Firemen's Tales

My grandfather, James Simmons, was a great storyteller and used to make me laugh as a child. He was a fireman during the blitz and drove a tender. He was responsible for the pump. I don't remember ever hearing bad or sad stories about those times, though I'm sure he saw a lot, but to me as a child, he kept his stories funny and here are a few:

One night a margarine factory was bombed and caught alight. The blaze was very fierce and lasted well into the night. The heat was tremendous and my Grandfather said that the road outside was slick with melted margarine; oozing out from under the doors of the factory and running down the street over the cobbles. They were exhausted after getting the fire under control and handing it over to the next shift, so were pleased to be invited into the factory canteen for a cup of tea. The canteen manageress said that he'd organised some food: bread and margarine!

A pub landlord, relieved to have the incendury bomblets extinguished that had fallen onto the roof of his pub, invited the crew down into his cellar for a few "after hours" drinks to quench their thirst. They left my Grandfather up top to mind the fire engine and keep an eye open for the Warden.

My grandfather and a friend had come by a whole pig carcas by dubious means (by-passing the rationing system). They were going to sell the meat and keep some for their families but had to get back to the fire station for their shift. It was summer time, so they thought they'd be safe enough putting the pig into the heating system furnace, but while they were on parade, the Station Master ordered that some rubbish be burned in the furnace. No one noticed the pig until the smell of the pork fat reached the parade ground. My grandfather was very disappointed to lose the pig.

My grandfather was out on a shift and had heard about a V2 hitting a bus on Hoe Street, Walthamstow. We lived in Cedars Avenue, just off of Hoe street and my Gran used the buses regularly. He thought the worst and rushed back after his shift to find his wife, shaken but unhurt - she'd missed that bus and had heard the explosion while she was waiting for the next bus to come.

One day, some months after the war was over, and having escaped the bombings all around us, part of the front of our house collapsed. My Grandfather said the bombing had weakened the mortar.

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