March 12: Fire, fire

There is a park very close to my house, into which I sometimes venture. Today, I heaved my short-of-breath body up the stubborn incline to where it flattens out, and was met with plumes of thick smoke and children standing at the nearby school gates yelling: 'Fire, fire, there's a fire'.
They were right (it must be a good school). It was, indeed, a fire. And quite a big one too. Well, if not that big, then very odd. It looked like it had been started deliberately, with big chunks of wood and old furniture in it, but it was enclosed by four big trees, and was right next to the tennis club (hardly a good place for burning junk, even I know that). And the wind was up. I thought, 'Ohhhh, a few gusts to the left and this fire will engulf the building.'
I didn't know if I was being overly-concerned but others must have been too as someone called the fire brigade.
I watched, as you do, chatting to a man with greyhounds and a Digital SLR (I thought, 'really, you take that dog-walking?'), heard the siren.
The firemen were very efficient. Hopped out. Grabbed the hose. No time for chit-chat with the by-standers. They spent ages putting it out, hopping over fences, dampening down all the timbers to stop it sparking up again.
And that was that. Rolled up their hose. Hats off. Back in their truck. And off. A good day's work, I thought. Saved the tennis club. Saved the trees. I could be a fireman.