Eleven days without a shout... That's a record in the seven years I've been at Normanshurst.
And, of course, the drought came to an end on Saturday - right in the middle of a family get together for my parents' 60th wedding anniversary. I was digesting my main course and psyching myself up for a large slice of Black Forest gateau and cream when that little black thing with cobwebs on it kicked into life. Bugger! "Got to go, sorry..." as I leave the family to divvy up the dessert without me in the reckoning for a piece...
Animal rescue - horse in a ditch at Uggeshall, just off the A145 between Beccles and Halesworth.
Green Watch get dressed in their water rescue gear as Mel finds the van has a flat battery - again. Jump leads on from the mains battery charger, stand clear and off she goes... I think Workshops need to take a look at that!
Billy and I set off on the Unimog while phone calls are made to make up the crew for Ladder 1.
By the time we were nearing Uggeshall Ladder 1 has caught us up and they follow us in, relying on my Boy Scouts map reading skills. And, as luck would have it, we hit the spot and were met with the site of a horse laying on its side in its very own mud bath.
Ladder 1 pulled up behind us but the Water Rescue van was nowhere to be seen. They'd taken a different route and arrived from the opposite direction.
I took a line and edged round the muddy ditch and into the corner of the field into which we were hoping to pull the horse. I took a step closer to the horse to tie the line to its halter when my left foot just kept going down. Down to the point where mud went up between my leggings and my boots and over the top to, quite literally, fill my boot. Bugger, for the second time!
After a couple of failed attempts the line was tied directly around the horses neck and we started the tug-o-war. Surprisingly the horse came free with just six of us pulling on the line. And after a short breather the horse was on its feet and wondering what all the fuss was about.
Now for a clean up - disinfectant spray, high pressure hose over my firekit, outside and inside my boot and a soggy left trouser leg that gradually seeped mud down my leg all the way back to Lowestoft. And does that stuff stink? Not only that, you can't get rid of it either.
Hose down again at Normanshurst, showered left leg and back home for a general delousing.
And finally, a large chunk of Black Forest followed by a similarly large chunk of anniversary cake. Never let it be said that the Fire Service or the pungent aroma of ditch water ever spoils my appetite.
It's now been a week since my last post and that's down to one simple reason... we haven't had any shouts.
This year we've been getting around 18 shouts a month except for June, flamin' June. We're literally half way through the month and we've had just two shouts!
Everything has just come to a resounding halt. This always makes it worse when your alerter does go off next. You start to forget that little appendage, clipped to your belt, and are lulled into a false sense of relaxation.
Of course, I'll talk it up now. Just as I nod off on the settee, all hell will break loose and I'll be careering around, Zombie-like, as I head for the exit...
Flamin' June, my arse...
If you're still here and still awake, head over to the new image galleryat Alerter.co.ukfor some pics of the pumps at Normanshurst.
There I was, trying my best to look as if I was enjoying a spot of gardening, all for the benefit of the onlooking Mrs C, when the station alarm sounded. I froze in anticipation, waiting to see if my pocket started to vibrate - my alerter going off, not me getting excited at the bells going down! But nothing. Ladder 1 left the fire station and headed into town.
Bugger! Looked like I'd have to keep up the pretence of enjoying doing the garden...
And then, barely two minutes later, just as I'd resumed the weeding position, the station alarm went again followed hot on its heels by my alerter.
What to do first? Wheeled Karen indoors at lightening speed, coat off, telly on and phone on her table. Change from my shorts into jeans, out the front door, pile all my gardening tools and the wheelbarrow under a bush and legged it across to the fire station.
Just one light up - Ladder 1's job was now Make Pumps 2 at Rushmere's DIY on Newcombe Road, Lowestoft near to the Birds Eye factory.
Even as we were piling onto Ladder 2 the bells went again for the ERT. It seems that Jim Parsons on Ladder 1 was putting in assistance message before even getting to the job and we could see why. As we turned out of the fire station towards town we could see a huge plume of smoke billowing into the sky. Th assistance message had been Make Pumps 4 so Clifton were on their way to. This would also mean that the Command Support Vehicle (used to be FCV) from Beccles plus their pump would also be mobilised too.
We pulled up just past Ladder 1 to hit the fire from the south side, having gained entry into the yard of the neighbouring business, Star Frost. Two 45's and a hosereel were run out in short order, stopping the fire spreading into an area were numerous cylinders were stored. Early and prompt action to remove two Acetylene cylinders from immediate danger meant that these potentially lethal 'bombs' were out of harms way.
One more assistance message went in - Make Pumps 6 - for personnel, bringing two pumps over the border from Norfolk.
With three hydrants being used we gradually won the battle of having sufficient water to fight the fire, which had totally destroyed the wood store that was attached to the rear of the DIY store.
Once our sector was closed we helped other crews to clear the burnt wood as damping down continued. Small seats of fire kept appearing as the heat held within the wood piles was not being reached by the hosereels. This meant the entire burnt and charred contents of the wood store had to be removed through the black morass that was the gloopy mixture of charcoal and water, and piled up in the yard.
Pumps from Wrentham and Southwold arrived as relief crews and we headed back to Normanshurst to get everything cleaned up.
Needless to say, the garden didn't get finished last night. Shame...
I've taken it upon myself to put together a photograhic record of Normanshurst as it is today - still going strong but with the end of its 35 year service in sight.
First up in the gallery is a set of images of all Normanshurst's appliances and Specials - most of them taken on a gloriously sunny day in May.
I'll start adding more images soon and will hopefully end up with a reasonably good look at Normanshurst - inside and out.
If anyone has got images of the station from when it was built, right up to date, I'd be grateful for a copy to add to the collection. If you can, send them by e-mail to ian [at] alerter [dot] co [dot] uk. All donations gratefully received!
It's funny how you find your self 'volunteering' for something. Sometimes you don't realise that you've done it and other times you're sold a pup. I think my 'volunteering' fell into the second category...
In the wee small hours of last Sunday morning we were getting ready to pull a rather large horse out of a rather muddy ditch. My brain was still mush and trying desperately to get itself in gear, when Gary Smart sidled up to me and asked if I'd like to be a casualty in an RTC district exercise. At that time of the morning it sounded more appealing than running around, sweating your bits off, cutting casualties from cars - so I said 'yes'...
And that's why I found myself and three other 'willing' helpers across at the fire station, an hour before drill, getting made up with all manner of wounds. Mine was a head wound with a lump, a cut and some blood.
The drive up to Jeld-Wen drew some odd looks from anyone who happened to catch sight of these four battered and bruised individuals being transported in the back of a Fire Service minibus!
The RTC involved three cars - one on all four wheels with two female casualties (the driver had been drinking...), another on its side with its roof up against a skip (Richard Belsey was in this car with a badly broken leg) and finally me, in an upside down Peuguot.
I'd picked the car on its roof because, being a lazy git, I thought I'd be able to make myself comfortable on the roof liner and have a nice little doze - keeping in the character of being semi-conscious. But when I looked at the car I couldn't believe the amount of crap that was in it. I think someone had been using it as a skip! So I got in and laid with my head just resting in the open window, trying to nestle down in all the rubbish that was all over the place.
First pump in was Wrentham and I could hear them surveying the scene, checking on the vehicles and the state of the casualties. I was deliberately incoherent and slipping in and out of consciousness, gradually giving information to the firefighter and then to the St Johns Ambulance staff. Could detect a rise in the voice as I slipped away - 'Ian, Ian, wake up!'
And so followed an award-winning performance as the car was dismantled around me and we waited for a long-board to become available. As time wore on I was getting more and more uncomfortable and started to kick out - hopefully emulating the effects of a head injury - while trying to get some feeling back into my legs!
I've decided not to 'volunteer' to be a casualty again. Sweating your bits off as a firefighter has got to be so much better than lying, helpless, having a car cut from around you - especially for Richard who had Al cutting a post just an inch or so from his head. I know the sound cutters make, the sound of glass being managed and the sound of a Remsaw. But, even so, it was unnerving being on the receiving end.
So, when volunteers are called for again, I shall be taking three steps back...
