Loving a Fire Fighter

It’s 2:30am. The shrill, buzzing ring of the pager drags me from my semi-conscious state. I haven’t managed to fall asleep yet; and now I probably won’t.

“What is it?” I ask, heart thundering in my chest.

“A car fire,” is the answer.

“Be careful,” I say, as I watch my partner dive for clothes, keys, phone, wallet.

My heart clenches with anxiety. Car fires can be dangerous. I hope and pray there’s nobody trapped. I hope and pray my partner isn’t subjected to the trauma of witnessing the remains of someone who’d been trapped. I hope and pray no one has lost a child tonight, or a parent, sibling, friend, loved one.

“I will,” he says.

And he’s gone.

I listen to his feet racing across the driveway as he runs to his car, opens the door, starts the engine and takes off, speeding towards the station that's only about two minutes away.

My partner - Jarrod - is a volunteer firefighter, and this time, the call was for a car fire.

Next time it could be a bushfire, a structure fire, a car accident, an oil spill on a road, a fallen tree… and yes, the occasional animal rescue.

Where I live in New South Wales, Australia, our volunteer fire brigade is called the RFS - Rural Fire Service. These are usually the firefighters who respond to bushfires as their trucks are better equipped than the Townies - those in the paid firefighting industry. Townies are more trained in structure fires and are situated nearer to cities and towns, whereas the RFS - as it says in the name - are situated in the rural outskirts, where there’s more likely to be bushfires.

Australia is notorious for bushfires. If you didn’t already know that, I’m sure you would have heard about the 2019/2020 summer disaster. Our entire country was on fire - not an exaggeration - and our *insert expletive* Prime Minister took off to Hawaii for a holiday. I still haven’t forgiven him for that. While my partner and countless others were risking their lives to save homes, land, and lives, our bloody PM took off for vacation...

But I'm not here to rant about politics. I'm here to tell you about what it's like loving a firefighter.

Jarrod has been with the Silverdale RFS for nearly twenty years, and we have been together for nearly twelve years. In those years I've seen him do some incredible, amazing things, and I could not be prouder of him. But I think the 2019/2020 bushfires - dubbed the Black Summer Fires - were the worst thing he and many firefighters across the country had ever faced. Our firefighting resources were stretched thin, many crews sent way out of their local areas, and there were occasions where many firefighters had no choice but to push themselves, often out for twenty-four hours or more trying to contain the raging infernos sweeping across the land. Jarrod and Silverdale RFS were even sent to Michelago, a suburb three hours away (just south of Canberra), to help with the fires there.

It was a difficult time. Every time Jarrod would get a fire call, I'd turn on the scanner he had left with me to listen, seeking reassurance that he was alright, and just to stay abreast of the situation. Hearing his voice crackling through the speaker was a paradoxical experience, bringing me both great relief and chest-tightening anxiety. The fire was creeping closer to where I lived and I wanted to know the second it became imperative to evacuate.

I'd lived through the Christmas bushfires of 2001.We'd had no warning then. We didn't know how close the fire was until the bush behind the house three doors down from us became engulfed in flames. I'll never forget the sound of it; a loud, angry roar that made me think of a speeding freight train. Facing it, I could feel the heat pressing down on me across the short distance and I thought this was it... the end. My mum must have thought the same because she swore.

"SHIT! GET IN THE CAR!" she screamed.

I'll never forget the fear in her voice, and I knew it must be really bad if even mum was scared. I'd never heard my mum swear before. For a kid of fourteen who had been raised in a religious environment, it was quite the shock.

Being Christmas, we'd had family over earlier in the day and though we were keeping an eye on the sky, watching the smoke grow thicker and thicker, we didn't make any preparations to evacuate. Most of the residents in my small town of Warragamba believed the fire wouldn't jump Warragamba Dam - Sydney's main water supply. We believed ourselves fairly safe. Little did we know that our town was about to become completely surrounded by fire, to the extent where even firefighters could not get in to help us. When the fire went up three houses down, we grabbed what we could - clothes we'd got for Christmas, some photos, the animals - and left. I think I was crying.

We got as far as the local school; not far at all given the school was two minutes from our house. There was one police officer on duty at the time and he did a damn good job. He walked from car to to car handing out water, ice blocks, and masks to help us breathe through all the smoke. From there we watched a couple of our local shops burn down, then as the fire grew more aggressive, we were forced to move to the carpark of the local swimming pool. If we had to move again, we were told the only place left to go would be in the swimming pool. After that, well... there was no after that. Practically the whole town was there, crowded together in the pool's carpark with their pets and whatever they'd managed to grab. Some had driven, some had walked, some had only managed to escape with the clothes on their backs. I never wanted to be caught unawares like that ever again.

So, during the Black Summer Fires, I listened to the scanner constantly, waiting to hear news of my partner, waiting to hear the latest updates on the fire's behaviour. I spent a lot of time at one of the local lookout spots, keeping an eye on the blaze visible in the distance. We dubbed the spot “Avoca,” as that is the name of a nearby road. I became somewhat of a landmark - the woman in the red Holden Commodore sitting there for hours nearly every day. People started to recognise me and would beep their horns as they drove past. Some would even pull up beside me and we'd have a chat. One benefit of being with an emergency response volunteer is that I always know the latest news on current emergencies; and in this instance, I knew that Jarrod would tell me when fire conditions became bad enough to warrant evacuating. Sharing what I knew with others made me feel useful. I felt like I was doing something to help; and people appreciated it. They knew my info could be trusted as they knew it came straight from the source. It wasn’t much, but I needed to feel like I was doing something proactive, something that helped me feel more connected to my partner while he was out at the fire fronts. Sitting at home just felt like waiting for bad news and increased the chance of panic attacks happening, especially if I hadn't heard from Jarrod for a few hours. Logic told me he was fine, that he didn't have time to send me a message because he was busy fending off fire storms. Still, it was both reassuring and terror inducing when he would send me photos like this...

Avoca became THE place to come for locals who wanted to watch the fire's progress. It became a bit of a joke between Jarrod and I and another RFS family, as we all fell into the habit of going up there multiple times a day and would consequently always run into each other.

"Fancy seeing you here," would often be the greeting. And as we left, "See you in a couple of hours!"

It was nice. Those impromptu, unplanned meetings became important to me. They became a comfort, a way to help me get through the days of endless worrying.

Word must have spread about Avoca because even the media rocked up one day - in the form of well-known media photographer Nick Moir. I was there, as usual, waiting for Jarrod to come back from a particularly long stint out at Yerranderie, a place in the middle of nowhere, where there was pretty much nothing except bush and fire. The media were still there when Silverdale crew stopped in on their way back, managing to take a sneaky photo capturing the relief at having them back safe and sound. Well... they definitely caught my relief anyway.

That's me in the Holden jacket hugging my partner. Where they'd been sent to that day was quite far away. I hadn't much liked being separated by all that distance with the threat of fires lingering too close to home. I'd been so worried about us getting cut off from each other; something I was more afraid of than anything else. Let the fire burn my possessions. That would have been nothing compared to being cut off from my person.

By the way, yes, it was in fact summer. Avoca is quite a windy spot and on this particular day the wind was like ice knives slicing through the air; hence the big, bulky jacket. That's Aussie weather for you.

Days became weeks. It was exhausting living with the constant threat, every day wondering whether TODAY would be the day the fire came for us. RFS volunteers ended up spending more time fighting fires than they did in their every day jobs - the jobs they worked for an income. For those volunteers who ran their own businesses, like my partner, it was even worse as they had no money coming in at all. Over and over again, they were coming home to their families stinking of smoke and covered in ash. To me, it was the most beautiful smell because it meant my partner had come home safe and I was able to hug him tightly, grateful to have him back.

Holidays were given up by volunteers, too, missing out on precious time with loved ones to be out protecting us instead. I was lucky to have Jarrod on Christmas day. My New Years Eve, on the other hand, was spent watching TV on my own, waiting for him to get back, eating pizza and trying to distract myself from thinking about how long he had been out for this time.

Our heroic firefighters were facing unprecedented and terrible conditions daily, and doing it bravely, without complaint. What made it even worse was the fact that these fires were not behaving like normal bushfires, so it was hard to predict what they were going to do. We were seeing these bushfires crowning at night, typically a thing that only happens during the day. Crowning is when a whole tree goes up in flames and the fire jumps from treetop to treetop. At night, the cooler temperatures and damper air should work to decrease fire activity, thus preventing crowning from happening. But not these fires.

Stories circled around the local area of towns being evacuated in the middle of the night; something I'd never heard of happening with previous fires. There was just no reprieve. We had to be on alert 24/7, ready to swing into action at a second's notice. I'd had the car packed for weeks, but I didn't plan to leave until absolutely necessary; especially if Jarrod was still in the local area. Being as close as I could be to wherever he was stationed was paramount.

On and on, the fires continued to taunt and mock us, defying normal fire behavior by also deciding to burn downhill. Ordinarily, a fire's trajectory habit is to burn rapidly upwards, not downhill at that same speed. It was like we were facing a living entity that could think and act on its own whims and fancies. Some even suggested they were the fires from hell. I think they were mostly joking... then again, take a look at these photos and tell me what you make of them.

Several firefighters lost their lives during the Black Summer fires. They died protecting us. Hearing of these deaths had me in tears and my heart broke for them, for the loved ones left behind. I can't begin to imagine what it must have been like to be delivered the news, to be told that what you had always feared had actually happened. It was a tragic reminder how dangerous fire fighting truly is, and they will be forever remembered as heroes; a small comfort in the face of such loss. In the back of my head rose that voice of anxiety, prodding me, poking me into thinking about the incredible risks my partner was taking, reminding me that it could have been him, that it might be him one day. It isn't easy to shut that voice up...

So much sacrifice. So much pain. So much suffering. So much loss.

And our Prime Minister went on vacation to Hawaii - his excuse being that he'd made a promise to his daughter. No wonder he was shunned and ridiculed when he deigned to visit fire ravaged towns...

Anyway, I'm really not here to rant about politics. So, back to the scanner.

I listened to it religiously - until that one moment when I wasn't... and that is when the shit hit the fan.

It was almost Christmas and I was supposed to go to a work Christmas party. Given the fire situation, I wasn't sure if I should go or not. However, the party was only a five minute drive away, so I thought it would be okay to go for an hour or two. While I was getting ready I kept listening to the scanner, but I left it briefly to do my hair in another room. I left my phone in another room as well. I was probably away from both the scanner and my phone for no more than ten minutes. When I came back, my phone had several missed calls from Jarrod and also from his mum.

Instant panic.

I tried to ring Jarrod first. No answer. I rang his mum. She answered and told me that Jarrod's truck had been overrun, but that he and the rest of the crew were alright.

My heart stopped and I froze. I'd heard what she said, I just couldn't process it.

Overrun is about one of the worst things to happen. It's when the fire is literally right on top of you and there's no other option except to take shelter in the truck, turn on the truck's exterior sprinklers and pray.

If I'd have been with the scanner, I'd have heard the Silverdale RFS Captain shouting, "CODE RED! CODE RED! WE ARE IN OVERRUN!"

But I didn't hear it because it happened in those few minutes when I wasn't listening. That's how quickly things can turn bad. Note the time lapse between the next few photos. In under two minutes conditions had gone from manageable to critical.

Everything had been going fine. Silverdale and another RFS crew were doing property protection when the wind changed, causing the fire to change direction and blow straight towards them at an incredible speed. Silverdale's quick-thinking driver immediately maneuvered the truck onto a patch of concrete and turned on the siren, allowing the crew outside to find their way back to the truck through the dense smoke.

The members who were nearby raced over and jumped in, along with two members from the other crew, and the property owner and his dog. But there were still three of Silverdale's crew members missing. After a couple of tense minutes they burst out through the smoke, running out from behind the house, and leapt into the truck. The inside of a firetruck is not spacious. They - eight humans and a dog - were all packed in there like sardines in a tin. But they were safe. Thankfully, a few minor burns were the worst of the injuries. The Captain even gave an interview to the media shortly after; poised and professional. I already held the utmost respect for her, but it grew tenfold when I saw that.

Jarrod thinks it was a good thing I didn't hear it all unfold on the scanner, and he is probably right. I likely would have been thrown into an intense panic attack. You always dread the worst when the one you love is facing danger on a daily basis. You know they are trained; you know they are competent and know exactly what they are doing, but that doesn't change the fear. I've since watched a recording of the overrun incident from the truck's dashcam footage, and I saw that training put into practice. Though the situation was horrific, everyone stayed calm. No one panicked or became flustered. They just kept their cool and did what they had to do - what they'd been trained to do. I'd never been more grateful for the expertise of Silverdale RFS. And I'd never been prouder of them. In some ways it was helpful for me, as someone waiting on the other side, to see the training put so effectively into action. I could rest a little easier knowing that my partner was as safe as he could be when out fighting the forces of nature. He was part of a crew that would leave no one behind.

I still worry, of course. No matter how many callouts he goes on, no matter how many times he comes home to me in one piece, I will never stop worrying entirely. It’s impossible. How can I not worry when the person I love is running out into situations that can take a turn for the worst at any moment? It’s strange to feel so much pride in someone and what they do while also being worried about what they do. Jarrod has moved up the ranks to Senior Deputy Captain now, a well-deserved promotion that recognises the strength of his passion and dedication to the volunteer firefighting service. The pride I have in this man just continues to grow every day.

Volunteering is a selfless act. Jarrod is one of the most selfless people I have ever met, and it was one of the reasons why I fell in love with him. Plus, there's the whole man in uniform thing. He does look rather sexy when decked out in RFS dress... but I digress.

Sometimes I wish I could be out there with him, the two of us facing the danger together, though I know my anxiety wouldn't handle it very well. Jarrod has the ability to keep his head when things turn ugly; an important ability to have as an emergency response person, and an ability I do not possess. I freak out at the sight of a spider, while Jarrod, ever the hero, will calmly catch the eight-legged monster and release it back into nature. But I will do my utmost to support him, to show him how much I appreciate him and love him for the amazing, wonderful human he is. I wouldn't have him any other way, and I will always be waiting for him to come home to me so I can hold him in my arms, as I hold him in my heart wherever he goes.

The End

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Thank you so much for reading! I wrote this article to honour my partner and the entire Silverdale RFS crew. They are an amazing group of people and I hold great admiration for them all.

I also wanted to raise awareness on the awe-inspiring job that all volunteer firefighters do in protecting their communities. Never will you come across people with more fierce strength and resolve than the RFS.

If you would like to help, you can donate to your local RFS. It doesn't have to be monetary donations. Items like bottled water or sport drinks, lip balm (exposure to constant smoke and hot conditions causes lips to become dry, chapped and painful), easily carried and stored foods like muesli bars, trail mix, protein bars, packets of chips etc, are all welcome. I guarantee any and all support offered will be greatly appreciated.