Memories of Blyth Fire Brigade

Memories of Blyth’s Fire Department

By Brock Vodden

The Blyth Fire Brigade has always been an important part of our community. This is as true today as it was in earlier days; however, the social aspects of their roles have changed to fit the times.

I’d like to share a few memories and impressions I have of the brigade when I was growing up in the 1930s and 1940s.

I mention both “memories” and “impressions” to distinguish between accurate recollections and childhood impressions of what went on in those days.

THE FIREMEN’S DANCE

The dominant memory I have is that of the annual Firemen’s Dance. It seems to me that almost everyone in the community came out to this event – and not just the adults – it was an event for men women and children of all ages. There were no babysitters in this era. No one left their children at home with babysitters. Young people of babysitting age, would have been at the dance; they would not think of missing that dance!

The babes came to the dance, too. The event always took place in the winter time. Winter coats, all of them, were piled on two long tables in the kitchen area of the lower floor of Memorial Hall. The piles of coats served as a very comfortable bed for the infants who mostly slept their way through the evening wrapped in their baby blankets.  Children who were mobile joined in the dances or played the usual children’s games as long as they could stay awake, but some of them would be deposited on the “coat bed” as well when they became victims of the late hours.

The music would be provided by one of the local orchestras playing all the familiar tunes of the era. “Watt’s Orchestra” is the main one that I recall. It consisted of Bob Watt who played the mandolin and banjo and saxophone. He also played the big sousaphone in the local brass band, and his day job was coal dealer. Mrs. Watt played the piano, and there was a violinist as well, but I can’t recall his name.

The dance styles included waltzes, schottisches, square dances, fox trot, and polka.  When I was really young, a new dance style arrived from England known as the Lambeth Walk. It was one of those dance crazes that was exclusively applied to one piece of music. In this case a piece called The Lambeth Walk.

My aunt, Jean Turvey Cook, was living with us while she attended Clinton Collegiate. She was caught up in the Lambeth Walk fad and recruited me to perform this with her. At one of the firemen’s dances the orchestra played the piece while my aunt and I performed the dance, I am sure to the delight of all present.  I can't remember any of the moves in this dance; all I can recall is the last line of the chorus: “Doin’ the Lambeth Walk! OY!” It seems to me that we shouted out the final “OY!” and at the same time threw up our hands. As the piece went on, the audience joined in the “OY”! This part of my story is more impressionistic than factual. I think I was possibly four or five years of age at the time.

The mood of these events was uninterruptedly happy. Everyone seemed to be absolutely delighted to be there and to be in the company of all the others, and to be listening to that very familiar music, and to perform all those familiar dances. Even a young kid could sense that atmosphere.  There was no need for security. We were just one big happy, friendly community family.

I think the lunch that was always provided by the firemen (or perhaps by their wives, to be exact) was one of the many highlights of these evenings. The quantity and quality of the food and the coffee was amazing. Lunch was announced. The members of the orchestra put down their instruments and came of their platform to join us.  We all found chairs around the four walls of the hall. There were enough chairs for everyone. Soon some pairs of firemen emerged from the kitchen with large baskets full of sandwiches. The sandwich fillings that I remember were ham (with mustard), salmon, egg salad, but there may have been others. The white bread was always very fresh – made that very day at either Hollyman’s or Vodden’s Bakery. The baskets were a type of laundry basket that I have not seen for many years. But each one held many sandwiches and the firemen made countless trips around the dance floor urging everyone to take just a few more.

A moment after the sandwiches appeared, other firemen began to deliver heavy white china coffee cups, followed by large white enamel urns of steaming hot coffee. The coffee was already doctored with rich cream and lots of sugar. We had never heard of people drinking coffee without these fixings. The coffee was made in a large copper boiler. The method: Fill one copper with cold water and place on hot stove and bring to a full boil. Place one pound of ground coffee in a cheese cloth bag and sew the bag closed. Drop the coffee bag into boiler for (I don't know how long). Add cream and sugar to the boiler to taste.

PERFECT! There has never been coffee served to large gatherings with such a wonderful aroma and flavour since those days.

After lunch, the dancing would resume until 1:00 a.m.

TRICKSTERISM

Many years after leaving Blyth, while living in Northwestern  Ontario, we made friends with a lady from that area who had spent some time in Huron County when she was quite young. She was a pleasant and intelligent woman, but she did not have a keen sense of humour. She had developed what one might call a “mixed” impression of Huron County people – particularly the men. It seemed to her that men of this area were constantly playing very cruel and demeaning practical jokes on each other.

I was surprised at first to hear of this sort of general condemnation of Huronites. But on reflection, I realized that there was certain validity to that reputation. Not everyone in this county performed these jokes, but I had a sizeable collection of stories about such antics. I suppose I had always assumed that people from other counties enjoyed the same sport.

One of the practical jokes in my collection took place at a weekly fire brigade meeting.

Just a brief background to set the scene.

Bill Morritt had served as secretary for the fire brigade for several years. Never one to stand on ceremony, each time he read the minutes of the last meeting he would end with something like “Old Bill, Secretary.” When Bill decided to withdraw from that job, a new member was elected as secretary. He was one of the local pharmacists, Earl Willows. Earl took his new post quite seriously. At the conclusion of his reading of the minutes, he intoned the following in a very officious voice: “E.H. Willows. Secretary”.  Just one more detail. Earl was an avid cigarette smoker except when in his pharmacy, but he had a habit of leaving the fag in his lips long after it had expired.

On one occasion, the fire meeting was taking place in the Morritt implement shop close to Memorial Hall. When Earl began reading the minutes, Bill Morritt slipped into the next room and retrieved a very large iron bar and then tiptoed back into the meeting room close behind Earl.

When Earl closed the minutes with “E.H. Willows. Secretary”, Bill dropped the iron bar with a resounding crash, Earl dropped his minute book and swallowed the remains of his dead cigarette.

A funny story. Amusing to all (except perhaps Earl).  A way of saying “Don’t take things or yourself too seriously”. An exclusively Huron County practical joke? I am not sure.

Santa Claus was a Fireman

When I was a pre-schooler, my parents operated a bakery in Blyth. The bakery was then located in the store across from Memorial Hall where some readers will recall the Blyth Apothecary was located, and  then Tim Saunders’ Antique Store. Behind the retail portion of the store, the north wall was covered with wooden shelves with drawers which were not used much. One Saturday morning, for no particular reason, I began opening each drawer to see what was inside. I came upon one drawer that was completely empty except for a pair of gray cloth gloves.  It must have struck me as strange because I had never seen such gloves in our place before.

That afternoon, Santa Claus came to town. He was travelling by train in those days. He was to arrive at the Grand Trunk Station on Dinsley Street. My mother took me to the station for the event. Soon the old steam engine chuffed and huffed into town from the south. The conductor opened the coach door and set out a small steel platform. Then the familiar red suit and white beard appeared. My mother picked me up so that I would be able to see St. Nick through the crowd and began to move through the crowd towards St. Nick. The Ho, Ho, Hos were coming closer. Santa was holding his large bag of toys over his shoulder, holding on tight with his hands covered with . . . .gray cloth gloves! I remarked to mother the similarity of the gloves to the ones I had seen in the drawer in the bakery.

Suddenly my mother remembered that she had something important to do back at home, and we returned to the vehicle, and that was the end of the Santa Claus visit for me.

A few years later when I had figured out the Santa Claus thing, I remembered this scene. My mother told me that she was afraid that the clue provided by the gloves would increase the chance that I would see through my father’s disguise as soon as he came really close to us. Parents in those days went to great lengths to protect the secret of Santa Claus from their young children. They were convinced that an early discovery would have a devastating effect on kids for whom the mythology was very real.

Each year, the firemen with the required shape, took this trip from Londesborough to Blyth on the GTR in a red suit. The firemen arranged a parade from the station to Memorial Hall where they gave out a bag of candies and an orange to every child in the village. My father was a fireman for several years but I was not aware of his playing the Santa Claus role again. In those days, our grocery stores seldom stocked oranges except at Christmas time. They were a very special treat.

More for the Children

The members of the fire brigade, in the course of their duties, often got an intimate view of home situations – very often the conditions under which children were living. The men were very discreet about these findings and equally discreet about the treats, toys, and other gifts that found their way into these homes following their discoveries. I have never heard or read any detailed account specific examples of these informal social welfare deeds, which indicates to me the code of secrecy at play here.

Ringing the Fire Bell

There was a white cord hanging down the front of Memorial Hall, attached to a clanger at the bottom of the bell in the tower above, with the other end neatly wrapped around a cleat anchored beside the front door of the Hall. This rope was used to activate the clanger to strike the bottom of the bell, giving a very different sound than when the clapper strikes the inside of the body of the bell. Everyone could tell when the bell was using for fire related purposes. In response to a fire, the bell was rung continuously for as long as it took for the men to arrive.

Each week, the firemen held “fire practice”. The tradition was that either the village constable or one of the firemen would ring the fire bell to call the men to the meeting. A special ring rhythm was used to call men to the practice. That rhythm was one, two, three, pause; one, two, three, pause, etc.

One evening I happened to be in the vicinity of the Hall when John Cowan, the village constable, came to ring the bell for fire practice. Imagine the delight when he asked if I would like to do the honours. He knew that there was no need for any instruction since I had lived across the street from the Hall for years and had heard the rhythm countless times. I got to call the Blyth Fire Brigade to their fire practice! What a thrill!

Our First Fire Truck

In 1941 a used fire truck was purchased. It served the village for a number of years.  It is still used in parades. I recall the day it arrived in the village. It was parked in the centre bay of Doherty Brothers White Rose garage while Gar Doherty, who was a great mechanic and also a member of the fire brigade, checked it over. Gar asked me if I’d like to sit in the seat and try out the siren. Silly question for a seven-year-old boy! I can vividly remember the thrill of turning the crank on the siren and creating all that noise.

By the way, this garage was located where the village parking lot is now at the corner of Queen and Drummond.

The Flax Yard Fire

Many years ago there was a flax mill located on the property where the Queen’s Villa Apartments now stand. One night we were awakened by the dreaded night sound of the fire bell. Looking out the back window of our house on Dinsley Street, we could see a very large glow above the roof tops of the houses behind ours. My parents and I got dressed quickly and headed out to see what was going on. It is one thing to see a building going up in flames. This was a field in flame – a very large mass of flax straw which had been piled south of the old flax mill as long as I could remember.

There was a really heavy smoke hanging in the air. Our firemen were doing the best they could to spray water on the burning areas, but the tiny stream coming from the hoses were clearly not up to the job of bringing this very broad inferno to heel.

As I recall the fire alternately smoked and flared for several days and small fire crews watched and sprayed the area through that time until the fire gave up.

I do not know if they ever discovered the actual cause of the fire, but I believe that the general consensus declared spontaneous combustion as the probable cause.

George Radford Construction Co. Fire

George Radford purchased the large building on the north west corner of King and Queen street from the estate of Dr. James Perdue, Blyth’s famous veterinarian and character. Radfords used this building for the care and maintenance of their rapidly growing construction business which involved a number of large trucks, bulldozers, and other heavy equipment.

One day I came down with the flu and had stayed home from school.  I heard the fire alarm, looked out my bedroom window and was able to see the Radford building belching black smoke with flames shooting out of the roof. This was a very serious fire which took a great deal of time to knock down.

My recollection of the cause of the fire was that while one person was operating welding equipment at one end of the building, another man at the other end was filing up a gasoline tank. The description of the scene in the building was most vivid. Very suddenly the air in the building, filled with fumes, became ignited in a flash. The burning went from a few feet above the floor up to the roof. The men working in the building were able to walk out unscathed by crouching below the fire and walking out of the building as quickly as possible.

Everything in the building was destroyed. George Radford restored the building, using as much of the original structure as possible.

When the fire was completely out and the firemen were looking over the damage, they made a shocking discovery. Two of the men had been positioned for a lengthy period of time shooting water into the building through a window on the south side of the building. Stacked below this window they discovered several cases of dynamite. They apparently were told that fire alone would not set the dynamite off without some percussion, but they were still shaken by the thought of what might have happened to them.

Conclusion

As mentioned in the opening, our fire brigade has always been an important part of our community. They volunteer to protect the community, and not only that: they have always contributed in many other ways towards the betterment of the village.  And that statement remains true to this day.