Short Back and Sides

Early in this narrative I described how I stranded two army fire engines and a recovery vehicle in the mud of the River Nile in Khartoum. I was trying to impress my Commanding Officer with the enthusiasm I had for fire duties, but only succeeded in making things difficult for a number of people who were involved in a vehicle inspection scheduled for the following day. One would have thought that after such a trail of misfortune on that August day in 1949 I would have been dismissed from the job, but not a bit of it - I had my appointment of unit fire officer of the 1st Battalion South Wales Borderers extended for another six months.
Soon after the battalion arrived in Asmara, Eritrea in January 1950, I was called by the Adjutant and asked to explain why certain fire appliances were found to be in an unacceptable condition during the Commanding Officer's inspection of the camp. I had plenty of experience of standing rigidly to attention on the unoccupied side of the Adjutant's desk, so I just let his invective flow over me.
It was obvious that something had to be done to restore my reputation, such as it was, so I applied my mind to the best course of action. One day as I was walking down the Via Roma, the main thoroughfare in Asmara, clanging of bells heralded the approach of a task force of the Asmara fire service. The Italians may have lost the war and their colonies in East Africa, but what dignity they had salvaged was transferred to their fire service. The fleet of pre-war Alfa Romeo fire trucks had been built with loving care in far off Italy and were kept in immaculate condition throughout the war. Everything, from large brass bells to the knobs on water valves was polished to perfection. The firemen, obviously recruited for their physical appearance as well their enthusiasm for putting out fires, were dressed for effect rather than practical fire fighting. Black helmet with brass accessories, scarlet jacket, black trousers and a huge leather belt supporting a chopper comprised their ensemble. They stood on platforms on each side of their vehicle adopting dramatic poses like gladiators heading for the Coliseum. Everyone - natives, Italian colonials, British expatriates and servicemen stood and admired the grand procession as it hurtled down the road intent upon putting out whatever was on fire.
A few days later, I was passing the fire station and noticed that one of the doors was open. I stuck my head inside to get a closer look at the fire engines and came face to face with the officer in charge. He spoke excellent English and offered to show me around. I was treated to a fascinating exposition of his beloved Alfa Romeos and introduced to the crews on duty. I was also shown around the room where uniforms and equipment were kept before rounding off my impromptu visit with coffee and some rich cream buns. We established a good rapport and I asked the fire chief if he would consider lending me a suit of fireman's clothing and equipment for the fancy dress party that was being held in the officers' club the following Saturday night. He agreed and I was there and then fitted out with a helmet, tunic, a length of coiled rope, a chopper and a belt. Being rather tall, I said I would provide my own trousers.
The fancy dress party was great fun and I generated much mirth among the junior officers who congratulated me on my spectacular outfit. The Commanding Officer and the Adjutant were not amused and thought that my choice of costume was an insolent response to my recent admonition.
When I returned the gear to the fire station the following Monday morning, I asked my friend if he would co-operate with me if I held a fire practice in the camp of the South Wales Borderers. He responded with enthusiasm and assured me that if there were no real fires to put out at the time, I could count on his help. Knowing that the Commanding Officer would be holding 'orders' at noon the following day, I asked my friend to stand by for a telephone call at 11am. I spent the rest of the day supervising my signallers, plus some prisoners from the guard room, collecting rubbish in the camp. It came from all directions and was deposited on a waste piece of ground between the signals store and the orderly room. When it reached the size of a bell tent, I called a halt.
The following morning I went across to the Adjutant's office and asked to see the CO. "What do you want to see him for?" said the Adjutant narrowing his eyelids to thin slits. "It's about holding a fire practice," I replied. The business of the battalion's fire engines being stuck in the River Nile was still fresh in his mind and he was not inclined to endorse any more mad-cap schemes, but I stood my ground and asked to be allowed to speak to the CO. Reluctantly, he ushered me into the Colonel's office and listened as I told the CO about the friendly relationship I had forged with the chief officer of the Asmara fire service who was instrumental in me winning first prize in the fancy dress competition. I went on to explain that I should now like to demonstrate how this rapport could be used to the unit's advantage if we ever had a serious fire in the camp.
"He's an Italian, isn't he?" said the Colonel. "Those buggers were shooting us only a few years ago!" This was an attitude of mind I had not considered and I had to do some pretty nifty public relations work before the CO was satisfied they would not settle old scores and burn the place down if we let them in. "In fact, sir," I said, "I should like to hold a fire practice now just to show you what would happen in a real emergency." I asked the CO and the Adjutant it they would step outside to see what I intended doing. I led them around the side of battalion HQ and pointed towards the great pile of rubbish. "This is where the fire will be," I said. The Colonel gave a nod, which I interpreted as a signal for me to go ahead. I had already briefed one of my signallers to keep a line to the Asmara fire service on hold, so I picked up a phone in the orderly room and shouted: "Fire in the South Wales Borderers camp!"
The fire chief regarded the practise call-out as the most prestigious event to take place since he had taken command three years previously. All three Alfa Romeos were in single file on the road outside the fire station with crews aboard pointed in the direction of our camp with engines running ready to go as soon as they received the signal.
The fire station was only about two miles away from the camp and there was instant response to my call. As I walked across to the pile of rubbish, I could hear bells ringing in the distance, so I sprinted the last fifty yards in order to get the fire going. This turned out to be more difficult than I expected. A strong wind extinguished the flame every time I lit a match and I could see that the kindling wood was damp after an early morning shower of rain. The clanging of bells on the Alfa Romeos was getting louder and, from my elevated position, I could see the fire engines roaring down the road towards the camp. I had another shot at lighting the pile of rubbish but the flame would not take hold. The leading vehicle was now passing the guard room and I realised I was going to look pretty stupid if I could not get the fire going by the time they arrived. I yelled to one of my signallers: "Get me a jerry can of petrol from the battery charging shed, and be quick about it!" Within a few seconds the can arrived and I threw the contents over the pile. I pulled out my last match, struck it and put the flame to some paper at the base.
I do not remember much after that as I became enveloped in flame which burnt off every exposed hair on my body. My woollen hose-tops (open ended stockings) were reduced to a couple of pieces of dried toast and my face, so I was told, took on the look of a well boiled lobster. I have a vague memory of smoke and lots of water and then I was taken off to the medical centre where I was cleaned up and bandaged to such an extent that only my eyes, nostrils and mouth could be seen. I had been wandering around like a zombie during the fire practice and had not realised that a mini 'Hiroshima' had taken place. I was hit by the flames at the base of the bonfire but the main force of the fire-ball had blown an assortment of blazing rubbish high into the air. Much of this was still alight when it hit the ground and the fire chief had to deploy most of his men, to extinguish many small fires that were burning at the lower end of the camp.
I remained in bandages for a few days and when they were removed I was shocked to see that the flames had burnt a crazy pattern of 'tramlines' all over my face and neck. I looked like a Red Indian about to go into battle. The incongruity of my appearance was compounded by a tuft of hair on the top of my head which had been protected by my beret.
It was nearly a month before I looked presentable again. Needless to say, I was not on good terms with the Commanding Officer. When he realised I was not in such bad shape as it appeared, he told me what he thought of me and my ill-prepared fire practice.
The period I spent like a snake, shedding one skin and growing another, was one of great embarrassment. The Adjutant sarcastically remarked that instead of dressing up as a fireman at the fancy dress party, I should have held the fire practice a few weeks earlier and gone as the 'Last of the Mohicans'.