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I was born in a suburb on the outskirts of East London within the county of Essex. As an adult I moved away, but later returned to serve the community working as a London Firefighter. I never planned to become an author, however, I found writing about my experiences as a child and later about the untimely death of my wife really helped with the grieving process. I hope that my story will help and encourage others to talk about their grief and loved ones. It’s okay not to be okay!

I was born in a suburb on the outskirts of East London within the county of Essex. As an adult I moved away, but later returned to serve the community working as a London Firefighter. I never planned to become an author, however, I found writing about my experiences as a child and later about the untimely death of my wife really helped with the grieving process. I hope that my story will help and encourage others to talk about their grief and loved ones. It’s okay not to be okay!

Russell Webb

'3am SHOUT' on PAGE 68.



 

Back in March 2023, I joined The Suffolk Writers Group on Facebook. Since then I have met so many lovely people and enjoy taking part in the daily writing challenges. I had the opportunity to submit a poem to be included in 'A Tapestry of Poetry'.

This wonderful book of poetry was released in December 2023 and I was lucky enough to be at the launch party.

I even read out my poem, whilst wearing one of my old fire helmets.


 

3am Shout

By

Russell Webb

 

 

Awakened by the bells and light, heart pounding, hair standing up and struggling to put my trousers on. Oh, what a sight!


Sliding down the pole, I hear voices saying, “what we got?” “Persons reported, come on you lot.”


Pushing feet into cold boots and leggings, with tunic zipped I mount the truck.

Blue flashing lights reflecting everywhere, warning others to beware, but it’s 3am and they should be in bed with any luck!


Turning the corner, an orange glow of flames leaping from windows comes into view. I knew I should have gone to the loo!


Those thoughts of wee soon go, when I hear the screams of woman, standing next to a tree.

“My boy, my boy, Help him.”


Breathing apparatus donned, hoses charged, “water on” and through the door we go, into a burning hell crawling and keeping low.

“Where are those stairs? We can’t have far to go.”


Through smoke so thick we feel our way, passing the lounge or front room as some would say.

A voice inside my head franticly asks, “where is he?”

It’s 3am, he should be in bed, cuddled up to his favourite ted.


Finally, stairs, it’s so hot, extremely hot! Climbing one step at a time, we must give it our best shot.


Two rooms searched, in cupboards, on cupboards, behind cupboards, in bed, on bed and under bed. “Where is he? He must be somewhere else instead.”


Another door, another room, “I’m running low on air, we got to find him soon.”

“He’s there, on the floor.”

“I’ve got him now let’s head back to the door.”


Down the stairs and into the streets, where a young mother weeps. Flowing tears of joy as she cradles her little boy.


Back to the station we go. Some say we are heroes; you know!

But it’s just our job, even though there can be times when we sob!


By Russell Webb

(Retired firefighter)

 

 

 

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