God will look after us

Duncan Iain Macpherson

Friday evening, driving back home from the Scottish Fire Training School in Gullane I pondered on the previous week. As Senior Instructor in charge of three separate courses it had been hectic, hectic but rewarding. I had watched as the sub/ officer instructors coaxed, harried and led raw recruits from all walks of life and changed them into confident young men eager to return to their brigades and become 'real firemen.'

I had taken part in various exercises, lectured on senior courses as well as keeping on top of the ever increasing administrational bumf that accompanied every student. Yes, it had been hard but satisfying and now I was looking forward to going home for a long weekend. My secondment from my home brigade, Tayside was coming to an end and my family and I were anticipating our return to Dundee and resuming life in the city. A few days of painting and papering were on the agenda as we prepared our house for moving back in. Catching our first glimpse of Dundee's multi-storey blocks we broke into our usual song;

'Dundee once more, It's a place that I adore, When I see Dundee where I'm longing to be, Dundee once more'.

We completed our little ditty with a loud cheer and when quietness had descended again my wife asked if I intended to visit my elderly widowed mother who stayed in a nursing Home before going to our own house or would I wait until the next day. Feeling the effects of the last week not forgetting my attendance at an end of course 'Do,' the previous night I told her that I was too tired and would go the next day. The Home was in the west end of the city and run by order of nuns called. The little Sisters of the Poor. My widowed Mother a devout and religious woman was happy to be in their care.

Suddenly, for no reason, I found myself turning onto the road that took us to the Home. My wife asked why I had changed my mind, 'I don't know' I replied 'we'll not stay too long.' Just as we entered the main door, a loud wailing noise assailed our ears, one of the civilian workers in a state of panic burst into the hall, 'that's the fire alarm' she shouted, I asked where the indicator board was and together with one of the nuns checked where the detector had operated. The board indicated the top floor of the men's wing and as I checked the stairwell I could smell smoke!

Quickly I told the sister to phone the fire brigade and ran up the three flights of stairs to assess the situation. On reaching the top floor a scene of chaos was unfolding. Smoke was issuing from an open doorway from a bedroom, the corridor was heavily smoke logged, the red -golden glow from the fire helped to illuminate the area and the crackle of flames added to the drama of the situation. Two men already on the scene were attempting to, without success, lead an elderly man away from the fire. The man obviously confused, was trying to return to the room. Stooping to avoid the smoke I helped pacify the man and between the three of us we managed to half drag and carry him behind the fire stop doors and then on to safety.

Grabbing a couple of water gas fire extinguishers I returned to the fire which was now spreading from the upholstered armchair to the curtains and timber framed window, the situation was now critical. If the fire was not tackled, the windows might blow out and the fire spread to the roof. Despite the heat and smoke I managed to knock the fire down and curtail its spread, before having to leave the room because of smoke inhalation. Closing the door to prevent further smoke damage, I heard the welcome sound of fire appliance two tones and the brigade arrived under the command of the duty Station Officer who took over. Suffering from smoke inhalation I was given oxygen then left the scene for home, thankful I had helped to avoid a more serious incident. I was left with a chesty cough from which I recovered in a few days, however, my clothes covered by an black oily soot had to be consigned to the dustbin!

I learned later that the fire had started when the rooms occupier was filling his lighter and dropped it accidentally. Although I didn't think I had done anything particularly heroic, on subsequent visits to my Mother, I was given V.I.P. treatment by the nuns who always declared that God was looking after us.

As time moved on, my mother passed away and my visits to the home became more and more infrequent until I subsequently stopped going altogether.

A few weeks ago, my wife reading the local paper, noticed that the Home was holding a summer fayre, deciding to go, we went along with our now adult daughter and grandson.

On entering the main door, an elderly nun was being accompanied along the corridor, I recognised her immediately and said hello. She looked at me and I asked her if she remembered me. 'Of course' she replied, 'You're the fireman, aren't you' 'Yes' I replied, 'Of course, you'll be retired I suppose' she added. 'Yes I am, you see I'm 36 now' I answered. She looked at me keenly, before I added jokingly' but I'm also dyslexic' 'Ah' she shot back,' that'll make me 39 then! Chuckling, she turned and resumed her walk along the corridor, leaving us pleased at being remembered, and amazed at her quickness of mind.