Category - Retired Member Profiles

Retired members: Noel Hayden

Conor Forrest caught up with retired District Officer Noel Hayden, who spent the best part of his career fighting fires on Dublin’s southside.

In the days when Dún Laoghaire fire station was a standalone unit, yet to become integrated with Dublin Fire Brigade, funds and finances were not so readily available. The process of officially mending or replacing something could be quite bureaucratic, and so it was often easier for a member of the crew to get out their toolbox and mend the broken lock or door. “There was no money for anything, and there was no gear – I had better tools in my car,” recalls retired District Officer Noel Hayden, who spent more than three decades fighting fires in Dún Laoghaire. A Crumlin man born and bred, Noel initially envisaged a life spent working in the trades. Beginning as an apprentice carpenter and joiner in Kennedy’s Bakery, he picked up plumbing, electrical and various other skills in the years that followed, including a stint as a carpenter with the now defunct Modern Display Artists. In fact, the house he and his wife Deirdre (along with their five children) have lived in since around 1983 was built by Noel, his brother-in-law Dennis and colleagues in the brigade at the time.

Though Dennis was a firefighter, the thought of joining the fire brigade had never crossed Noel’s mind. He was working on a job in Kilbarrack Shopping Centre in 1972 when Dennis suggested he join the brigade, and Noel agreed to look into it. A week or two later an advertisement for Dún Laoghaire firefighters appeared in the paper, and Noel’s wife Deirdre duly went to the town hall to collect an application. As they had none printed she was directed to the fire station, where they had none either, though the second officer, Willie Kennedy, accompanied her back to the town hall to duplicate the form. By the time Dublin Fire Brigade launched its own recruitment drive several weeks later, Noel was a firefighter in Dún Laoghaire. 

“It was handy enough until I got the pay!” he recalls of those early weeks with a laugh. Prior to joining the brigade, Noel was earning £35 a week with a builder in the city; the fire brigade’s starting salary was substantially less at £20 a week. Couple that with the fact that he had bought a house on the northside and was commuting down, and circumstances were a little strained.

“It was a bit of a struggle when I went into the fire brigade at first,” he tells me. “Then when the petrol crisis came that really knocked the socks off me. The train wasn’t always a good idea, and we didn’t always have the bridges we have now. If you were coming from the northside you had to go around Butt Bridge and right back down the quays on the far side to get to Dún Laoghaire. It was a long, slow trip.” Noel’s first chief in Dún Laoghaire was Kerryman Michael Murphy, who was cautious about needless spending, but had a sense of humour. “One time the chief officer said ‘You’ll have to act station officer tonight’. I said ‘I never did it at night-time before’. Says he, ‘There’s no difference, it’s just dark’!”

Noel quickly became involved with the social side of life in the brigade, joining the Sports and Social Club and spending 20 years on the committee. During that time they formed a boat club and, with Paddy Lee, a benevolent fund. In 1974 Dún Laoghaire hosted one of the biggest annual dinner dances in its history, with around 340 people attending from brigades around the country. “We improved a lot of things – we reorganised the television room in the station and I made seating for it. We got another recreation room that also had bar seating – one of the boys knew somebody who was closing a bar down,” says Noel.

Noel was one of the
firefighters stationed in Dún Laoghaire when the new station was opened in 1991

Improving conditions

Given his background, and the lack of funding available, Noel would do maintenance work around the station, while lending the mechanics a helping hand from time to time. It was during this time that he became involved with the union, and a committee began to meet with the Corporation manager once a month to voice complaints or request funds. A potato peeler was an early addition, then a dishwasher. A washing machine for PPE was also acquired after some negotiation, and the issue of lighting within the station was a common complaint. “Lights used to be switched off at 11pm in the fire station – it was like being in a reformatory!” he explains with a laugh. “We got extra lights fitted in toilets etc., and generally improved the conditions.”

The funding situation improved under the brigade’s new chief, Tom McDonald, a veteran of DFB. A greater emphasis was placed on training and equipment; the station’s firefighters began with a breathing apparatus course and new appliances were purchased. Sub Officer Christopher Cummins was dispatched around the country, visiting each fire station to see what they had, and made a list of requirements. The result was an impressive emergency tender featuring some of the latest innovations, including radios for communicating with marine rescue, housed in a small onboard control room.

“We did our BA course in the OBI [where his grandfather attended school almost 90 years previous], and other courses too. We did our own pump training in Dún Laoghaire – myself and Aidan Carroll ran that,” Noel explains. Exercises, too, became a regular occurrence, and the crew at Dún Laoghaire took part in one of the earliest Sealink joint rescue exercises in the Irish Sea, conducted alongside Holyhead Fire Brigade, the RAF and the Irish Air Corps. “We continued to progress,” Noel adds. “It was a smaller brigade so it was easier to do, you could train everyone in a couple of weeks.

Despite this increased focus on training and equipment, Dún Laoghaire’s ambulance service ran into difficulties in the late seventies/early eighties. Rewind just a couple of years and there were three Dún Laoghaire fire brigade ambulances operating in the district – two regular ambulances and a fever ambulance. However, staffing issues began to arise and Noel explains how – rather than manning the ambulance for a full shift as happens today – personnel would switch between the fire tender and ambulance throughout the course of a shift. 

“You could come back in, get off the fire tender, wash yourself very quick and get into your dress uniform, get onto the ambulance and be out on a call five minutes later,” he says. The ambulance service finally departed in 1982, falling under the remit of Colmcille’s Hospital in nearby Loughlinstown. Though Dún Laoghaire moved to their present station in 1992, and amalgamated with Dublin Fire Brigade in 1994, the station remains the only one in Dublin without an ambulance today. Still, the crew was by no means underworked. The chimney van was one of the busiest appliances in a time when people were still burning the old coal. “When I was there first you would do 15 chimney fires a night. The best thing Mary Harney ever did for the country was get Dublin smoke free [in 1990]. It cut down on the chimney fires, as did the natural gas and gas-fired heating,” Noel explains.

Noel at his home

Memories

Noel’s time in Dún Laoghaire lasted 30 years, but eventually he moved on. Having been promoted to sub officer in 1984 (acting sub officer since 1979), and station officer in 1994, he joined Donnybrook fire station in 2003. Three years later he was posted to Phibsborough as the district officer and saw out his remaining years on the northside, eventually retiring in 2009. Throughout that time he has met some great characters (some of whom dubbed him ‘Luigi’ on seeing his jet black hair). They’re the type of people you remember years after you’ve left the job, the type of people who take you under their wing, who make you laugh and learn, and most of all who make the job what it is.

“I’ve worked with some great characters, some very skillful and smart people. I had a station officer, Tim Mahony, he was one of the first station officers I worked for. Myself, Aidan Carroll and a few others, we used to be called Tim’s lads. We had some great times working with Tim. He used to say ‘There’s some equal lads and others more equal!” Noel recalls. There are memorable incidents too – good and bad. Noel remembers a call to attend to a 12-year-old girl who wasn’t breathing. Though they quickly reached the scene she was beyond help, and all they could do was bring her to hospital. “I think that’s the one that sticks in my mind the most,” he explains.

But lives have also been saved. One day Noel was teaching another firefighter how to drive the appliance when they were flagged down – a fire was burning outside a nearby shed with two children trapped inside. Leaving his colleague to operate the pumps and raise the alarm in the station across the road, Noel managed to locate and rescue a young boy and his friend. Three years later, the crew were walking out of the station’s kitchen, and could smell something burning. A house was on fire around the corner and they quickly turned out, Noel circling around the back while several others came through the front door. Spotting a crack in a pane of glass from which smoke was emanating, Noel quickly removed the glass and climbed inside, passing two kids out to safety. With colleagues in BA sets approaching and the smoke getting to him, Noel retreated to the back yard having warned that somebody else was trapped in the house. Then he heard a noise, and he was handed a baby.

“It was the same family as the young lad in the shed – that was the four of them I rescued from fires!” he explains. “I must say, in the 37, 38 years there I enjoyed most of it. I might have had about three bad days, and two of them I can’t remember.” Noel has retired from DFB, but life after is by no means quiet. “The things I miss most are the days off!” he laughs. Still quite handy with a toolbox, Noel is the go-to man in the family and his neighbourhood when something goes wrong. He’s also started a family tradition – his son Rod has been in the brigade since 2004, stationed in Dolphin’s Barn, and thoroughly enjoys the hectic life of a firefighter. “He likes being busy,” says Noel. “He’s happy in his work.

Retired members: Michael Dineen

Michael Dineen

Michael Dineen (left) and F/F Michael Healy (right) on the switch at Tara Street in the 1950s

Conor Forrest sat down with retired D/O Michael Dineen to discover more about life in the fire brigade more than 50 years ago.

In their comprehensive book on the history of Dublin Fire Brigade, Tom Geraghty and Trevor Whitehead write of one of the worst attacks on the city of Dublin – something they refer to as the forgotten tragedy of the Troubles. The Dublin and Monaghan bombings took place on May 17th 1974, a series of co-ordinated explosions in both Dublin City and the centre of Monaghan town during rush hour. The first bomb was concealed inside a green Hillman Avenger on Parnell Street, and exploded at 5.30pm; the second went off at the same time on Talbot Street. The third exploded at 5.32pm on South Leinster Street, close to the railings of Trinity College. A fourth bomb went off around 6.58pm in Monaghan town centre. The streets of Dublin were busier as a result of a bus strike, but no warnings were given.

“The explosions were heard in both Tara Street and Buckingham Street fire stations so the men on duty hurried to the engine rooms. Soon the control room in headquarters was alive with calls and fire engines and ambulances were being dispatched to the scenes of the carnage,” the authors recount. The bombs killed 33 civilians (some count 34, as a full-term unborn child also lost its life), while around 300 people were injured. No-one has ever been charged for the deadliest attack of the Troubles.

“When the immediate shockwave of the ferocious blasts began to subside, the rescue crews arriving in the smokey darkness heard the first sounds and movements of the stunned victims. The scenes of carnage unfolded; there were wrecked cars, windowless buildings, debris-strewn streets, massive amounts of dust and floating paper. In the midst of all this mayhem were the cries of the maimed, the injured, the shocked and the traumatised. Due to a change of shift at 6pm crews were coming on duty to empty stations and those in Tara Street were dispatched in any vehicles available to assist at the dreadful sites. The emergency plan was immediately activated. All ambulances were routed to the terror-filled streets to be loaded with victims and rushed to the designated hospitals.”

Station photo, Tara Street, 1958. Michael is in the second row from the top, second on the left

Rescue operations were made difficult as a result of heavy traffic, and emergency vehicles had trouble getting through to the scene. Vehicles from DFB were aided by civilian cars, taxis, health board ambulances and a bus in a bid to remove the wounded and the dead from the scene, amid fears that further bombs would explode. “The working firemen had no time to wonder who was responsible as they searched the damaged buildings nearby for further casualties. Within four hours all those dead or requiring medical assistance had been removed to hospitals and the taped-off streets were deserted. Staff going off duty in the Dublin Fire Brigade were finally heading for home and trying to forget as much as possible the terrible trauma they had faced only hours before.”

One of these men was retired D/O Michael Dineen, he tells me, though understandably he doesn’t say much about what he witnessed on Dublin’s streets that day. “It was a sad day for the people that were killed,” he says. Attending such a grisly scene was difficult for all those who aided the sick and dying that day, as Michael notes. But, in the end, DFB’s firefighters had a job to do, and the mood didn’t change following the incident. “The fire brigade is the fire brigade,” Michael states sagely.

Michael was one of a number of firefighters present at another historic incident which took place in the capital in 1966. “I was there for the bombing in Sackville Place, when the pillar was bombed in 1966,” he explains. Built in 1808-1809, Nelson’s Pillar commemorated the famed British Navy officer, Horatio Nelson, and his victory at Trafalgar in November 1805. Despite criticism, it remained in place until March 8th 1966, when a bomb destroyed the upper structure of the pillar. The device had been planted by a number of former IRA volunteers, which some believe to have been in recognition of the 50th anniversary of the Easter Rising. Nobody was hurt, though a nearby taxi driver saw his car destroyed. Because it was too badly damaged, the Irish Army carried out a controlled demolition on the remainder of the pillar which, ironically, caused more damage on O’Connell Street than the original blast.

On duty at North Strand (front row, second from the right)

Humble beginnings

Michael is originally from a small farm in Ballyheigue, Co Kerry, and travelled to Dublin 1951 to take up employment as a barman in Phil O’Reilly’s on Hawkins Street. As some DFB members frequented the pub at the time, Michael came to hear that the fire brigade was recruiting. It helped, of course, that a healthy and active lifestyle was something he was interested in. “The lads of the fire brigade used to drink in the pub, and they said to me they were taking recruits over there [and asked me] ‘would you be interested?’”

Michael was very interested, and so began a long and enjoyable career with DFB. Beginning in 1955, he first spent a month in training at the Tara Street fire station, learning techniques and conducting pump and hose drills. Having completed his training, his first posting outside of HQ was to Dorset Street, followed by spells in Buckingham Street and Rathmines fire stations – all since closed. He can’t, however, choose a favourite station. “They were all pretty good. There was good comradeship in all the stations,” he says with a smile.

Throughout the proceeding years, and as he moved around the various stations, Michael’s career continued to develop. “I got promoted after seven years’ service, so I was a Sub/Officer.” The next step took him to the post of Station Officer, spending five years in Dolphin’s Barn and before he retired, he had achieved the rank of D/O, serving the final 12 years of his career in North Strand.

Michael’s retirement party, 1987

Different times

Life in DFB back in the 1950s was undoubtedly very different. The fire brigade’s remit during this period was expanding – the Factories Act of 1955 meant that DFB was taking on extra work, required to inspect more than 250 city factory plans, deal with certificates, inspect public places including resort and lottery premises, and other areas of concern. Two years later, in 1957, the auxiliary fire service was re-established, and chief fire officers across the country, including in Dublin, were tasked with training this new force. A 54-hour week would be reduced to a 45-hour week in June 1974, and down to 42 hours in April 1975.

At the time when Michael started, however, firefighters would work for a day and a night, and would then be on leave for a further day and night. Not one to complain, all Michael says of those times is “we didn’t mind, really,” and agreed that having spent such time in the station, it became a second family, a home from home, something which hasn’t changed to this day. One of the worst incidents Michael recalls was a fire at the Regent Hotel on D’Olier Street. “There were a couple of people burned,” he says. “The fire more or less went up through the hotel itself.”

Gas, however, was the major challenge, he tells me. Throughout his time in the brigade, a number of gas-related incidents claimed a number of lives, and levelled buildings. Tom Geraghty’s book, for example, notes a number of gas explosions, including one which destroyed two houses on Finn Street, in 1970, with two others suffering damage. Two months later, another explosion injured five people after a shoe shop on Glasnevin Hill went up in flames. “We were down in a block of flats down in the docks one day, and there were two lads who got gassed – the lads had to go in and pull them out. They (gas incident precautions) were pretty good [for example] you couldn’t switch anything on or off, or open the window,” he says.

But it wasn’t all pressure and stressful situations. Michael recalls several trips abroad, of a social nature, visiting firefighters in other countries to share their experiences. “The firemen were very good. We visited Belfast and talked to firemen up there, and we went to Cork, and I went to England and talked to the firemen there, and I [also] went to America.” One of the places he visited in the US was Secaucus, a small town in Hudson County, New Jersey, a 30-minute drive from New York City. Instead of finding differences, whether in perspective or the way in which they operated, Michael found that those firefighters operated to the same standards as those back home. “They were more or less on the same level,” he recounts.

Michael Dineen

These days

Now settled in Santry with his wife Philomena, to whom he has been married for 54 years, Michael is enjoying his retirement, effective since 1987, though he hasn’t simply sat back and watched the years go by. Once out of the job, he went to work with children with special needs in St. Michael’s House for 12 years, something he’s had an interest in for a long time now, and a calling echoed by his daughter and granddaughter. In his own words, it was an opportunity to give something back, to help those “who weren’t as lucky as we were.”

Though he has moved on and is making the most of civilian life, and as a regular with the Retired Members Association, he still keeps in touch with other retired members, sharing stories and trips across the country and beyond, it’s clear that Michael has fond memories. “I have no regrets and I enjoyed my time,” he tells me. “I worked in six different stations, with some of the very best firefighters.”

Retired members: Harry O’Keeffe

Harry (bottom row, far left) and his colleagues in DFB.

Conor Forrest caught up with Harry O’Keeffe, a former firefighter who spoke about his career with Dublin Fire Brigade, his role as a special service man, as well as his efforts to improve the workplace for his fellow firefighters.

One hundred years ago, a small group of men and women marched out on the streets of Dublin, Enniscorthy and Meath to proclaim an independent Irish Republic. It was an event that would change the course of Irish history, though perhaps not exactly how Padraig Pearse and his comrades in arms would have imagined. It was also the year in which Dublin Fire Brigade’s oldest firefighter was born, three days after rebel leader James Connolly was executed in Kilmainham – one Harry O’Keeffe.

To say Harry has led an interesting life would be something of an understatement. Born in 22 Holles Street in May 1916, he grew up alongside the new State that had its origins among the ruins of Dublin that year. His childhood was a happy one, with a loving family, and among his earliest memories is attending the State funeral of Michael Collins, perched on his father’s shoulders at the age of six.

In those days, jobs were scarce, but he managed to find employment in his early teens, first with Cantwell and Corcoran, which produced soft drinks, where he was interviewed by union leader Jim Larkin about the company’s employment policies. That was followed by a stint with the Grand Canal Company, and then the Calendars Overhead Cable Company – Harry cycled every day from Boyne Street to work in Drogheda, beginning at 4am and camping out during the week as the work moved further from home. Wicklow became a fond destination during his teenage years, particularly Kilmacanogue, and he often cycled there on his own or with friends to a cottage they had rented on the side of the Sugarloaf. Among the first group of girls invited to the cottage was one Teresa Maxwell, his future wife.

Harry was presented with several tokens on his 100th birthday

Onwards and upwards

Having trained as an electrical and mechanical engineer in his youth, this stood to Harry when an opportunity to join Dublin Fire Brigade arose, halting plans to move to Canada with Calendars. From many hundreds of applicants, only six were ultimately successful – including Harry. The manner in which he secured his job was perhaps an indication of the impact he was to have on DFB. “I was up in Castle Street, I went in before a few men, one of them was the young chief, Comerford. He was doing most of the speaking and he was summing me up,” Harry tells me. “When he was finished, I said ‘do I get the job?’ ‘Do you get the job? We’ll let you know in due time’.” This, however, was an unacceptable response in Harry’s mind. “Says I, ‘I’ve waited a long time to get this far, and I’d like to know where I stand.’ So he talked to the other men and said ‘Well O’Keeffe, you can take it you’ve got the job,” Harry recalls with a smile.

He began his new career in 1938, under the command of Major Comerford, an ex-Irish soldier, and later under Captain Diskin following the untimely death of the former. “Him and I got on pretty well together,” Harry says of Major Comerford. Harry spent the majority of his DFB career in Tara Street as he was what was then known as a ‘special service man’ – because of his electrical knowledge, he was tasked with maintaining and servicing the old fire alarms on the street, which operated before the introduction of telephones.

It was this role that prevented him from travelling to Belfast during the Blitz in 1941 – despite volunteering to travel – as he would have been difficult to replace should the worst happen. Among the many stories from Harry’s career with DFB, that of his role in the bombs that dropped on Dublin during World War II stands out, particularly those that fell on the Terenure area in South Dublin early in the morning of January 2nd 1941. That story was captured in The Bombing of Dublin’s North Strand: The Untold Story by Kevin C. Kearns, as explained by a colleague of Harry’s who joined DFB at the same time, Paddy Walsh.

“This bomb hit the end of a terrace of houses, at the back garden. Made a crater in the garden and the house fell in, but not much fire. They were up-market houses, a place where there was a Jewish settlement. A woman was trapped there, in her bed. The roof had collapsed down and the joists were all criss-crossing on the bed,” Walsh recalled. “Now I was just five foot nine but another lad with me was a hardy fella, Harry O’Keeffe. So we got in and everything was in a heap, the front of the house was still intact, but the whole back was down. There was one joist holding most of the roof still on. So he got down on his hunker, if you like, and held it. Then he says to me, “I’ll hold that and give you time to get in.”

Harry O’Keeffee (seated)

Changing times

Workers’ rights were extremely important to Harry, and he expended great effort in agitating to improve the position of firefighters in Dublin, quickly developing a reputation as a force for change. When he first joined the fire brigade, firefighters brought food with them to work. However, noting that their counterparts in the UK and Northern Ireland had modern catering facilities where Dublin did not, Harry took the cause to City Hall, fighting long and hard for a mess to be provided for the stations.

“It was disgraceful the way the Dublin Corporation treated the working men that had to be fed. There’s not a place in the world that has their staff in but they make some provisions to feed them. I took it up to City Hall and I had a row with one of the officials there,” he explains. That particular official had the temerity to enquire as to whether the firefighters would like their daily dinner at the Gresham Hotel. Harry struck the table and said he would get the men to fi ll their larders with tinned food because it would be a long strike.  Eventually, the Corporation caved. Once they got the mess, however, it still wasn’t quite plain sailing. “We had a woman who used to look after the mess. She had a fancy for George O’Dowd,” says Harry. “George fell in love with a retired schoolteacher. And when she heard that, there was skin and hair flying!”

A life well lived

Harry’s tireless efforts on behalf of his colleagues and peers – which included reducing the retirement age for the city’s firefighters – didn’t cease when he left DFB in 1963 to join the Corporation Rents department, a job which provided a more stable life for Harry and his young family, along with an improved salary. His son Brendan recalls a story of Harry standing before a judge in the case of a tenant in arrears. Despite Harry working for the Corporation, he was pleading on behalf of the tenant, which perplexed the judge. Looking back, it’s clear that Harry’s life was one of dedication – to his family, his colleagues in Dublin Fire Brigade, and to his lifelong principles.

“I believed in the worker getting his right to speak, to criticise whatever was chosen for him. I didn’t believe in a man being too quiet, and not allowed to speak his mind. So I spoke up,” he tells me, his voice suddenly strong. “I stood up on a few occasions and I spoke to the whole lot of them [his colleagues]. I would have a go at them – ‘we can’t be falling out with ourselves, it is important that we unite. Unity is strength, we must stand together’.”

As with all of his tales of his fascinating experiences, Harry sums it up best himself. “It was quite a chequered life,” he says with a characteristic smile.

A man ahead of his time

Harry was an avid reader, a trait sparked in early life, and he would regale his children with stories of exploration and adventure around the fire (his sons Brian and Brendan, son-in-law George and grandson Ciarán would follow him into the brigade). His other passion was singing, and he was known for his rendition of Night Time in Nevada. He was also

He was also fascinated by space. In those days, meat would arrive wrapped in butcher’s paper, and Harry sketched out details of how a moon landing might happen. In July 1969, his visions were vindicated as Neil Armstrong became the first man to walk on the moon. Nobody knows if this drawing still exists, but included on the sheet was a list of DFB colleagues who had signed up for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Retired members: Paddy Rooney

Conor Forrest sat down with former firefighter Paddy Rooney to learn more about his time in the brigade, the changes he has seen over the years, and the memories that have stayed with him.

It was the year in which Beatlemania first began, when Martin Luther King lead the March on Washington, when US president John F. Kennedy gave his famous Ich bin ein Berliner speech to a raucous reception in West Berlin, and the year in which he lost his life in Dallas, Texas. Back in Ireland, 1963 was also an important year for the 27 new recruits who began their lives with Dublin Fire Brigade on Monday, July 15th. One of these was Paddy Rooney, who had been working in England at the time, but successfully applied to the brigade and returned home. “I was glad to get home and into the fire brigade,” he recalls. “There were 27 of us who started in Tara Street. We did six weeks’ basic fire training and when we came on duty, we [worked] 24 hours day on, day off.”

On the move

The first six months of Paddy’s career were spent in Tara Street. From there he moved to Rathmines as the new station in Dolphin’s Barn was opened, around the beginning of 1964, he remembers. Another move, this time to Buckingham Street, was prompted by the reduction of working hours from 72 (or 96) down to 58, with an added influx of recruits to facilitate this.

After several years there, Paddy was on the move again, transferring to Tara Street and then onto Kilbarrack when they opened the station around 1971. Paddy would spend the next 11 years in Kilbarrack, during which time he completed a turntable ladder course. With turntable ladder operators required to be station in HQ, Paddy was off again, and finished out his remaining days in DFB at Tara Street, retiring at the end of August 1993. “I gave them 30 years,” he says. “I enjoyed it, I made great friends.”

Times, unsurprisingly, were quite different. Back then, training was conducted at Tara Street fire station and was enhanced by lectures from a number of different individuals, including one Dr Newman on a Monday night, while a Mr Cassidy from the John’s Ambulance taught recruits how to prepare splints and other basic medical procedures. Ongoing training was as much a part of the job then as it is now – Paddy recalls carriage wheel exercises in Buckingham Street, turntable ladder drills in Tara Street and, once BA sets were introduced into the job, they became acquainted with how they worked in smoke chambers in the training centre. However, as Paddy recalls, the real training came out in the field. “You wanted a turn out…that’s when you learned your trade from the senior men.”

Newspaper clipping from the year Paddy joined, featuring DFB, from the OBI collection

Paddy smiles when I mention the recent RTÉ show Firefighters, which followed a number of the last batch of DFB recruits through the gruelling training process, and as they settled into life in their first posts. Life was a little different in DFB 30 years ago, not just in terms of the training regimes, but the appliances they had to hand.

“I was watching that Firefighters programme, the equipment they have and the way that they’ve [been] trained,” he says. “I remember I did a shift over in Dorset Street. There was an old blue ambulance there and it was just a glorified van. I remember we got a case down at the Parnell monument. We came down and there was no stairs on the door to keep it open while we were getting the stretcher out. The wind was coming up O’Connell Street and closing the doors! So I had to turn the ambulance around so the wind was blowing into the back.”

Paddy isn’t lamenting the loss of the good old days, however. In his mind, the changes and upgrading of equipment, training and health and safety can only be a positive step forward. “With the group we have, the retired members, the Firefighters programme was on and we said ‘were we in the same job at all?’ It’s great to see it though, it wasn’t healthy. It was [a more dangerous job]. There was no such thing as breathing sets, you just got in there. But we got through it.”

One thing that hasn’t changed (and probably never will) is human nature. Paddy agrees with a wry smile. “The thing that used to drive me mad when I was driving an ambulance or a fire tender [was] when you came up behind a car and they’d pull in, but they’d keep driving. And then there’d be a parked car and as you’d be going to pass them out they’d swing around the parked car. They wouldn’t just stop and let you go! And then you’re trying to change down and get your speed back up to try and catch up again. Just before I left, all the ambulances and fire appliances coming were automatics, in our time they had a crash gearbox and you had to know how to change your gears or you’d hear a lot of scraping and banging from the gearbox!”

Reliving the past

Some memories, however, are better than others. One case that he has never forgotten took place out by Newbridge House, on the way to Donabate. At the time, Paddy was serving in Buckingham Street, and he remembers the details perfectly.

“It was a summer’s evening about 10 o’clock, during the 1960s” he recalls. “The ambulance from Dorset Street was ahead of us. It was a straight stretch of road, there had been a head-on collision between a scooter and a car. The lads out of Dorset Street were taking people out of the car, so they just said there was a BID, brought in dead. It was a young-ish chap, he was on the scooter. He went over the handlebars and was killed.”

The body was taken to a nearby morgue, accompanied by the guard who had been at the scene. Once he had finished the paperwork, the guard returned to measure the road, and discovered a girl’s shoe. Crossing into the grounds of Newbridge House, he found the shoe’s owner, a passenger on the scooter who was thrown out of sight over the wall. “She was dead,” Paddy says. “I reckon that if somebody had known, she might have lived. When we brought her into Jervis Street the doctor said she just had a broken femur, she probably died of shock, lying there for four or so hours. They stick in your head, these things – if only. But nobody knew she was on the scooter with that man.”

Paddy Rooney

It could be a dangerous job too, at times. Paddy recalls one particular fire that burned in the city’s docklands, which caused hundreds of Kosangas cylinders to explode. “It started about 1am. The place was devastated, it was like a bomb site. The oil tankers were trying to get out because these things were shooting up into the air, you wouldn’t know where they were going.” Perhaps by a stroke of luck, or fate, Paddy was elsewhere for some of the most deadly incidents during his decades of service – most notably the Dublin bombings in May 1974, and the Stardust fire that occurred on Valentine’s Day 1981. For the former, he heard the bombs go off as he was going to work that evening, a large booming noise ringing out across the city. For the latter, he had worked the previous two nights, and was off duty on that night. “I was lucky, I didn’t have to see things like that,” he says. “It stays with you. I know some of the lads who were at the Stardust and they didn’t sleep for ages after.”

So how did they deal with such incidents? “Counselling wasn’t there in our time,” he explains. “We were in one of our meetings one night and the mobilisation officer in Tara Street said that he had got a call to say that the lads in Dolphin’s Barn were after getting a bad accident. The casualty officer in James’ rang and said ‘those men are going to need counselling’. So he rang the officer in charge in the Barn and asked what was going on. The man in the Barn said that the lads were having their dinner, so he’d have to wait until they were finished to see what did they want! No matter what they got, they got their food and into them quick. No counselling then. We had our own counselling.”

A quieter life

Paddy is long since retired from the hustle and bustle of daily life in DFB – 22 years now. What he enjoys most is the freedom – freedom to make plans without checking his work roster, for example. “When you’re retired, you can say ‘I’ll be there’, he says with a smile. The Retired Members Association also keeps him busy – they meet on the first Thursday of every month and organise any number of trips for their members; visits to other fire brigades, leisurely trips to all corners of the country, and beyond.

“It’s great to see the old crowd, people you would have worked with. We’ve been to China, we’ve been to Budapest. I was on three cruises,” he says. “The first cruise we took was to the Caribbean. We were all sitting on deck there one evening, having our cocktails. One of the lads said that if somebody had told us 30 years ago that in 30 years’ time we’d be in in the Caribbean drinking cocktails on a cruise…”

Retired members: Patrick Madden

Conor Forrest sat down with retired District Officer Patrick Madden to discover more about a career well spent.

If you enjoy hiking through the mountain ranges of Ireland, Scotland and further afield, chances are you might bump into Patrick Madden. Retired from the job as a District Officer since 1995, the outdoors remain a great passion for the man from Glasnevin and, when I pay him a visit, he proudly shows me a photo of himself and his wife, taken at the top of Ben Nevis – the highest mountain in the British Isles. “I was at work one day and some of the lads said they were going hill walking. I asked if I could go with them – that’s nearly thirty years ago now – and I fell in love with it,” he says.

Early days

Patrick’s first exposure to Dublin FireBrigade came at a very young age, growing up in Sandymount. His father, also a firefighter, was on duty in Tara Street, and his mother brought the young Patrick in for a visit. “While we were there, just as we were leaving, a fire call came in and my father went out on the appliance,” Patrick recalls. “He was on the turntable ladder standing on the side of it. That was my first introduction to the service.”

A move to Chapelizod beckoned, and the family relocated to the quiet area sitting in the shadow of the Phoenix Park. Patrick recalls with a smile that he would cycle into the city on Christmas Day on a mission to deliver the Christmas dinner to his father, who by then was working in Buckingham Street. Patrick loved being around the station, chatting with the firefighters and admiring the polished engines – somewhere in those visits, a small spark was ignited. “It was great – meeting the lads, seeing the fire engines and everything so clean and spotless. I really couldn’t have seen myself working as anything else,” he tells me.

Patrick joined DFB in 1962, following several years in the hotel business. His first application had been turned down and he was in the process of applying to London’s fire service when word came that DFB were recruiting once again. He jumped at the chance, and thus began a career that would last more than 30 years, spanning four decades. Following his six weeks of training in Tara Street, Patrick remained there for less than two years, transferring to Dorset Street station under the watchful eye of Station Officer Paddy Hanratty. It was during his time in Dorset Street that the Noyeks timber factory fire occurred – in 1972 – an incident Patrick remembers well. “I had only been on the premises a few days before. We knew a lot of the staff who went by Dorset Street station on their way to work, and you’d often say hello to them. It was a terrible tragedy, eight people killed – a very sad occasion,” he says. By coincidence, several years later Patrick brought his car into a garage for

It was during his time in Dorset Street that the Noyeks timber factory fire occurred – in 1972 – an incident Patrick remembers well. “I had only been on the premises a few days before. We knew a lot of the staff who went by Dorset Street station on their way to work, and you’d often say hello to them. It was a terrible tragedy, eight people killed – a very sad occasion,” he says. By coincidence, several years later Patrick brought his car into a garage for repairs, and got chatting to the mechanic about his work. When he discovered Patrick was a firefighter, the mechanic revealed that he was a brother of one of those who lost their lives in the blaze. Not all of his memories are sad ones, however, and Patrick recalls a serious fire at the Central Hotel on D’Olier Street. Despite being trapped by the flames, many people were rescued. “I was so proud of the lads and the job they were doing,” he says.

Recalling such incidents brings us to another topic, one which was touched upon previously by Paddy Hanratty – counselling, or a lack thereof for firefighters in those days. Patrick mentions a case that took place many years ago, close to Christmas, in which a mother, her daughter and grandchild perished in a fire. “It’s great that there are now counselling services which modern firefighters can avail of,” he says. “There was one of our lads who worked with me when I was in Finglas – a great guy, a very nice fellow. He was on ambulance duty one night, a few years after I had retired, and he was attacked for no reason at all. It affected him so much that he had to retire a year or two later.”

Patrick Madden

Moving on

For Patrick, his father and many of their respective generations, working in the fire brigade was most definitely a calling, as pay was low and many other occupations could provide a much more promising financial incentive. Though he opted for life as a firefighter, Patrick was initially offered a position in hotel management, by a man he had worked with in the Russell Hotel in Stephen’s Green. “My father was earning something like £12 a week, and I was earning £20 or £25 in the bar business at that stage – it was incredible, the difference. Many men down through the years dropped money to join the service, and that’s called having a vocation,” he explains.

His departure from Dorset Street after 12 years was brought about by a promotion to Sub Officer, and Patrick spent the next few years doing relief work across a number of stations. His next, more permanent, post was in Finglas, where he arrived as a Station Officer following the death of his predecessor in a road accident. He would remain there for eight years. “It was a very busy station, covering Ballymun, the Airport and all of North County Dublin. It was a busy station but it had a great crew – I really enjoyed working with them,” he tells me.

After another stint at HQ, Patrick moved to Phibsboro, which had replaced the now defunct Dorset Street station in the intervening years. Chances are, one of Patrick’s exploits (and those of his crew) during this time were caught on camera, and could be gathering dust in a musty archive somewhere in Donnybrook. On turntable duty one Sunday lunchtime in Tara Street, a call was received concerning a fire in a building near Moran’s Hotel on Gardiner Street. With the fire having taken hold in the lower floors, a number of people were trapped. The turntable crew sprang into action and rescued those inside, with no injuries or deaths.

“Everything worked out perfectly. There were two women in it, one or two men and, if I remember correctly, a young child,” says Patrick. “What we didn’t realise when we were there that, while all of this was going on, there was a camera crew from RTÉ who were on the way to Croke Park for a match, and they got the whole lot on camera! It was on the news that night at six o’clock, fantastic coverage, and it was on the news later that night as well. We were all pleased at the way it went, it was great that it was successful and everybody was saved, but we never realised we were on camera.”

His time in Dublin 7 saw him promoted once more to District Officer, with a move to the O’Brien Training Institute not far behind. Moving from shift work to regular office hours was something of a shock to the system. “I was a bit dubious about it at first. I had been on shift work for those years, and then to be going in 9-5…” Having his weekends off, however, was a very welcome change. “I didn’t realise how many weekends I had missed when working the shifts, you just took it for granted, you went in and did the work,” he adds.

Winding down

Following two enjoyable years at the training centre, Patrick retired in 1995. It wouldn’t be fair to say, however, that he is taking things too easy in his retirement. Having decided that he would remain an early riser, Patrick is quite active – on the several mornings he goes swimming, he’s at the pool for 7am. Once a week he hikes with his wife Clare and their friend John Williams, whose father was in the fire brigade, in the Dublin or Wicklow Mountains, and they often travel away to take in a different view. He also enjoys being an active member of the Retired Members Association, which keeps him in touch with those he might not otherwise see.

Looking back, Patrick is keen to stress that, if he had the chance to turn back the clock and take a second shot at life, he wouldn’t change a thing. “It’s nice to be able to say it – I’ve said it many times and I’ve heard other people saying it – if my life could be lived over, I’d do the same job.”