I live really close to our local fire station – not even 100m away! And until a few years ago I didn't realise they had retained firefighters stationed there.
To be honest I don't know how I found out that the station had a retained section. But when I did find out, it planted a little seed in my mind that this could be for me. I can't say I've always wanted to be a firefighter since being a wee lad but the thought now seemed like a good one. With some trepidation I mentioned my idea to my wife. I expected a response like "You don't wanna do that!" – or similar. Nothing of the sort. The current good lady was 100% behind me… Now, how do I join?
Well, after a couple of phone calls to Headquarters I finally received an application pack. I turned this round in double quick time and waited patiently for the call. It didn't come. Months went by and still nothing. Eventually adverts appeared around town seeking new recruits as retained firefighters. A call to Headquarters revealed that my application of well over 12 months hence had been misplaced!
Another application went in and I was called for interview. Passed this OK – tests to see if we could work out times (for Breathing Apparatus wears), basic intelligence tests (must have been for me to get through) and a general chat.
Next was my medical at Ipswich Hospital – everything bar the "cough sir". Any firefighters reading this will be familiar with the Chester step test. Stepping onto and off a 12 inch high box in time to a ticking tape. At set intervals the ticking gets quicker and you have to keep pace. Every so often the doctor asks you to rate the exertion based on a given scale. My test was going OK, me bobbing up and down, looking out over the rooftops of Ipswich until the doctor tried opening his ringbinder of notes. His overzealous pull on the rings sent his notes fluttering around the room. Any thoughts of asking after my wellbeing were, quite literally, out of the window. Thankfully a pass there too.
Another day and another trip to Ipswich, this times to Headquarters station. Now the aptitude / physical tests.
There was a group of about eight of us and we all had to pass a number of tests. First up was the hose running. We had to run out then roll a length of 70mm hose (it's actually 25 metres long, 70mm is the diameter!) six times in some breathtakingly short time. Once we had recovered sufficiently it was on to the BA test.
Each of us donned a BA set and had to squirm our way through a maze of rooms followed by a small tunnel, popping out the end like a champagne cork from the bottle. I can't remember now whether this was done in complete darkness or whether we were wearing the 'knickers' over our face masks!
Now the final task – climbing to the top of the 13.5m ladder, pitched against the drill tower, taking a leg lock, removing both hands, leaning back, looking over our shoulder and calling out the number held by the instructor some 40+ feet below. This was probably the hardest test for me. I'm not a fan of heights but needs must and when you've been ordered to do something you seem to be able to get over your normal qualms!
So there I was, a 39 year old spring chicken, about to start my training as a retained firefighter.
After seven days basic training I was 'fit to ride', was issued with my alerter (the pager that alerts us to fire calls) and waited with baited breath for the thing to go off!
That was nearly five years ago – since then I've had BA courses, passed my LGV test and have become a turnout driver. So even though I didn't dream it as a boy, I suppose I'm living it now – getting to drive a big red fire engine…