Beyond The Flames

C. Pike David

Description

As a teenager at a South London comprehensive school, young David Pike is advised by his careers master to seek employment at a local engineering factory. Determined not to do so, 'Pikey' first considers the Metropolitan Police; disappointed at their rejection, he sees an advertisement for the London Fire Brigade, who at sixteen offer him a place as a Junior Fireman.From those early days in the 60s as a Junior Fireman, Pikey's career spans four decades and numerous jobs as he climbs the career ladder in the London Fire Brigade. On the way he undertakes a wide variety of roles, as well as organising several high profile charity events and official Fire Brigade commemorations.David Pike's enthralling book is his own account - sometimes funny, sometimes tragic, but never dull - of his career in, and dedication to, fire fighting in the capital city. The reader will gain a fascinating insight into the workings of the London Fire Brigade and the firefighters who keep us safe.

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 31 octobre 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781398414839
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 9 Mo

Extrait

Beyond The Flames
David C. Pike
Austin Macauley Publishers
2013-10-31
Beyond The Flames About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgements Introduction Chapter 1 Every Cloud Chapter 2 F Squad Chapter 3 Swanley Chapter 4 Conversion Chapter 5 Probation Chapter 6 Real Fireman Chapter 7 New Era Chapter 8 Leading Hand Chapter 9 Special Services Chapter 10 Promotion Ladder Chapter 11 Brixton Chapter 12 Raising Money Chapter 13 Senior Rank Chapter 14 Press and PR Chapter 15 The Last Rung Appendix I Appendix II Roll of Honour Appendix III Glossary
About the Author

Starting his career as a fire-cadet at sixteen the author rose to senior rank, always in an operational role. A steady ‘plodder’ more than a high flier he learnt his trade craft serving, and commanding, the Capital’s busiest and most challenging fire station, Brixton. Awarded the Queen’s Commendation for Brave Conduct he also rowed himself into the Guinness Book of Records whilst raising many thousands of pounds for charity. A talented organiser he was involved in delivering some of the London Fire Brigade’s most high-profile public events during the 1990s including royal visits and the unveiling of the national Blitz memorial by St Paul’s Cathedral. A fireman first and foremost he provides a valuable human story into the life and history of the London Fire Brigade from 1965 to the late 1990s.
Dedication
Dedicated to the ultimate supreme sacrifice of firefighters everywhere and to my daughter Abby – taken too soon.
Copyright Information ©
David C. Pike
The right of David C. Pike to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 184963 396 3
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2013)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LB
Printed and bound in Great Britain
Acknowledgements
London Fire Brigade.
Roger Stuart Vaughan – a guiding light.
Brian ‘Bill’ Butler MBE OStJ. QFSM – a guiding hand.
Christopher J. Thompson – friend and mentor.
Mary Evans – a picture library.
Robin Griffiths – an ace with apostrophes.
Introduction
This is a personal memoir. It offers glimpses and snapshots that gave definition to a fire service career that spanned the last four decades of the twentieth century. Whilst the tales cover the people and events that shaped and influenced my working life, it also offers a special reminiscence of the life and times in the long history of the London Fire Brigade, highlighting personalities, acts of courage, and the ultimate sacrifice that any firefighter can make, to give their life in the performance of their duty. All of which made this so much more than just a job. This story is dedicated to them, the fallen.
Riding the engine…
“One of my early childhood memories was that of running to the front window of our home to watch the fire engines when I heard their clanging bells as they drove up Waller Road, a steep thoroughfare in South London. My parents occupied the top floor flat of my grandmother’s three-storey Victorian house. I had a grandstand view of the big red fire engines, with their wooden ladders, as they seemed to fill the tree-lined road, which in the early fifties was bereft of any parked cars. New Cross fire station was located at the bottom of the hill and Waller Road was a frequent transit route for these engines responding to some urgent call. The sight of these magnificent engines with the firemen getting dressed into their fire tunics and black helmets always filled my childhood mind with excitement and the hope of one day being able to join in their adventure.”
Chapter 1

Every Cloud
Selection
I left secondary school in 1965. I left it much as I joined it, hopefully a bit wiser but without a worthwhile academic qualification to my name. The school, Samuel Pepys, was a South London secondary modern. Comprehensives were not that common then and this school was the destination for many boys in the local area who had not or could not pass their 11 plus exam. I did eventually get a school certificate when I left at sixteen. This meant that I attended school more than I missed it and managed to get to most classes on time. At school “spilling and grimmer” were never my best subjects, probably on a par with my maths. I found French and algebra totally bewildering and algebra still is! I was not much of a sportsman either. I played rugby and hockey because I had to and not because I was any good at them. My only saving grace was that I could swim, and very well. I represented both my school and the local borough of Deptford. This gave me some “street cred” at school with both my peers and some of the teaching staff. It was largely thanks to an extremely enthusiastic physical education teacher that I was introduced into Sub Aqua swimming. I took to it like the proverbial duck to water, soon passing all the snorkelling tests, which qualified me to use the compressed air tanks at the nearby swimming pool where the weekly training took place. The pool was located on the top floor of a three-storey health centre in New Cross. Originally built in the early fifties, it was then state of the art but now looked tired, neglected and in need of considerable renovation. The pool training, however, was great and having twelve feet deep-end helped develop my snorkelling skills. The open water training was even better and was undertaken at various lakes in Kent and Essex and harbours along the south coast. I was soon able to qualify as a diver, third class.
In the fifth form, my last school year, the form master was a Mr Mills. He was a quietly spoken Welshman in his mid-fifties. He had a halo of white wispy hair surrounding his shiny bald head. As a teacher he was okay but thirty years of teaching teenage boys, overloaded with the trials and tribulations of puberty and high on increasing levels of testosterone, had taken its toll on his enthusiasm for teaching. When teaching his own subject, maths, the bright and talented boys were clearly targeted whilst those, like me, were left to our own devices, working from a teach-yourself maths textbook. Mr Mills also doubled up as the school’s career master, a task that he probably performed to increase his weekly pay packet rather than for any altruistic reason. He had a simple career philosophy for those boys, who like me, had no natural academic flair; it was simple, “Go to MOLINS boy.” He called every pupil “boy.” Molins was a large local engineering firm, located in the depths of Deptford near the River Thames. We were convinced that Mr Mills actually worked for Molins as their recruitment officer rather than a teacher, especially given the large number of boys who ended up there as apprentices as soon as they left school.
I had other ideas. It was no engineering factory for me, nor working in the newspaper industry as my father did. I wanted something different, something exciting and something that did not require at least ten GCEs to get it. The Metropolitan Police Cadet scheme caught my eye, which all too soon proved to be ironic! I sent off my application and much to my surprise I got an interview date at the Police Selection Centre in Borough Road, near London Bridge. On the appointed day I went proudly wearing my school uniform, which consisted of a rather worn school blazer, my faded and discoloured school badge, a prefect’s badge and my school swimming colours. I was out to impress but it was all, sadly, very short lived.
First came the police medical examination. This included stripping naked, then standing on a pair of white footprints painted on the floor and having to face the wall! We had certain teachers who may have liked to get us into that position at school but surely not here? Anyway, whatever was inspected appeared satisfactory and was followed by the eyesight and hearing tests. The medical examination was immediately followed by the written tests. Directed into a large room with individual desks thirty or so of us hopeful boys each found a desk, sat and waited. We were briefed by a uniformed police sergeant on what was to happen next and were provided with the question papers. I was ready for this test and was even feeling reasonably confident. No sooner I had put my name on the answer sheet than I was told to leave the examination room. Another uniformed police sergeant told me I had failed my eyesight test. Giving me my train fare home he unceremoniously sent me on my way.
I was disappointed, shocked and upset. I did not wear glasses and thought that I could see perfectly well. Then the mind games started. Maybe what they said at school about playing with yourself was true after all? Did it really send you blind? Thinking my dad would surely put two and two together and come up with the obvious cause for my early failing eyesight my mind was working overtime. Many of my uncles wore glasses so maybe the problem ran in the family? Confused and worried just what to tell my parents I choose to delay the inevitable and walked for a while. In truth I could not actually find my way back to London Bridge railway station! Whilst trying to think of possible excuses to offer for my failure, I came upon a large semi-derelict Victorian frontage next to Southwark Fire Station in Southwark Bridge Road. It turned out to be the defunct exterior of the London Fire Brigade’s training school and recruitment centre. On its wall w