The fire was started deliberately, an arson attack.

Rescues in London’s NW2

MIKE HAD BEEN OPERATIONAL for exactly two years when he reported for the second night duty of that tour. At 20 years of age, he was not considered a big bloke, nor was he overly athletic. He weighed in at 11 stone 2 pounds and had a 32-inch waist line. On parade, that November evening, he was detailed to ride the pump-escape and designated as the station’s dutyman. This North London fire station, once in the former Middlesex Fire Brigade, still received its fire calls via telephone from the control room at Wembley. The Sub Officer rode in charge of the PE and Station Officer Vic rode the pump. With the normal appliance routines completed, and after a cup of tea, the guvnor left the Sub Officer to take the watch for evening drills. It was an uneventful evening. No fire calls– what firemen call ‘shouts’ – until that call.

Their left to right: Fireman Brian Hudson, Mick Wallmam and Leading Fireman Keith Wright. Taken at the rear of the Pump bay at Willesden Fire station

It was a bitterly cold night. Snow had already started to fall by the late evening. No one went to bed at the designated time, although, like all older fire stations, firemen had put down their army-style fold-away beds after supper anywhere they could find a space. The station had no dormitory and there was a definite pecking order on who had the best bed spaces. As the watch’s ‘junior buck’, the 20-year-old found himself at the bottom of the list. All had to sleep using the Brigade-issue blankets (horrible scratchy things) since the guvnor did not allow any personal sleeping bags on the station. It was one of his many foibles. Most of the watch slept in their overall trousers and a tee shirt. It ensured a quick response when the ‘bells went down’. But being the operator of the control room – or, as London stations call it, ‘watchroom’ – his bed space was secure in the station control room that night. As the station control room operator, it was his duty to answer any calls from the Wembley control room, write down the call details on a special form and actuate the dispatch lights which would inform the other firemen which fire engine(s) were going out.

The son of a London fireman, George Wallman, Mick Wallman joined the London Fire Brigade as a junior firemen in 1965. It was a career almost cut prematurely short after a serious injury on the improvised obstacle course at the Junior Firemens Collage, Swanley, Kent in1966.

At 2.24 a.m. his light sleep was shattered by the bells going down and the automatic house lights coming on all around the station. He leapt from his bed and was at the watchroom switchboard within a second. With pen in one hand and switchboard phone in the other, flicking switches, he listened intently to the control officer. He wrote down the address and the route card reference. The station’s pump-escape and pump were ordered to a fire at 168 Cricklewood Lane, NW2. Switching on the two-coloured appliance dispatch lights, red and green, in the appliance room, he let the crews know that both machines were being ordered. He heard the wooden appliance bay doors crash open as the two drivers waited impatiently on their appliances, revving the engines up. Handing an ordering slip first to the Sub Officer, together with a route card, he repeated the process with Station Officer Culwick before young Mike climbed into the rear of the PE.

As the drivers drove out of the station the cold night air hit them. There was a thick covering of snow all around. The call was to the far side of their stations ground, almost into West Hampstead’s patch. The drive took five to six minutes; because of the snow, the fire engine drivers were careful to maintain control of the machines. When they entered Crickelwood Lane, the PE was still in front, the pump a safe distance behind it. As the PE cleared a long and slow right hand bend it was the Sub Officer and the driver who first witnessed the unfolding drama in the near distance.

Then, in his short career, the young fireman saw a sight most firemen speak of yet many hope they will never see. It was a dire fire situation. People were screaming for their lives. They were trapped in the burning, three-storey, terraced building. It was a combined shop and dwellings. Its occupants were desperate to be rescued. Coming from the opposite direction, with different weather conditions, the supporting station’s fire engine had arrived at the incident seconds ahead of Willesden’s own two machines. Their crew had dismounted and were running to slip their 50-foot wheeled escape ladder before extending it to the top floor window. A window where people were shrieking for help. Acrid, thick, angry, smoke was forcing its way from the windows of the property. Fierce flames were shooting into the street from the lower levels.

Before his PE had stopped he had jumped to the ground. He knew his task was securing a supply of water so that an immediate attack on the fire could commence in concert with the attempts to save these people’s lives. Grabbing the hydrant equipment from its locker he ran to the nearest water hydrant which was just slightly to the left, and in front, of the property on fire.

The building involved was a café, its accommodation above. It was some 25 feet wide and went back about 70 feet deep. As he ran to connect a standpipe to the hydrant, about ten feet from it, the ground floor suddenly exploded into a ball of fire. It seemed the entire building was engulfed in searing flames. The fire in the ground floor café had flashed over. What had already been a serious incident escalated in those few seconds to a desperately dangerous one. Flames, like a plumber’s blowtorch, roared across the pavement. The resultant fireball rose up over the roof of the house. The flames were so fierce that they burned the side of the other fire engine that had, in all the urgency, been parked too close to the front of the building. The heat was so severe that it first scorched, and was now setting alight, the wooden wheeled escape ladder which had been pitched to the upper floors. The pump operator of the supporting fire engine had a miraculous escape; he barely avoided being severely burnt, as the resultant flash-over almost consumed him while he operated the side-mounted pump controls. The force of the explosion knocked our young fireman over. He dropped the hydrant equipment and was forced to back away because of the severity of the heat. Shielding his face with raised arms he looked up to where a moment ago people had been. Now there was nothing to be seen except a wall of flame.

Why he did what he did next he still has no idea. He had never witnessed anything like it before. He was given no instruction: gut instinct drove him to do what he did. He ran back towards his own station’s pump. Skidding on the snow, he stopped at the pump’s rear cab and, jumping up into the cab. he grabbed a Proto oxygen breathing apparatus set. The pump’s driver, senior fireman Brian Hudson, seeing the young fireman’s obvious intentions, screamed at him:

“No Mike!”

Brian had never shouted so intently. But the young fireman was not listening. Dispensing with all the starting-up and booking-in procedures required for the breathing apparatus he threw the set over his shoulders, stuffed the mouthpiece into his mouth and turned on the set’s main valve. In his haste he chose not to secure the set to his body nor fit the mouthpiece to his head harness. As he ran towards the burning escape ladder he put the BA goggles over his eyes and placed the nose clip on his nose. With a long push of the by-pass valve, which inflated the set’s breathing bag, he drew in through the mouthpiece the first breaths of pure oxygen.

Another fireman had already got a jet to work using the one-hundred-gallon water tank supply. The young fireman barked out his instructions, instructions that were muffled by his mouthpiece. He shouted for the man on the jet to extinguish the flames on the escape ladder and to try and hold back the fire. He climbed the escape ladder at speed. The fireman on the jet looked on in disbelief but complied with the shouted command as the fireman on the ladder rapidly rose higher.

The aftermath of the fatal fire, showing the position of the 50-foot wheeled escape ladder. The original ladder used was badly burned and scorched.

He felt the effects of the blistering heat as he ascended the burning ladder. He also felt the spray of cold water on his neck and hands as the fireman below sprayed him and tried his best to keep the flames at bay. Nearing the top of the ladder the flames enveloped his whole body but the fireman below relieved the situation by carefully directing his jet. He managed to keep the flames away from his mess-mate climbing the ladder above him.

He reached the top floor window sill. It was where he had last seen those pleading so desperately for help. The heat rising from below was intense. In fact, he thought he might not be able to endure it. But he was determined to get into that room. So, taking a leg lock on the ladder, he first used his axe and attempted to cut away the window frame and enter the room. He failed. Within the first couple of blows of his axe he knew he was not making any impression on the wooden frame. He had no choice but to get into the room using the restricted window opening. The head of the escape ladder had been extended into the narrow open window. The top of the ladder was taking up most of the available space closest to the window sill.

This was the very space where, only moments before, those inside the room had been shouting frantically for rescue. He managed to twist his body around on the top of the ladder and, somehow, entered through the window opening feet first. As he forced himself through the gap his fire helmet was knocked off his head and fell into the street below. He wriggled and forced himself through the restricted opening, his feet feeling for the floor. He felt the unconscious figures right under the window. He had no option but to stand on them in order to get into the room.

He realised, as he entered the room, that his time in there would be very limited. The temperature was intense. He was starting to cook. But then, why would he not? The room was like a ruddy oven! The floors below him were ablaze. Already, at the back of his mind, doubt was creeping in. How could anyone possibly survive in such conditions without breathing apparatus? The temperature was like nothing the young fireman had ever experienced. It sapped his strength. His fears were starting to grow: a fear that said if he did not leave the room right now, he might never get out at all – alive, that is. Suddenly he felt very alone. It was an overwhelming sense of duty that made him stay.

He bent down to the two figures at his feet. He found a limb and started to lift. The first body felt very heavy as he attempted to lift it towards window sill. The seconds were turning into minutes. Each time he seemed to get the unconscious casualty up onto the sill, the body slipped back down to the floor. He could not keep it in the right position as the exposed skin had become greasy from the heat and smoke. He changed his grip in order to lift it higher, but the dead weight proved too much. Once again it fell to the floor. He grasped the ladder in a last determined attempt to give himself more purchase when he felt another fireman’s hand grab his own.

He took the offered hand and directed it towards the casualty he was trying to lift. Now as he lifted the other fireman knew what he was trying to do and pulled from the outside. The fireman at the top of the ladder was joined by Brain Hudson wearing his breathing apparatus set. They took terrible punishment from the heat and smoke pouring out from the windows below. However, between them they were able to get the first unconscious person out through the window and onto the shoulders of one Brian Hudson, who started to descend the ladder. Others on the ladder were assisting, preventing the fireman performing the rescue from falling. The difficult process of getting the first casualty down the ladder prevented others, wearing breathing apparatus, from getting up and joining in the search and rescues.

With the first, unfortunate, soul hurriedly cleared from the base of the ladder a fireman, wearing BA, raced up the ladder to try and enter the room. However, inside the room the second casualty was already being lifted and passed out through the window opening. The top of the ladder was like a log-jam. Those wanting to get in had no alternative but to accept the next casualty and start another difficult descent. Below, meanwhile, a breathing apparatus crew from his own station were getting increasingly anxious. They were desperate to get into the room to help their young colleague, knowing what he was doing required an entire crew. However, they were unable to help him because of the casualties being brought out of the window and down the escape ladder. The firemen working on the escape ladder were shielded by covering jets of water. Whilst this prevented the actual flames from getting to them, they still had to contend with the severe heat and smoke which continued to envelope them in powerful waves.

Back inside the top floor room small pockets of fire had broken out. Mike could see the glow of the flames through the smoke. He sensed that this was the only room in the building not to have flashed over. He realised that the fire was still raging beneath him. He could hear the flames consuming anything that burned. He had visions of the floor giving way beneath his feet, pitching him into the inferno below. It was then he found a third unconscious soul, a child. Those in the room craving rescue had been breathing in the hot gases mixed with the smoke. It clearly must have burnt their throats as their laboured breathing and the guttural sounds made for a sickening noise. Carefully lifting the child, he carried he body back to the window where he placed it on the shoulders of a waiting fireman.

He thought he could not take much more of this punishment. It was time for him to get out. He had already rescued three people and was feeling exhausted. His decision to leave the room changed when he thought he could hear more strangulated breathing sounds coming from within the room. He knew he could not leave now, so continued to search. On hands and knees, he crawled through the debris covering the floor. He felt the worrying rising temperature coming off the floor. The smoke was now so thick that he could not see a hand in front of his face.

On the far side of the room, he found two more unconscious people. Both were large individuals and he was running on empty. He did not have the strength to move them unaided. Crawling back to the window he removed his mouthpiece and shouted down,

“Two more are still in here.”

Although he could see nothing below but the smoke, he heard the huge gasp and cry of awe from below. It came from the large crowd who had gathered to watch. They had cheered each time a rescue was performed by the firemen. Returning to the bodies he thought;

“I really do need some bloody help in here.”

Sub.0 ‘Taff ‘Evans led a crew up the collapsing 1st floor staircase working a jet into the back bedroom without wearing BA. He and his crew took terrible punishment during the rescue and (in the opinion of Mick Wallman) all were deserving of a Commendation, but his rescues overshadowed theirs.

Although the crowd could see the rescues they could not appreciate that this public display of professionalism was no mean feat of strength or skill by the firemen, whether in the room or on the escape ladder. To them, standing in the safety of the street, it all looked very exciting. But to lift a dead weight, pass it through a restricted space, then onto the shoulders of a fireman, who was struggling to stay balanced on the 50-foot ladder whilst manoeuvring an unconscious person onto their shoulders, tested these men to their limit. The firemen directly below their colleague, as he carried the casualty, assisted as much as they could. But all were taking huge punishment from the smoke and heat from a fire still burning beneath them.

With the fourth rescue taking place on the ladder the pair inside returned to the fifth person. However, when they returned to the window there was no fireman waiting to receive the casualty. They were recovering people faster than they could be carried down the ladder. There was no alternative: they had to carry the person down themselves. So, exhausted, the young fireman climbed out of the window and stood at the top of the ladder. His colleague lifted the casualty and assisted in getting it across his shoulders. It was only with great difficulty that the two achieved the task. With the ladder still occupied by the fireman carrying down the fourth person, no one could ascend the ladder to assist in helping him carry the fifth person down.

As Mike started to carry this heavy burden down the ladder every step down tested his resolve. He started to feel light-headed. Then he felt the reassuring hands of a fireman beneath as he guided his feet onto each rung of the ladder. He had only descended 10 feet or so when his exhaustion made its presence known. He knew he was going to fall off the ladder, together with the body he was carrying. His strength had given out. There was nothing left in reserve, he was totally spent.

Spitting out the BA set’s mouthpiece he shouted to the fireman below to grab the casualty. He hoped he might fall from the ladder without taking anyone with him. But the fireman below was having none of it. He shot up the ladder and, with huge force, used his arms to envelope him and the body onto the ladder. The slight respite from the weight he carried allowed Mike to recover slightly. The pair now shared the body’s weight and after some very difficult manoeuvring they continued to carry the limp form to the bottom of the ladder where it was swiftly removed by others.

After the briefest of respites, he re-joined other BA firemen searching the top floor. It was the home station’s Leading Fireman (Keith Wright) who told him that he had been ordered by the Officer in Charge of the fire to leave the room and return outside to ground floor level. In the desperate search for still more bodies, he ignored this order, believing there were still some areas of the room not searched. All three now began a last frantic search of the remainder of the room. It was during this search he realised he was becoming a danger to himself and the others. He could no longer think properly and had not an ounce of strength left. He was very close to passing out.

Again, the aftermath showing the head of the escape in the room and little room there was to get in let alone get the casualties out!

As he started his descent the firemen already on the ladder had to descend to allow him off. It was as he was stepping off the ladder he collapsed. Willing hands caught him and carried him across the spaghetti of hose to a clear area of pavement where he was laid down to recover whilst an ambulance crew checked him over and administered oxygen. As the breathing apparatus set was being taken off of him Station Officer Culwick came over to him to ask how he was. This wise and accomplished Willesden Station Officer said:

“For you, young man, this job is over.”

Placed on a stretcher he was carried to the waiting ambulance. He passed numerous fire engines and other ambulances at the scene. So much help had arrived that he was not aware of. Concerned firemen looked his way and gave him a smile and the thumbs-up sign. No further people were found in that room. In the ambulance an attendant started to remove shards of glass from the young fireman’s hands, which were bleeding freely from the cuts from glass that had shattered in the initial explosion. His hands were also blistered from the heat. Alongside him, on the other side of the ambulance, was a man lying on another stretcher. His face was burnt and his hair badly singed. The man sat up and asked;

“Are you the fireman who entered the fire first?” He replied that he was.

The man, clearly in some pain, asked to shake the fireman’s hand and with a strange calmness muttered softly:

“I think you are very brave.”

The man had managed to rescue himself by jumping out of a first-floor window, 15 feet above the ground floor. Another man had rescued himself by climbing down a drainpipe. It later transpired that the young fireman had been in the top floor room for 27 minutes, mostly on his own, searching for and rescuing five people.

He was taken to hospital suffering from heat and smoke exhaustion to be checked over by the duty Accident and Emergency doctor. However, scant attention was paid to the young ‘exhausted’ fireman in the busy A&E Department that fraught morning, as the medical staff fought desperately to save the lives of some of the people who had just been rescued. Two hours later he was released; collected by a senior officer, he was delivered back to Willesden fire station.

As he sheepishly entered the mess room, he was greeted by big smiles from all the watch. He informed Station Officer Culwick that he had been discharged and was fit to continue his duties. Not a man to be overcome with emotion, the guvnor told the returnee he should get back onto the machine he had been detailed to ride at roll call – and with that, he was back in the ‘box’. Nothing more was said of the incident. They all just sat and drank tea, looking at each other, smiling through their blackened faces. They were filthy, smelt of fire debris, smoke and grime. Their work overalls were soaking and soiled. Zilch was said as to what had just happened only a few hours before. It was beyond anything any of them had ever experienced before. Nobody knew where to begin or what to say. After washing, and a change of clothes, they drifted slowly back to their beds where most just lay on top of their blankets, unable to sleep.

Returning to his bed in the station control room, his mind was a whirl of thoughts and emotions. He could not sleep either. Each time he closed his eyes a vivid memory of the fire flashed across his mind and he was forced to open them again. (In fact, these flashbacks went on for many weeks afterwards before he was able to return to a good sleep pattern, free of harrowing images.) In the next hour Willesden’s station bells summoned both machines to another incident. During the search of the premises, where a fire was reported, the security guard complained that the crews stank of fire and smoke. One of the firemen replied:

“We had a bit of a fire earlier mate.”

The others just looked at him and smiled. It was something of an understatement. That was the last call of their shift. They all left the station that morning for their two rota leave days.

Parade on their next first day duty was normal. At 9 a.m. the firemen were detailed as to their riding positions for that day. After the appliances and equipment were checked, and other normal procedures carried out, the young fireman was ordered to report to the station office. As he knocked and entered the office he was immediately ordered to stand to attention. He stood in front of an unexpected array of officers, both his own and the off-going watch officers. His guvnor set about giving him the biggest bollocking of his short career. He was told, in no uncertain terms, that he had broken nearly every rule in BA procedures and had endangered himself in the process. With a ferocity that was making some of the others standing there quake, the Station Officer continued that if he ever caught him doing anything like that again he would be charged under the Fire Service’s discipline code and would likely be sacked. By the time the Station Officer had finished this verbal assault the 20-year-old fireman was visibly wilting under this quite unexpected onslaught.

The Station Officer then stood up from his chair and moved swiftly from behind his desk. His stern face suddenly broke into the widest of smiles as he came towards the pale-faced young fireman. He offered his hand, then, changing his mind, he moved closer and enveloped him in a huge friendly hug. He looked at his ‘junior buck’ and said:

“In all my considerable years your actions were the single most heroic act he had ever seen. I am very proud to have you as a crew member on my watch.”

He ended by saying he was going submitting a report and was going to recommend him, and others, for bravery awards. The other officers then came over to him. Each shook his hand as they warmly congratulated him. As he left the station office he was in a daze. Privately, he wondered why there was such a fuss about what he done. He felt sure plenty of others would have done the same.

The word was also now out on the ‘wire’. Word that this watch had had a ‘fair’ old job and did ‘some’ rescues. Those on Willesden’s other watches bitterly regretted missing the sort of job that was only seen very rarely in the fire brigade. On ‘shouts’, firemen he had never met before would ask to shake his hand and say that they had heard of what he had done. He was very humbled to be treated in this way, especially by those he knew were far more experienced firemen (and officers) than himself.

It was later in that tour the watch held its own debrief on that fire. It was the guvnor’s way that after a proper ‘job’ they would sit down and learn from each other. They listened to each man to get an understanding of the whole job. It was only then that the young fireman discovered that simultaneously to his rescues the Sub Officer had led a crew into the front door of the building, only to find an inferno raging. With a jet of water, he had led the crew, none of whom was wearing breathing apparatus. They fought their way up a collapsing staircase whilst attempting to extinguish the fire as they went. Moving into the first-floor accommodation, at the rear of the building and after a search, they had rescued two more people whilst taking a huge amount of physical punishment in the process.

It transpired that nine people were in the building at the start of the fire. They were in various letting rooms on the first and mezzanine floors and in the family accommodation on the second floor. In addition to the two people who had rescued themselves, one of whom had spoken to the young fireman in the ambulance, seven people were rescued by the brigade. Three of them died later in hospital, two from the top floor and one from the first floor.

Epilogue.

Years later, and after his promotion to Leading Fireman and now on another fire station, our hero was informed that the police wished to interview him again about the Northwood fire. During the interview, where he had to make a formal police statement, the incident in the ambulance seemed of special importance to the police. He asked the detective Inspector about its significance. He was informed that the man who accompanied him in that ambulance had set fire to the café in Northwood and many other places over the subsequent years. He was responsible for the deaths of eight people in total. Finally caught, he confessed to his many arson attacks. The man was due to appear at the Old Bailey. He was subsequently found unfit to plead and was sentenced to be detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure in Broadmoor Hospital, a prison for the criminally insane.

Fireman Michael Wallman and Fireman Brian Hudson (Willesden), Fireman Alan Fosbrook (West Hampstead) and Fireman Alan Cox (Hendon) were each awarded a Chief Officer’s Commendation for their actions when five people were rescued from a fire at Cricklewood Lane, North West London in November 1969. Three of the five people survived. Fireman Michael Wallman was subsequently awarded the British Empire Medal (BEM) for Gallantry.

London fireman Michael J. Wallman, with his fiancee (later wife) Clare, after the presentation of the British Empire Medal for Gallantry at Buckenham Palace.

(Based on the recollections of those who attended the incident.)

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.

Lambeth’s emergency tender crew showing its array of equipmen in the mid 1950s.

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.

Southwark, the London Fire Brigade’s home for the training of its emergency tender crews, as here in the 1920s.

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.

London firemen on their ET course at Southwark-wearing the Proto oxygen breathing apparatus set and navigating the ‘Rat-run’ in Southwark’s BA chamber.

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.

The sewer pipe in Southwark’s BA chamber-there was a small round sewer pipe too!

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!

The only two London firemen to perish in a sewer incident. They had entered wearing ‘smoke-hoods’ and were asphyxiated. Their deaths brought about the change to self-contained ‘Proto’ breathing apparatus.

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

A short history of London’s fireboats

‘A fireboat was designed to be a floating pump that would never run out of water.’

London’s river has always carried people, both for business and for pleasure. Whilst the nature of its riverside has change beyond recognition since the latter part of the twentieth and now into the twenty first century, its popularity as an attraction has not diminished.

A Metropolitan Fire Brigade fire float and tug heading to a riverside blaze. The fire float was a steam fire engine mounted in a barge that could either supply water to the land via hoses or direct water onto a blaze from jets on the barge. The fire tug transported the fire float to the scene of the fire. Circa 1890s

The earliest fire-floats.

The name fireboat is a relatively new term. For most of their history they were called ‘fire-floats’. The Insurance Companies, that provided London’s fire brigades prior to 1833, had introduced the first fire-floats. In truth they were manual fire engines carried on large rowing boats. London saw the arrival of the first fire-float as early as 1765. It was built for the Sun Fire Insurance Company. It was followed by other fire-floats as more insurance companies added a floating engine to their firefighting capabilities.

Upper image; the manual fire pump in a rowing boat. Lower; Illustrated London News item

Victorian technical developments.

With the creation of the London Fire Engine Establishment in 1833, under Superintendent James Braidwood, the fire-floats were transferred to the new fire brigade. The largest two floating engines required between 60 and 80 men to operate their manual pumps. By 1852 the larger of the two was adapted to work by steam, an experiment that proved successful at the time, with a floating steam driven fire engine put into service at a cost of £3,000.

The Beaver fire tug and fire-float barge with Metropolitan Fire Brigade crew.

The purpose of the fire-floats was a simple one. It was able to direct jets of water at a riverside blaze where land firemen were unable to do so. In addition, they also supplemented water supplies to firemen working from either moored craft or on the river foreshore. London’s two oar-propelled craft were located by South Bridge (the larger Upper float) and the Lower float was berthed off King’s Stairs, Rotherhithe, both on the south side of the river.

Braidwood died at the Tooley Street fire in 1861, a fire so severe it scorched the fire-float moored mid-stream fighting the blaze. However, on the river little changed as the steam self-propelled fire-floats were not deemed successful. From 1890 until 1900 the MFB fire-floats consisted of steam fire engines (less wheels) fitted into rafts and towed by fire-tugs.

The previously used rafts, towed by tugs, were replaced by London’s first self propelled fire-floats. These steam driven, shallow draught, craft were based on the Royal Navy gunboats and proved highly effective compared to what they replaced. 1904.

It was the new Chief Officer (another Captain-but a former Royal Navy captain), Capt. Wells who introduced a vessel having both pumping and propelling machinery in one hull. It was a new age in London’s fire-floats. Built to Well’s design, commissioned in 1900, Alpha II was the first of four-vessels brought into service between 1900 and 1912. The other craft being Beta II, Gamma II and Delta II.

Early 20^th century developments (pre-1937).

In 1925 Beta III was placed into service and in 1935 she was joined by the Massey Shaw. Then, pre-WWII, the Brigade had three ‘floating stations; Cherry Gardens-Rotherhithe, Blackfriars-Victoria Embankment, and Battersea, at Battersea Bridge.

The London Fire Brigade maintained a small fleet of fire-floats to meet the needs of dealing with ship and riverside related fires in the Port of London and along the London County Council’s administrative length of the Thames. Beta III is underway, heading towards Tower Bridge. Late 1920s

Lambeth river station.

1937. The new London Fire Brigade headquarters and the Lambeth river fire station with Gamma II berthed alongside.

With the opening of the new Lambeth headquarters in 1937 Battersea shut, its boat transferred to the new Lambeth river station, and the Charing Cross river repair depot was closed. All fire-float repairs, and maintenance, were undertaken by the marine engineers at the new Lambeth HQ workshops. In 1938 Lambeth river station received the new high-speed fire-float, the Braidwood.

WWII expansion.

The London Regional River Service and the fireboat attached to the River fire station at Battersea Bridge. Date: late 1940

By the outbreak of the Second World War, in September 1939, the London Fire Brigade had been increased with some 23,000 auxiliary firefighters, many joining its river service and crewing the Home Office boats and converted fire-barges. In 1938 twenty auxiliary fire-floats were ordered and in 1939 ten more were placed into service.In addition, the Brigade had four Thames barges, each barge carried four 1000-gallon (4,500 litre) Dennis fire pumps. The barges could move in all directions, manoeuvred by jets of water from two of the pumps.

One of the Thames barges with their four major fire pumps, moored at the Lambeth river station. 1940.

Massey Shaw/Dunkirk-1940.

The crew of the Massey Shaw returning after their Dunkirk crossings. 1940.

In May 1940 the ‘Massey Shaw’ was despatched to enemy France to assist in the historic evacuation from the Dunkirk beaches. Its crew comprised both volunteer regulars and auxiliaries and with a naval officer in command. Massey Shaw joined the fleet of ‘Little ships’ and made a number of crossing from Ramsgate to Dunkirk. The fire-float not only saved many from the beaches but rescued 39 severely injured soldiers from a French ship, that had hit a mine in the English Channel and sank.

The Massey Shaw at work in 1935 at a major Thames warehouse blaze.

Massey Shaw would receive two singular honours. She was the only civilian small ship to be mentioned by Vice-Admiral Ramsey in his despatches and following their actions three members of the Shaw’s crew were awarded national gallantry honours.

National Fire Service. 1941-1948

The River Headquarters crest of the NFS River Thames Formation, which covered the Greater London area of the Thames, and included some eighteen fireboats and assorted fire floats and other tenders. 1942

In August 1941 the fire service across the United Kingdom was nationalised and the NFS was created. This was when the name ‘fire-float’ was changed to ‘fireboat’. Both Gamma and Delta saw service during WWII in the newly created Thames River Formation. The formation comprised some seventy craft and they were the first to be equipped with radio communications. Members of the Thames Formation were among the last to be awarded national gallantry awards after two vessels collided and caught fire on 7^th January 1945. One British Empire Medal and nine King’s Commendations for Brave Conduct were present to the crews in respect of their actions that day.

A NFS fireboat (AFB2) on the Thames, in the Pool of London, showing its radio communications mast. 1941/2.

On the 1^st April 1948 the London Fire Brigade reverted to local authority control (London County Council) as did its fireboats.

The cap badge of the re-formed London Fire Brigade in 1948.

Post WWII fireboats.

The James Braidwood, now as a reserve fireboat, moored at the Lambeth pontoon.

It would be almost 20 years before London had a new fireboat. The ‘Firebrace’ arrived at Lambeth in 1961, replacing the aging Braidwood and joining the Massey Shaw as the capital’s two fireboats. In the years that followed there was a significant change in the nature of the risks on and alongside the River Thames. The Brigade reviewed its fireboat provision. With the Massey Shaw already decommissioned the Firebrace followed suit in the mid-1970s. Two craft, of an identical design, were purchased, the Fire Hawk and the Fire Swift. At just under 14 metres in length the boats carried light pumps to supply its small monitor mounted to the prow. With the ‘Hawk’ covering the upper Thames and the ‘Swift’, stationed at Greenwich pier, down-river. Subsequently the downriver station was closed. The Brigade’s only remaining fireboat station remained at Lambeth.

The arrival of London’s newest fireboat, Firebrace, at Lambeth river station in 1961.

The Fire Hawk, one of a matching pair, based at Lambeth with Fire Swift was based at Greenwich.

In April 1985 London Phoenix was placed into operational service. The Phoenix was built as a catamaran. At 18 metres long and seven metres wide, her twin diesel marine engines developed six hundred and twenty horse power. A water salvo could be discharged from her four deck monitors fed by her two fire pumps, capable of pumping nine thousand litres per minute. With her vivid colours, and a top speed of 12 knots, she stood out amongst the myriad of Thames craft. The Fire Hark was retained at the reserve fireboat.

The dory of the London Phoenix- Picture credit-Alan Dearing.

Lambeth’s river fire station retains a unique feature amongst the one hundred plus fire stations that comprised the London Fire Brigade. It has no fire station ground. The fireboat covers the length of London’s River Thames whilst riparian fire station’s area (north and south) extends to the mid-point of the Thames. The fireboat simply maintains its primary function of being a floating pump and acting in support of the land-based crews and, when required, acting as a rescue craft.

The Fire Dart berthed at the modernised Lambeth river station, London’s only river fire station. Picture credit-Paul Wood.

Lambeth’s fireboat pontoon is a far cry from its predecessor that was opened, together with the new headquarters building in 1937. Then it comprised of two simple huts on a pontoon and where the river ‘firemen’ would spend their day shifts, returning to the land station to eat their meals and to sleep in the large dormitory on the fire stations’ first floor.

In the intervening years the two huts were replaced by two slightly larger prefabricated single storey buildings. But by the early 1980s both the pontoon and its buildings were in urgent need of replacement. Today’s river firefighters have their own self-contained, purpose built, standalone fire station.

The Fire Dart attending a fire on the Woolwich ferry.

In 1999 the Brigade took delivery of its current generation of fireboats, the Fire Dart and the Fire Swift. These craft, designed to attend a wide range of emergencies along the river and riverside properties. are also capable of responding to other lifesaving tasks on the river. With one of the fireboats on immediate standby, the second is held in reserve and used for training.