THE DAY FIRE GIRL DROVE

The lights flashed on with the intensity of an electric discharge from a bolt of lightning. I twitched, so did the other fire-fighters, then the unmistakable wailing of the alarm.  Instead of jogging to the rear of the cab I ran to the watch room. The printer spat out the incident sheet, I grabbed a copy and quickly took note of the incident, Road Traffic Collision, then the address, I knew it, good!

I ran round the fire appliance, lockers all closed, tick! I climbed into the driver’s seat, blue lights on, vehicle lights on, checked all crew on board. Flock a duck no one had operated the large red door blocking my exit, jumped out pressed button climbed back in cab. The officer in charge AKA Station Office Trumpy started quoting from the Children’s TV programme Trumpton, “Here is the clock, the Trumpton clock. Telling the time, steadily, sensibly; never too quickly, never too slowly. Telling the time for Trumpton.”

Thank God the door light turned green. I was now revved up like a greyhound desperate in a racing trap. Trumpy radioed to control, “Bravo 200 Proceeding,” the OIC hit the two tones. I was on my first shout as blue light driver, if I had time to think about it I would be wetting myself. I put peddle to the metal the beast roared to life filling the station with fumes like a snarling dragon. Once on the road one of the fire-fighters pulled my long pony-tailed hair saying, “You go Laura.” “Har har,” I said under my breath.

Normally I would be in the rear of the cab and have parked my long girly pony-tail inside my tunic to stop it getting caught in any cutting gear that I would be using at a RTC, or in a fire situation not to catch fire.  As a driver, our steal capped fire boots make it cumbersome to drive so we don our PPE at the incident.

I sped to the first junction, there was a car travelling towards us, the office in charge hit the sirens, I can make it, I swung left leaving me a clear run, I was having an adrenalin rush, you could say a different type of sex.

Ahead the traffic lights were showing red, I could hear two tones from another direction, I gingerly crept out I could see an ambulance first responder car. I brought my beast to a halt letting the wailing car through, continued to follow the responder though the dispersed traffic. I had to being aware of any vehicle that might pull out from the side of the road not knowing I was following but it wasn’t long before the souped up agile car that I was trailing lost me, giving me one less thing to think about.  

Previously I asked my driving instructor about how other drivers responded to Blues and Twos, he answered reciting the probability theory; “The law (or formula) of total probability is a fundamental rule relating marginal probabilities to conditional probabilities. It expresses the total probability of an outcome which can be realised via several distinct events.” He added at the end, “Who bloody knows? At this point I had forgotten what I had asked him.

I have many times felt the excitement of galloping with my horse Brutus along my local beach at sunrise. With the off shore breeze slapping my face and my long flowing hair trailing behind, but racing ten tons of turbo charged masculine machinery was even more electrifying. When it comes to braking Brutus needs a jumbo jet runway to stop, where this beast can stop in no time shaving seconds which over a shout can save minutes.

We were now on the dual carriage way were the incident was, the OIC began looking at the small numbered markers by the curb, he shouted over the heavy gravelly sound of engine, it should be about a mile or so, I gave him the thumbs up. I started to think of my tasks, first don PPE; tunic, leggings, flash over hood e.g. then operating the fire pump, prime and run out hose, help crew carry rescue equipment, the Jaws of Life, winches, e.g.

Suddenly it all changed when we were hit with a wall of backed up traffic unable to pass the accident with no hard shoulder to escape to. The boys in the back jumped out sometimes guiding the blocking vehicles to either side of the road, over times helping me weave through them using hand signals. Instead of what felt like a cavalry charge was now a drive at a snail’s pass, just missing the vehicles by centimetres. With the pace down to a crawl having to concentrate so hard not to damage the dozens of static vehicles it felt like I was threading a needle time and time again, plus with the summer sun glaring in my eyes I was suffering with a bang bang my head’s on fire head ache.

Eventually we reached the damaged car in a ditch, as the OIC jumped out of his door he throw the radio mic on his seat saying, “book us in.”

“Bravo 200 in attendance,” there was a pulse as the woman control operator was not expecting another female voice, then repeated my message ending, “Over and out.”

For a second I sat stunned but quickly pulled myself together and peered out the windscreen, as the fire crew were jogging to the car that had come off the road and into a ditch, the ambulance woman indicated the diver’s OK sign, so I killed the fire appliance engine. As is so common at road traffic collisions there was an eerie silence and if there was a death it could even feel ghostly.

With all the nearby vehicles’ motors turned off, all I could hear was the faint noise of distant birdsong from my open window. Alas the peace was quickly shattered by the returning boys banter as they were mounting the cab. It turned out an old man had a grandpa moment thinking the lay by was a slip road  and ending up running out of tarmac, leaving him ok, besides from shock and eating a face full of air bag.

The OIC, Trumpy as we call him behind his back booked us mobile available to main control then turned to me to say, “Good drive, Miss Lovelace,” my character from Trumpton. Dan the recruit who pulled my hair earlier added his cheeky praise, “Good driving Miss Whiplash.” Mission accomplished, I turned off the blues and two then returned back to the station a happy bunny.

Trumpy as a boy was mad about the children’s TV programme Trumpton and from that early age all he wanted to be was Captain Flack. He still has a love for the programme and has an annoying habit of quoting from the TV series.

On our return to the station we all went up to the mess for a tea, the fire service runs on tea. I know the dining room was a mess by the end of the shift, but I was sure it wasn’t the reason to call it a mess. Apparently in the olden days all the firemen were ex sailors and the brigades still even now use some of their navy terminology. In the mess the guys started laughing about how their partners give their cars nicknames. They asked me (Miss Lovelace) if my beetle had a name. I replied, “No, that’s just silly.” Obviously he’s called Herbie, along with our two fire engines, Henry and Harry. Further-more I have a confession to make when I started at the fire training centre I removed the rather large plastic flower on Herbie’s dashboard, and replaced it with our local football team badge.

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That night being the last working day of the month and pay day my shift (red watch) went on a bar crawl in Sin Street. This is very popular with my sister who after being dumped by her long term boyfriend has blossomed into a right old slut. Emma insists she’s the best looking one of us, I think it’s a case of there’s a guy who works down the chip shop who swears he’s Elvis, he’s a liar and so is my trampy sister too. Anyway it’s the beauty inside you that matters. She just loves joining us she says she’s giving me girlie backup, but the truth is she just loves flirting with the young single fire hunks.

Buddha’s law of attraction says “All that we are is a result of what we have thought.” Emma’s version is, tits packaged in a tight low cut top, bum clingy micro skirt, all standing on a pair of red slender dagger stilettos and of course served with come to bed eyes and a sexy smile.  This Rewards her with the pick of the guys at the end of the night for treats of snogs, or something more.

Tonight Emma’s got her eye on the new recruit Dan as new boy friend material but as usual she’s suffering from bad boy syndrome, Emma just can’t help herself she’s drawn to them as much as Homer Simpson loves Duff beer, as homer would say, “To Alcohol! The cause of and solution to all life’s problems!”

 I like the guys I work with but some of the young fellows remind me of the characters in the TV series The Inbetweeners. I’m happy to stick with my adorable boyfriend Adam or the pen pusher as I playfully tease him with. Adam also loves joining us as he can have a stag night with the fire guys rather than socials as the boss of a gaggle of giggling girls from his office.

At the end of that night after necking a bucket load of cheap prosecco which I’m sure wasn’t on my bucket list for that night, we both fell out of the last bus back. Adam after a few drinks as usual likes to think he’s a caveman and insists on carrying me home with his version of fireman’s lift, leaving me presenting my knickers to my curtain twitching dirty old codger of a neighbour, Mr Magoo at no.13. I’m sure I have paraded my entire repertoire from thongs to my granny bloomers through the years.

Anyway moving on Adam continued with his caveman theme back home and soon he was bringing the night to a climax with his inferno love making. My computer warrior was definitely pressing the right keys on my key-board that night, I was on fire. What a day, what a night.

THE END