In the waiting room at the head quarters of the London Fire Brigade,
in Southwark Street, London, is an oak board on which are fixed a
number of brass tablets, bearing the names of men who are entitled to
a place on this "Roll of Honour".
From amongst these let us take one, and tell briefly what befell him.
It will serve as a sample of the dangers which beset the fireman daily
in the pursuit of his duty.
"Joseph Andrew Ford," so runs the official record, "lost his life at a
fire which occurred at 98 Gray's Inn Road, at about 2 a.m. on the 7th
of October, 1871.
"Ford was on duty with the fire escape stationed at Bedford Row, and
he was called to the fire a few minutes before 2 a.m., and proceeded
there with the utmost speed.
"Before he reached the fire, three persons had been rescued by the
police, who took them down from the second-floor window by means of a
builder's ladder; and, on his arrival, there were seven persons in the
third floor, six in the left-hand window, and one in the right-hand
window.
"He pitched his escape to the left-hand window, and with great
difficulty and much exertion and skill succeeded in getting the six
persons out safely (the woman in the right-hand window being in the
meanwhile rescued by the next escape that arrived, in charge of
fireman W. Attwood); and Ford was in the act of coming down himself
when he became enveloped in flame and smoke, which burst out of the
first-floor window; and, after some struggling in the wire netting, he
fell to the pavement.
"Ford was evidently coming down the shoot when his axe handle or some
of his accoutrements became entangled in the wire netting; so that, to
clear himself, he had to break through, and, while struggling to do
so, he got so severely burned that his recovery was hopeless.
"It was a work of no ordinary skill and difficulty to save so many
persons in the few moments available for the purpose; and, when it
is mentioned that some of them were very old and crippled, it is no
exaggeration to say that it would be impossible to praise too highly
Ford's conduct on this occasion, which has resulted so disastrously to
himself.
"He was thirty-one years of age when he met his death, and he left a
wife and two children to mourn his loss."
That's all the official record says--simple, calm,
straightforward--like Joseph Ford's conduct on that night.
I suppose that next morning two pairs of bright little eyes were on
the watch for Joseph Ford; and perchance four pattering feet ran to
the door when the knock came; and that two little minds dimly realised
that father had been called to a far-off country, where some day they
would see him. And it may be that a brave woman, into whose life the
sunlight had shined, was stricken with grief and bowed down. But all I
know for certain is, that Joseph Ford died in the performance of his
duty. He did a brave night's work. Six lives saved from the angry
flames--old and crippled some of the terror-stricken folk were--and he
took them down so carefully, so tenderly, and landed them all safely
below.
His work was over. He had saved every life he could; and glad of
heart, if weary of limb, he turned with a thankful mind to do just the
simplest thing in the world--viz., to descend the escape he had been
down so many times before.
He was young and strong; safety was only thirty feet or so below; and
the people were waiting to welcome and cheer the victor.
Only thirty feet between him and safety! Yet the man was "fairly
roasted" in the escape.
Men have been burnt at the stake and tortured, and limbs have been
stretched on the rack, and people have been maimed by thumbscrews
and bootscrews, and put inside iron figures with nails that tear and
pierce. All this have they suffered in pursuit of duty, or at the
bidding of conscience; and of such and of brave Joseph Ford there
comes to us across the ages--a saying spoken long ago, to the effect
that "he that loseth his life shall save it": and we need to remember
that saying in such cases as that of Fireman Ford.