"I can well remember being awoken by my mother in the early
hours of a few Sunday mornings.
"Quick Joseph, get up!" she would shout, "the
building's on fire!!"
The cause was always the same. The alkys living on the top floor
would come home from the pub and put the chip pan on the gas. (fatal)
The fire would always be in the roof of the building, but we all
had to evacuate, sometimes in the pouring rain, into the square in
Savoy St. and wait there in just our night clothes till
the fire brigade had done their job.
As a child, I noticed that the adults were all clutching
biscuit tins under their arms, and my curiosity got the better of me.
My mother told me that the people kept their insurance policies in
these tins, and it was imperative that you grabbed hold of your tin
if you ever had to evacuate the building. (sensible)
On one of these occasions my father was standing with our tin,
gazing up at the flames licking out of the roof. My mother asked
"Shug, where did you get that tin?" "In the
sideboard" he replied.
"Ya bloody eejit!" she screamed, as she clipped him round
the lug. "That's a tin of biscuits!!"
He had grabbed the wrong tin ( I swear this is a true
story. from the early 1960's......Joe)"