In those days, the Fire Brigade was a considerably more useful organisation than it has now become. What with specialisation and union regulations and work to rule plans and demarcation disputes, the service can no longer be relied upon for the purpose of getting kittens down from trees or little boys out of roofs. In those days, they were always the logical persons to summon in the event of such minor emergencies, if only because they seemed to be the only organisation with a ready supply of ladders.
    I was so absorbed in the book that I barely noticed the familiar jangle of fire engine bells until they stopped right outside. For a fleeting moment, I thought maybe they’d set the house on fire to try and smoke me out. I had a vision of my face and body melting in the flames, like the figures at the end of the House of Wax. I couldn’t quite get my attention back to the book until I heard the heavy boots clopping on the floor below.
“Hey, sonny. You comin’ down or have we gotta come up there and get yer?”
I did not reply. It simply meant that time was running out and I began to desperately skim through the last hundred pages of the book.
    Soon enough, I heard them on the roof above and then daylight flooded in as they removed three of the bent and rusted galvanised iron sheets. It plainly wasn’t difficult—the corroded nails popped like machinegun fire and dust poured down upon me everywhere. Finally, one of the men in his blue uniform and polished golden helmet, descended into the gap. I climbed into his arms and the fireman helped me to the ladder. I was able to climb down myself but, on the way, I slipped and dropped the book and it fell in the half-full gutter below. But by then, I was already wondering how I was going to get my hands on Volume Two.