Lucky Indeed!

It's funny what people talk about when they are quite obviously in a state of shock and then relieve. Last night I spent four hours fighting a fire along with a number of my crew in a stone built fuel shed attached to the gable end of a three hundred year old stone built typical Irish farmers cottage. The shed would have been part of the original cottage at one time but had been annexed off at a later date to house animals I suspect. The currant owners had used it to store coal, and a boiler, plus rather stupidly in my opinion the plastic fuel tank for the home heating oil for the boiler. Talk about putting all your eggs in one basket' Oh did I mention the dog kennel!
When we arrived at the scene we were greeted by farmer type men all shouting at us about the time it took, and F'ing! this and F'ing slow! that. We as firemen are used to this, after all if it was my house at risk I would be panic stricken as well I should imagine. Any way a fire had somehow started in the shed quickly spreading to the two ton of coal, then spreading to the rest of the rubbish in the shed, until it melted the plastic fuel tank that as you can imagine then spilt it's rather flammable contents into the fire, thus creating a rather large fire ball that engulfed the whole shed and ran out the door and into the garden. Mean while we were concentrating on putting water onto the gable end.





The Farmers with all there charm that they showed us when we arrived then told us we were F'ing stupid the fire is over there! and in the garden, what are we wasting the water on the side of the house for? I had to point out too him that he had just answered his own question, ie the house was over this side! After a while we had the fire under control but we feared the worse for the dog who was housed in the shed. He then surprised us all when he came trotting back into the yard just as we had the last of the fire out. The owners of the house who happened to be English were amazed at how well their house must of been built and remarked on how brave the farmers were to stop the fire spreading into the house. This made us smile and nod politely in agreement. For what had saved there house was indeed the standard of workmanship in the solid three foot thick walls but more importantly the quick thinking and training we as emergency specialist have.




The last two house fire's we have attended haven't ended so happily, for the fire had gotten into the roof space and quickly spread to the whole of the houses. We learn lessons from each incident we attend, this happy ending was the result of these lessons. We had to knock the walls of the shed down for they had started to crack and lean dangerously over, we also had to get the electricity board out to cut the supply to the house as the main junction box was badly damaged. Upon a final precautionary tour of the house to check for damage or hot spots within the wall with a thermal camera we noticed that there were no smoke alarms, or shall I say no batteries in the smoke alarms, the owner explained that they annoy her when they go off! So she took the batteries out. For some reason all I could think of at that point was Bob Dylan 'Blowing in the wind'. She then went on about the awful weather we were having whilst we got back into our engine and left, leaving the farmers to there celebratory whiskey, and the dog who's name was in fact lucky to a new home inside by the aga!

My Dream of Lardy Cakes.

Fallen rainbows adorned the puddled path and roadside gutters as I made my way to Gardeners bakery that day. Busy feet and splashes from cars made swirling kaleidoscopes of them. Then in a rare moment of stillness amongst the dinner hour crowd I caught my reflection. I wore the pale blue sky like a halo, the skin on my face like a silk gown seemed to glow with the fire of youth. Then a splash from a Midlands Electricity Board van broke the filmy mirror and set this image spinning in a crimson kissed tide.
Gardeners bakery was a magical place, and always had been for me. A place where my father would bring me on cold Saturday mornings for Lardy cakes, a place where red faced big bosomed baker women would conjure up huge trays of sweet smelling sausage rolls still steaming from the glass fronted ovens. Some of my best memories of me and my father were locked to this place, where every smell was an attack on your very soul, every taste a sweet reminder of un-broken promises. but that was back then, and this is now, things have changed.
Back then summers smelt like raspberry crush, and mellow sage, and my days were full of times spent under ice cream white clouds in Cotswold blue skies. back then the river Chelt ran unpolluted through the uncharted wastelands' that boarders the estate know to all as the Moor's, and back then Lardy cakes as big as plates still tasted like a treacle dipped sunrise. Now the river where red breasted sticklebacks once hid amongst velvet green weeds, and where small trout would face upstream undulating in the shadows of the old plank bridge, the same liquid oil rainbows from the road side drift, drowning, suffocating all life. The old dens and tree houses of my childhood have long since been bulldozed into the ground and the Moor's estate is just a small scurfy oasis in the middle of a stainless steal sea reflected in the high smoked plains of a corporate cul de sac.
But this is now, will the white baps covered with fresh flour like cascading talc, buttered, stuffed full of crisp hot bacon still taste the same, or the fluffy hot sausage rolls, slightly blackened underneath, my fathers favourite, and even my beloved Lardy cakes hot treacle stuck to the firm edges still have their taste? Or is the spell broken!
The way to the bakery had long since changed, and I struggled to remember searching for clues. MFI was still on the corner by the Tewksbury road roundabout, and the vast gates of what used to be the Aluminium foundry were still there. I have my bearings now and began to see the way like it used to be, just my father and I hand in hand down the road towards Swindon Village. A small half moon of sweet, sweet, grass just off the pavement where a flag stone path would bend seductively round to the glass fronted entrance of Gardeners bakery. The windows would be steamed up adding to the seductive charm, pulling you in out of the cold and into the warmth. The queue would wind it's way round the front of the shop like a fantastic serpent made up of working men's coats, each one blowing steam into cold hands. The big busted baker women would great each coat by it's name and as if by magic know their order. The serpent would billow it's way round towards the pay desk, past the hot glass fronted display of savory pastries and on past the fresh cream cakes, and talcum baps, until a white sleeved arm would hand each one their order. A parcel, white or brown paper wrapped, depending on sweet or savoury, hot or cold, but all bearing the the Gardeners logo on the side would be gladly received then tucked translucent under shabby coats. Then a cold blast of air would hit as they outed into the dark of the day, and every one stepped one step closer.
I didn't know what to expect on that day. I supose I wanted to face my past, I wanted to recapture the magic of childhood, a second chance perhaps. A chance to be with my father again, a chance to be held up to see over the counter to see the thick slab of Lardy cake being pulled out from below, and too watch as the rounded crispy corner all sticky black with golden syrup was cut with a big knife by the round faced baker woman.
" there you go my luvly' I saved you this bit"
" it will make you big and strong like your da"
I suppose I hopped that I would somehow find us still stood in the serpent queue just waiting our turn to be served, I hoped that the magic in Gardeners bakery would allow me one last glimpse through the steamed windows of my father warming his hands on the hot glass of the savoury counter. Or one last chance to hold his massive hand in his coat pocket being warmed by the sausage rolls as we walked back home secretly sticky faced, through fallen rainbows that swirled like liquid dreams beneath our feet.
But Gardeners was gone! replaced by a Euro Spar, selling pizza by the slice and Coffee from Kenya!

Sam Shire's Fire. Lismore's Dirty Little Secret!

Sam Shires was a Local recycling plant here in Lismore Co, Waterford. The County Council in there wisdom awarded the contract of dealing and processing all of the counties recycling needs to the owner of this plant. Little did they know, even if it was common knowledge that this man was a complete shit!, that he would charge them upward of five million a year to sort, and package all plastics and paper. Sort yes, process no! he would load it all in bundles on the back of vast trucks and have it shipped to China. That was the plan anyway. As it happens after receiving his money in advance he shipped one boat full then hoarded the rest on site, until he ran out of room. All the time taking the councils money! It therefore serves the council right that this man should do a bunk over night after health and safety only found out about the conditions a year after the first shipment was made, and after the subsequent second years payment was made to said owner. To cut to the chase, the site lay abandoned for three years, ton's of plastic piled twenty feet high outside, while inside the building bundles of paper and card stacked like giant children's building blocks floor to ceiling. We in the fire brigade had forwarded report after report to the council about the huge fire risk but nothing was done. Apparently it was not their responsibility! anyway in July 2008 we get the call that we had been dreading. I remember looking out of my front door and seeing the whole sky turning orange and thinking Oh God! Lismore is a small town with one fire truck and eight fire fighters, and for the first 25 min's we were fighting that fire alone. To make matters worse the council had fitted the wrong type of hydrants in the local estate and we had no way of connecting to them to get much needed water. I along with a colleague were fighting along the side of the building only to become trapped by the heat and then to run out of water. We both managed to get away but I was treated with heat exhaustion.

By the next day seven brigades were called from neighbouring areas, a large estate was evacuated, there were national news teams wanting pictures and interviews, and a large scale environmental hazard had been identified. The roof of the main building on fire was made of Asbestos, and with the heat from the fire it was exploding, sending shard's flying into the air. A toxic cloud was raining grey ash as far away as Cappoquin Five miles away.
For the next three days we were firefighting, and then for a week after the fire was out we were damping down the area. The risk of asbestos spoors were lessened if we kept the debris wet.
A year and a half on, and the site has not changed since we left it twelve days after the fire was out.


PICTURES OF THE SITE FROM THE LAST DAY THAT WE WERE THERE. NOTHING HAS CHANGED!








Despite repeated health concerns from the local people, and continued fire risk the County Council still refuse to do anything about the site, their official line is that this is a matter for the courts, and there is a long term legal battle being fought. All the time the risk is getting higher, the cost of clean up getting higher, the cost of legal battles against a bankrupt hard to find man, getting higher. And all this from Ireland's tidiest town! This is Lismore's dirty little secret. Except it's no secret!!!! ANYMORE.

To Oliver.

It's strange how fast time seems to go especially when it comes to children. Jackie and I have only one, Oliver. He was named after Oliver Reed after seeing him appear live and quite drunk on a talk show with Michael Parkinson. Not much of a role model perhaps, but happy, larger than life, and content with his lot. We like most new parents were blissfully happy with our lot. Jackie knew that it would be a boy right from the start, she didn't nee
d the test, so sure was she that we even painted the nursery blue and bought boy themed clothes in advance. We only considered boy names, so it was just as well he was a boy, as we got into a last minute panic, and I mean last minute panic, Oh god what if it's a girl? we have no names! Just then I spied the tissue dispenser on the wall of the delivery room, that will do I said KIMBERLY CLARK.

Any way Oliver came out just fine, quite ugly! but just fine. I'm told by my mum ( see Views from the castle) that he came out like superman, arm stretched out first, as if in flight, I was at the safe end where all real men should be, so had no real view, I held him though, but still couldn't see him properly as I seemed to have something in my eye's! That all seems like yesterday, but in reality it's nearly fifteen years ago. In that time we have had the privilege of seeing him grow. I'm not known to be to much of a sentimentalist, and I know that I'm falling into a stereo type of a proud father, but I don't care. For we as parents like most parents only want for our children to be happy and content, we only expect them to do there best, what ever that may be, and at what ever level that may be also. Oliver from an early age has far exceeded our expectations, both academically, and sportingly, not only that but as a person as well. He has never had a bad comment on a report card, has always had A&B grades in all subjects, last year finished fourth in his academic year studies out of fifty five with a grade average of 96%. He was the first, first
year boy in his colleges 300 year history to play cricket for the College first team, and was awarded not only the all rounder cup, but also the bowling cup as well. He was also the youngest player ever to represent his Provence ( Munster) at under thirteen level him being only nine at the time, and opened the batting. All this as well as winning an all Ireland individual runners up medal for Orienteering, and being a
n integral part of the Colleges all Ireland winning team, playing hockey for the college, as well as Chess, debating, and playing a role in the College production of South Pacific.

But yesterday was the best day of his life!

His other great sporting love is Rugby! and during his two and a bit years at the college, and five years before going to college he has played rugby. As a nine year old he captained his under nine team to victory in an international club competition, finished runners up in the same competition at under tens, and has always been on the college team. However each year the college enters it's Junior College Team (JCT's) into a all Ireland Competition, this team is made up of under 16 year olds. Oliver is as I've said 14, being a college renowned for it's rugby, competition for places on this team is great. Oliver being in only the third year had some very stiff opposition from all above him in the fourth year, as well as from his own year to contend with. He, and we as a family waited with baited breath for the team sheet to go up, to see if he had made it onto the squad, or not! Finally we got the call, not only on the squad but in the starting line up, Open side Flanker, his favourite position!

Midleton College played the first match in this knock o
ut cup yesterday and won 55 -5, already a famous victory, for the College has had a poor record in this competition in the past 20 yrs and has been knocked out in the first round. So yesterday as you can tell was a great day! So I dedicate this post to my son Oliver, and say may all his yesterdays be as happy as mine have been, and hope all of his tomorrows will be the same.

The Invisible man!

Yesterday I found out that someone is living a great life pretending that they are me! Apparently they have booked an adventure holiday, a long weekend in Italy and have been traveling around the London underground for a week, as well as a weekend in York. Had it not been for my son wanting to buy an album off of itunes I would have been non the wiser. It seems they have managed to get my credit card details and have had a bit of a spree!

Putting that aside I find my self quite envious of this Invisible man, not of his blatant disregard for the law, or of him stealing my ID, but of his life style. For all that he has done could in another time have been done by me. I've been on adventure holidays, I've been skiing in Italy, and I've even been to York, as for the London underground well who hasn't. I suppose if your going to have your ID and credit stolen it may as well be by someone with a bit of street cred' and not by someone pretending to be you whilst buying pelvic floor exercisers, or anasol cream. On a more serious note this is why you should always pay the extra for the insurance when it comes to your credit cards. Once we found out, we got on the phone straight away and the card was cancelled. The bank in question have called in the fraud squad and will be reimbursing me once a statement to them is made. The whole process took five Min's and the person on the phone was very nice about it. I wonder though what it would have been like if I had no insurance? So here's to you Invisible man, have a drink on me! it will be your last.

As for the fire brigade, well we have been having trouble with more invisible people, since Halloween we have had our "in case of emergency break glass here" glass broken five times. We normally have that happen once or twice on Halloween night but this year it happened four times and once more on the weekend. During Halloween each time we arrived at the doors only to have bangers thrown at us, or eggs. No doubt that the local youths find this very funny, but what they do not realise is that it puts peoples lives at risk, and the County council could and probably will fall for the option of removing the emergency glass altogether. This I fear would be the kind of thing that will happen "the boy who cried wolf syndrome" I call it.

Speed Kills.

So I'm back! I've been bullied into making a comeback. For those of you who are new, here's a quick summary. I'm a firefighter, a photographer, a poor poet, a poor husband and father, and a poor big brother to one of the Watercats. I will let you decide which one. I'm also the son of the Matron (see Views from the castle) I am however a good firefighter who specializes in RTC's Road Traffic Collisions, they used to be called RTA's (accidents) but there is always someone to blame, so therefore it is deemed that there is no such things as an accident?

In the last half a year since posting a lot of things have happened to me and my family. My brother has become an artist, my mother has become a blogger, my sister an even better singer song writer, poet, and photographer, my son an even better cricketer, and recently has been picked on the JCT panel for rugby. Junior College Team. (a really big thing) he also finished fifth out of fifty five in his academic exams, and has completed another outward bound coarse. My wife Jackie continues to be my wife, and has found new ways to annoy and surprise me in equal measure.

On a personal note I have re- qualified as an Emergency Medical Technician, and First Responder, specialising in Pre- Hospital Trauma, re-qualified as a Breathing Apparatus wearer, and have completed a hot fire recognition coarse. I have attended to many RTC's dealt with three broken Femurs, one suspected heart attack, numerous severe leg lacerations, and have even been cut myself. I've been to three house fires, two barn fires, and had my legs and chest waxed for charity. As you can see I've been busy! I have also walked and drank with a king! bought an i mac, and rediscovered my love for freshly ground coffee. My Coffee Grinder.
My Son Oliver Playing for Midleton CollegeThe Barn Fire.