1960s: Ready to face a nuclear attack on Derby...or simply pull open the opera show curtains

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When Neville Barr joined Derby’s Auxiliary Fire Service back in the early 60s, he never envisaged the wide variety of tasks ahead of him. However, whether he was training to deal with a nuclear attack on the town, getting to grips with a raft on the river or acting as theatre fireman at the Gaumont cinema, complete with fire axe, he liked to think that he was ready for any crisis. Here Neville, of Stenson Road, Derby, tells his story.

The Auxiliary Fire Service was a tempting proposition for a young man fresh out of the RAF.

I joined the service in 1962 when I went to work as a wages and accounts clerk at Derby Borough Fire Brigade head office in Jury Street. I was just out of a three-year spell with the RAF and keen to drive anything on wheels. I was also used to wearing uniform, so readily accepted when asked to join the AFS.

At the time we had two or three Green Goddesses, a huge Commer 4x4 flat-bed truck which carried a crane, nine Coventry Climax firepumps and three inflatable Bikini rafts, each powered by one of the pumps.

These were kept on the cab roof, making for a very heavy, ponderous vehicle. We also had a wartime Austin NAAFI van and, lastly, were given a very early Land Rover as a staff car. These were housed in garages opposite the main fire station and adjacent to Boden’s Pleasance, a playground donated to Derby by the Boden family.

We trained one night a week in basic fire-fighting procedures and I also trained as a driver. I rejoiced when I passed my heavy vehicle driving test under the watchful eye of the deputy chief fire officer Mr Naylor.

Our leader was Sub Officer Alf (surname forgotten) and I don’t think our group numbered more than a dozen or so, all told.

The original recruiting target for the AFS was 55,000 but barely a third of that number was reached.

We took part in numerous training exercises. I remember one was a simulated nuclear attack on Derby which involved the whole Civil Defence Corps. It took place on Chaddesden Sidings.

Another similar event took us to Leicester where I was in charge of a group of pumps sending water to goodness knows where.

Suddenly our pump pressures dropped and, before we could shut down, a derelict Leicester street was flooded with thousands of gallons of canal water due to a burst pipe.

On another occasion, I went on a night exercise driving in convoy to the Fire Service Training School at Moreton-in-the-Marsh. I spent the night tending our Coventry Climax pumps.

Those little engines ran without a pause with exhaust manifolds glowing red hot in the dark. Lotus used a version in their sports and racing cars of the time.

Our annual treat was a trip to Grimsby where we exercised our Bikini rafts in the timber dock. Manoeuvring ability was tested by trying to get in front of another raft and soaking the crew with the water jet which provided the motive power.

Though we never had cause to use the rafts in an emergency, I understand they came in very useful during floods in Derby, which affected the Chester Green area in the late 1960s.

Another duty which I particularly enjoyed was that of theatre fireman at the Derby Opera Company production, which took place at the Gaumont Cinema in London Road.

I had to lower the safety curtain at the interval, then wind it back up again by hand. I watched the show from the wings dressed in full uniform including belt axe.

Bonfire night saw us out on patrol accompanied by a policeman in the cab. We drove all around Derby and district checking on bonfires to make sure they were not a danger.

I only once extinguished one which had been left unattended.

The new Ascot Drive fire station opened later in 1962, though we continued to use Jury Street garages for a while. We would go to the new station or Nottingham Road for training and, occasionally, when driving the appliances back to base, we would turn on the lights and ring the bell – strictly against the rules of course!

One event not connected directly with the AFS happened when I was standing with the Fire Prevention Officer, Royston Torrington, in his office at Ascot Drive.

There was an enormous bang, the windows rattled and we looked across towards Spondon where a huge plume of smoke rose in the air.

“That’s the Celanese cracking plant,” said Mr Torrington and a full turnout of appliances was on the way before the alarm call came in. I believe two men were killed and the resulting fire used up all the available foam compound in the county.

I was detailed to take a truck to the Home Office depot at Blythe Bridge for a fresh supply and for the rest of the day, and part of the night, Derby’s fire cover consisted of yours truly, Sub Officer Alf and Jack Smith, the chief clerk, equipped with a Bedford pump.

My AFS uniform was laid out in my office but, fortunately for Derby, I was not called upon to wear it.

I worked on the top floor at Ascot Drive until 1965, sometimes exiting by the fireman’s pole, which was in the corner of my room. I eventually left to go to the architects’ department in the Council House.

Then I went to the education department in Becket Street, where my main job was administrating the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award Scheme, together with the redoubtable Teddy Timms.

However, I remained in the AFS until it was finally disbanded in 1968, reaching the exalted rank of Leading Fireman.

It was a lot of fun with serious undertones but whether we would have been much use in the event of a nuclear war remains open to speculation.

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