I rescued a boy then saw him die... I think about him every day
EX-FIREFIGHTER CLIFFORD THOMPSON TELLS RACHAEL BLETCHLY HOW WRITING ABOUT THE TRAGEDIES HE EXPERIENCED ON THE JOB HELPED HIM COPE WITH HIS POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER
CLIFFORD THOMPSON was 14 when he decided he wanted to become a firefighter. He was fascinated by bonfires, barbecues and fireworks, learned the chemistry behind combustion, and read books about heroes who tackled blazes and saved lives.
“I was drawn to the danger, the colour and the smell without fear of the damage it could cause,” he explains.
And when the East End lad finally joined the London Fire Brigade aged 19, he was quickly hooked on the danger.
“Firefighters crave the next callout – the action and drama,” Cliff says. “No one claims to be a hero but most yearn to play that role and love being in the grip of a crisis. It’s an addiction – to the gruesome and the bizarre, fuelled by adrenaline.”
For five years he rode the adrenaline rollercoaster, blocking out the awful deaths and terrible scenes he witnessed.
But in 1991 his world fell apart in an instant, when Gordon, a three-year-old boy he had rescued – and resuscitated – died before his eyes. Guilt, anger and bottled-up horrors sent Cliff spiralling into depression, later diagnosed as post-traumatic stress disorder. He left the fire service and became a BBC journalist and now tells his remarkable story in a book, called Falling Through Fire.
It’s a graphic but honest memoir which, in the aftermath of the Grenfell Tower tragedy, and terror attacks in London and Manchester, proves a timely reminder of the pressures faced by our 999 heroes.
Cliff, 50, says: “Writing has helped me deal with my experiences and I’ve recommended it to some of the firefighters involved at Grenfell. I said they should write everything down now, as they remember it, just get it down. Because, after Gordon, I kept going back over that night, trying to remember exactly what happened, and I thought I was going mad.”
In 1987 Cliff was on duty when the King’s Cross Tube tragedy unfolded. A wooden escalator caught fire, which spread to the ticket hall, killing 31 people and injuring 100 more.
With crewmates he listened in on the radio, waiting to be called to the scene, and heard colleague Station Officer Colin Townsley had died trying to save a victim.
In 1988 Cliff was at the Clapham Rail crash, in which 35 people died and more than 100 were injured. He pulled bodies from the mangled wreckage.
He says: “By 1990, I was at the height of my addiction to adrenaline surges. I felt untouchable, bulletproof and indestructible. Death had become routine. I felt immune.
“I’d been to hundreds of incidents protected by the other firefighters, our equipment, skill and experience. I developed a method to cope – a mental filing system.
“Any tragedy became a record card, tucked away in the back of my mind. But the real impact was burying itself under the surface.”
The turning point was on December 20, 1991. Called to a blaze at a house in Ilford, Cliff and his crew discovered a three-yearold boy was trapped in an upstairs bedroom. His parents were being held back, screaming.
Cliff recalls in the book how he battled through smoke and flames to reach the unconscious child, then carried him out.
He began CPR, praying for an ambulance to arrive, but none appeared. Then he felt a pulse and thought he’d got the lad back. A police car rushed them to hospital but then he heard a doctor say: “That’s it. Time of death is 21:34 hours.”
Cliff says: “I couldn’t speak – I just couldn’t take it in. I’d saved him…”
Consumed by grief he went to visit Gordon’s parents, Kim and Reggie, their older son Karl and daughter Karlene, and gran Betty, and attended the funeral.
He goes on: “They welcomed me into their home and thanked me for trying to save Gordon’s life. But I couldn’t let go of what had happened. It was the start of a decade of soul searching and questioning.
“As professional firefighters, we weren’t expected to show our feelings; it was just our job. I was 25 and had my whole life and career ahead of me. But what happened to Gordon floored me. I felt like a failure.”
Cliff became “irrational, temperamental and cruising out of control” until one night he reached crisis point and his parents took him to A&E for psychiatric help. He was referred to a consultant, an expert in grief, and diagnosed with PTSD.
Despite a month off sick and then on office duties, he became withdrawn, angry, on edge and depressed. In 1992 he was declared “permanently unfit for duty” and left the fire service.
“Had I fallen through a roof and shattered my thigh bone, everyone would understand,” he says. “But a psychological wound was a sign of weakness, and that equalled failure in the eyes of some. It took years for attitudes to change.”
Cliff still has two recurring anxiety dreams about his old job – but not about that night in 1991.
“I don’t need to dream about Gordon because I think about him every day,” says Cliff. “He is always there in my mind.”
Falling Through Fire is published by Mirror Books, £7.99. Order at mirrorcollection. co.uk or call 0845 143 0001