I’d only been in the Royal Air Force a few months in 1975. I was beginning to think, this is boring. My basic training was great, but now I was in trade training, and I hoped my career would be more exciting than this.
Then, just before end of class one afternoon, a Sergeant ran in and ordered us out, and quick. Double marched to a number of trucks, we were thrown overalls and told to get in, and off we sped as fast as the trucks would go.
We reached our destination in an hour.
This was some nearby hills, part of which had caught fire, and if it managed to crest a hill, a town would be put at risk. Issued with shovels and pick axes, it was the beginning of a 12 hour fight with nature.
It was a bit precarious on the slopes of that hill. We were there to dig a fire break. It was a long way down, and the heat, smoke and dust made it look like the pit of hell down there. But there was a job to do and we did it.
The heat went under our feet.
That was the scariest bit – and for a while, it caused undergrowth to ignite behind the trench, and we had to start all over again. There were regular breaks – there had to be. We hadn’t been issued goggles, and we had to have our eyes chemically cleaned regularly.
There was a vision of heaven at these moments. Somehow, the Salvation Army had got a field kitchen up there, and their brews were marvelous. But finally, at 4 o’clock in the morning, we beat it.
Filthy, pained and full of pride, I remember marching down a path to the trucks, our picks on our shoulders, singing ‘hey ho, hey ho, it’s off to work we go’.
As we entered the town, I recall a window opening and a voice saying: ‘Shut up, I’m trying to sleep in here.’
Oh well. I knew I’d made a difference, even if he didn’t.
© Anthony North, October 2007
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