Fire is terrifying. The speed with which it flays the tentacles of ruin sends shudders through my spine.
Leaving Ngaruawahia from an incident, I am driving south on the main highway to Hamilton. I do not have another incident to attend and so no rush. At night when traffic is light, the trip is pleasant. Cara is in the back resting and even the Police radio is silent. The drive allows reflection time without distraction. A lot of Police time is doing what appears to be nothing. In reality, my eyes never know how to stop, flicking from one scene to another. The training is to look for anything out of the ordinary and it rarely lets me down.
It is a mild night and I know the profile of the houses as I have driven this road so often, going north to a variety of incidents over the years.
My eyes explore to the right!
I flick my head to the left again. The farmhouse has an eerie internal glow. The brain accelerates through a database of possibilities.
“Hamilton from Dogs: Can I have fire in attendance north of Te Rapa by about 2 miles. A house fire! I will confirm if occupants are in the house.” I report.
I gun the engine and the vehicle reacts. There is the gate just ahead and I slide the vehicle through the gate. My heart is racing with my mind, both trying to set new speed records. All I have is a small vehicle fire extinguisher in the back – waste of time. I brake hard, close to the front of the house.
The house is timber, with a corrugated iron roof and about fifty to sixty years old. The night light makes it hard to recognise the beige exterior. This is an old farm homestead with a big ornate wooden veranda around the outside. The red/orange glow is coming from the lounge, but there is no smoke coming out of the chimney.
I sprint to the front door. The solid wooden door with stained glass panels is beautiful. The timber is native New Zealand Kauri, used for sailing ship masts because of its strength. This is not the time to be admiring such things. I thump the door bellowing “Police, wake up.” There is no response. After a few minutes, I realise time is being wasted. Now the popping sound of an out of control fire reverberates through my ears. It is time to put my size eleven boots into action.
The training says; kick just above the lock. The first kick just bounces me off the door and I temporarily lose balance. The body jars at the recoil. Another kick and bingo – the door flies open, with me losing balance and flying into the house.
“What the hell is going on!” shouts the dreary eyed farmer. He staggers out of the bedroom in his white jockey underwear. He is medium build, with a tanned body reflecting years of working outside without a top on. My guess is he is in his late forties early fifties. The weather beaten face with wrinkles, nighttime stubble, and evidence of years of hard physical work.
“Police – your house in on fire –get everyone out.”
The farmer reacts with speed and advises me that only his wife and daughter are in the house. He goes back into his bedroom to get his wife and I go into the hall. Smoke is pouring down the hall from the lounge and the fumes attack my senses. My throat is drying up and eyes running. The rock and roll drums of the fire reverberate through my body. I talk to myself and keep calm, but try to balance the calm with speed. The door to my right might be a bedroom. I open the door and go in fighting the urge to cough. To my right against the wall is a divan bed with a floral duvet.
Lying in the bed is a shape I assume is the daughter. I rush to the bed grabbing the bedding and yell at her to get up. She wakes with a start and screams. The scream causes me to jump temporarily, before I compose myself again. I yell that I am Police and she needs to get out. I see a dressing gown draped on a nearby chair and grab it for her. Slowly coming into reality, she sees my uniform, stops screaming and reacts. She must be about fifteen to sixteen years of age and slim build. She is in floral shorty pyjamas and to my relief appropriately covered.
The hallway is full of heavy rancid smoke.
“Keep bent over and as low as possible, below the smoke line,” I splutter trying to keep the amount of smoke going into my own lungs to a minimum.
I lead her by the hand; we make our way to the front door and into fresh, beautiful, succulent clean air. Her parents are standing at the front of my dog van and we gather. I call up to check Fire is on their way. For the first time I allow myself to have a coughing fit.
The flames leap through the windows, dancing with the night sky. The fire dance, performing to the stars, waltzes into further recesses of the house. The orange and red flames are contesting for dominance. Then I realise we are getting very hot – I tell the family we need to move further away. We hear the sirens trumpeting the rescue ballad, but it feels too late.
As the fire truck comes through the gate, the roof collapses with thunderous applause. The noise explodes in the night silence. In less than fifteen minutes, there is nothing left for the fire brigade to deal to other than dampening down the hot spots.
My radio comes alive and I leave the family with the Fire Brigade and go off to attend the next incident.
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I am at Te Rapa racecourse doing obedience training with Police dog Cara. It is a warm summer’s night and a full moon. The Regional Police dog trials are coming in a couple of months and I want to win. Winning the regionals allows us to compete in the National Police dog trials. Every aspect of our work must be perfection. Cara and I have an outstanding record of accomplishment in the field, but nationals have proved elusive in the past – this is to be our year.
I have all the jumps in the spare kennel in the van. We practise all the normal obedience and I head to the van to unload the jumps. Cara is in the “lie & stay” position. She has to be able to stay until commanded otherwise. She loves the jumps and I know getting them out will excite her, but this is a good discipline.
The van is facing towards the City when I come to the back of it. As I lower the tailgate, my mind replays what I have just seen. A thin plume of smoke rises above the Vardon Road shops. There should be no smoke from that direction as it is a residential area, just beyond the shops. Blow the jumps; this must be a house fire. I call Cara and she races to me, into the back of the van and quickly locked in.
“Hamilton from Dogs: Can you dispatch Fire towards Vardon Road. I am trying to get an exact location but there is a house fire.”
The previous fire haunts my mind and I remember the speed with which that house burnt down. I have to find this one quickly. Our normal protocol with the racing club is we are to treat the grounds with respect. My tires spin as I gun the van on the long grass and it takes a few moments to get traction. I drive out of the racing area and round the side of the buildings to find the palm lined drive out of the racecourse.
Operations instruct me Fire are on their way and do I have a more precise location.
Not yet!
The van slides right onto Te Rapa Road. The smoke, previously hidden by the tall palms on the driveway peeks across rooftops, teasing me. I fly down the road and through the traffic lights. My window is down so I can use my sense of smell as well. Teasing me over my big nose is a way of life, but tonight my trumpet is invaluable. At least the smoke does not appear to be getting any worse. It is coming from a unit down a driveway. A unit does not have a fireplace so this is definitely another house fire. I radio in the address and park on the road, as I know my vehicle will be in the way of the coming Fire Engine.
I scampered down the driveway with a tall wooden fence either side. I hear the crackling of the fire and this means it is gathering momentum. The brick unit is small and has a little concrete patio with double ranch sliders giving entry to the unit. I see the flames in the room. Inside on the sofa is a man lying on it. I grab the handle and luckily, the door opened. I know oxygen is bad for a fire but I need access to this bloke. He has a single blanket across him and I do not know whether he is conscious or unconscious. I smell the alcohol over the smoke. how the fire probably started now makes sense.
On the floor beside the sofa is a full ashtray. My guess is the bloke is mid-late twenties. He has a T-shirt and denim jeans. He has the air of a labourer about him and the physique to match.
There was not time for pleasantries. I grab him by the arm and forcefully pull him off the sofa. The body comes alive and takes a wild swing at me. I react in time, jumping back to avoid the inevitable. I yell I am the Police and his unit is on fire. He registers the gravity of the situation and semi calms down. He staggers when he gets to his feet; eye foot coordination is giving him a few problems. He turns to go back inside and I grab his arm pulling him towards the outside.
He starts a coughing fit, which I am not sure, is from the fire smoke or his smoking. He tells me his mate is inside in the first bedroom off the hall.
Above the growing noise of the fire, I hear the siren of hope. As we go across the patio, the smoke is too much and we both simultaneously break into a massive coughing fit.
My lungs are on fire, my eyes stinging, but I must go back in. I leave him against the fence and rush back towards the unit. The flames are screaming through the ranch slider at me.
“Stay still, do not go in!” The voice carries an air of authority.
I turn around and see a Fireman with breathing operates rushing towards me. I advise him we still have another inside. Heroes die young. I heed his advice and retire to let a couple of fire fighters go into the unit. Others arrive with hoses and start spraying the unit. It feels like eternity, but in reality is less than a minute when they come out of the unit with the second occupant, naked.
It did not take them long to get this blaze under control. I left the occupants with the Fire Fighters and carried on my sojourn into the night. We did not go back to try to finish our obedience training, as my adrenaline was slightly high.
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The cause of the first fire was an electrical fault in the old house. No one was injured.
The cause of the second fire was the occupant being excessively drunk and fell asleep with a cigarette in his mouth. Both occupants had smoke inhalation and spent a night in hospital.