大象传媒

As winter 1940 approached, London was still suffering from heavy raids, the Luftwaffe doing its best to smash the infrastructure of the city and destroy the will of its people.

Thoughts began to turn towards the joy of Christmas, the second of the war. My mother's family had moved from Beacontree to Northolt, a complete East London to West London transfer. My grandfather, Frederick "Blood" Reed, "Blood" being a nickname he picked up while in the Royal Navy during World War I, was a regular member of the London Fire Brigade, stationed at the time at either Bow Road or Whitechapel Fire Station. His job, with the raids and all, plus the distance he now had to travel to work meant that he was often away from home for days on end.

The house where the family lived in Hawtrey Avenue, Northolt was a typical suburban semi-detached, and it is still there to this day. Next door to them then lived Mr and Mrs Cox, who were considerably younger than my grandparents. Tom Cox was away in the Far East in the army and was taken prisoner by the Japanese. As was usual with them, he was treated barbarically just for being an enemy soldier and suffered because of it for the rest of his life.

On the other side was Mr and Mrs Bull who were slightly older than my Nan and Grandad. Mrs Bull had a wonderful way of comforting my Nan when London was being blitzed. From Northolt they could often see the red glow in the sky to the East when raids were taking place and on many occasions she was heard to say to my Nan, "Cor, look at that glow, your Fred must be really copping it tonight Ethel". Helpful and comforting I am sure you will agree!

Anyway, as written, Christmas was approaching and this night one of the dockside buildings that had been hit was a bonded warehouse. Burning spirits were giving off flames of differing colours that were running in rivulets out of the building and down the streets, the very air was heavy with boze fumes. The amazingly brave members of both the A.F.S. and the regular London Fire Brigade were fighting fires of a scope that neither had ever seen before the attacks started, this night was certainly no exception.

Grandad and some of his crew had been relieved briefly from fire-fighting duties and I have no doubt he was enjoying a roll-your-own Digger Shag cigarette and perhaps a cuppa when someone, I do not know who, discovered that a certain sized bottle of spirit fitted neatly into the hard suction hose, carried in four lengths, on every pumping appliance. A number of bottles of different contents were placed within one length of hose and a piece of rag stuffed in the end to stop prying eyes. A second length of suction was selected and duely stuffed with much the same fayre; they would be having a great Christmas party at the station this year, and why not, for who knew what 1941 would bring?

The night wore on and a smokey, chilled and miserable grey dawn started to break across the Eastern sky. Soon the "All Clear" sounded and people started to emerge and go about their daily business: some remained dour, others looked for familiar landmarks that would never be there again, people stared in wonder at the damage caused and many, many of them passed cheery, encouraging comments to the firemen. These were the heroes of London now, not many months before they had been ridiculed as "Draft Dodger's" and the "Dart's Brigade", now they were in the frontline, for things had changed in the capital since September 7th 1940 and the first air raid on London itself.

Crews started to be relieved and Grandpa and his were no exception. They made up what gear they could and by a circuitous route because of rubble and damage, started to make their way back to the station.

Many scenes of destruction greeted them on their journey, it was sickening to see. Suddenly, just as part of their ride took them back again by the mighty River Thames, two policemen flagged them down. A large house opposite the river was showing considerable signs of fire on its upper storey and roof; probably an incendiary going off had caused it, but of course fires still happened through the old, pre-war causes and maybe that was the reason for this one.

One of the policemen announced that the mains were smashed in the area, thus the firemen realised they would have to lift water directly from the river to deal with the incident. To lift from open water you require hard suction. They needed the water quickly and where on an open Dennis pump with limited stowage do you secreet a number of bottles of bonded liquor under the eyes of not one, but two policemen? These same eyes would also have to diverted away from the usage of the suction hose at all costs for obvious reasons.

They started to couple the suction up to the pump inlet, at the same time realising all four lengths would be required. Those containing the booty were lowered towards the river and each bottle contained within dropped out with a contented "Perlopp" as it hit the surface of the Thames and bobbed and floated away on the tide. When cleaned of there contents, those that contained the Xmas booze were coupled up as the middle lengths and the last, fourth length of suction with its metal and basket strainers was finally added. A line tied with a clove hitch and two half hitches was attached around the suction lengths, that line finally being, in turn, tied to the pump. Water was thus lifted, the fire put out and some very fed up firemen returned to their station to look forward to just an ordinary Christmas party.

Nan passed away circa 1952, Grandad circa 1958, neither of them living to a great age.

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