with the situation that developed rapidly around them that night. Many had disappeared, exhausted, into shelters, or with one fire seemingly under control, were too tired to know where to turn next. In his book, The City That Wouldn't Die, Basil Collier describes how 'firemen swayed on their feet, still going through the motions of firefighting'. Elsewhere an officer discovered two firemen 'as drugged as men in shock', still clinging to a branch, and he had to punch them into wakefulness. By London Bridge 'two firemen lay asleep in the gutter', while a third sat upright beside them singing Rule Britannia.
The incident at the Surrey Music Hall was one of a number in which firemen lost their lives in London in World  War II. It is better remembered than most because it is recorded in more detail. Despite its particular ferocity it nevertheless describes a situation that must have been repeated, to a greater or lesser extent, all over London on many other nights.
In the past month I have visited almost thirty other sites where multiple deaths occurred, from Maida Vale to Poplar, and from Herne Hill to Woolwich. Sometimes two or three occurred on the same night. A pattern eventually merges which enables one to build up a clearer view of firemen's experiences under attack. Only then is it possible to see beyond the familiar images of silouhettes against the flames, to recreate real people, real places and real events. And yet, and yet...... perhaps in the final analysis, the final words will still be those of one who was there, writer and fireman, William Sansom. The experience is too violent  for the arts to transcribe; there will never be an adequate reportage to convey to posterity a living idea of the truth of such experience. Posterity may indeed speculate on the Battle's trailed miseries, on the histories of courage and endurance, on the vigil before the battle and the tired aftermath, even on the appearance of the battle itself with its reported volumes of shell and blood and tactic - but of the real sensations of the thick of the battle it will know nothing. It cannot. the pace has become too violent, machines move too fast for the nerves' perception, the din outsounds the ear, movements and winds and lights strike with such great impact that this can scarcely be perceived and even then never, neither in the symbols of language nor in the tones of paint, be recorded.                                                                                                                  © Stephanie Maltman 2000