It would be hard to picture a more peaceful scene. The late-afternoon sun is shedding a warm, golden light on Long Sands beach near Tynemouth, England. Most day-trippers have left, but a few local kids are messing about on a rocky outcrop at the far end of the bay. It's an idyllic spot.
Suddenly, the radio cracks into life; there's an emergency. Michael Davy and Peter Lilley of the Tynemouth Volunteer Life Brigade (TVLB) hare off down the beach and up on to the main road in their Coast Guard-blue 110, sirens blaring and every light on the Defender flashing and blinking.
I've come to spend a day with members of the Tynemouth Volunteer Life Brigade to find out what they get up to with their fully kitted-out Defender. Naturally, I'm hoping to be on board when the blue lights and sirens are needed--a "shout," in emergency services vernacular. I'm also very interested to find out about these dedicated crews who willingly give up countless hours to help protect and rescue the public.
The rendezvous for the day is the brigade's fascinating watch house, complete with its own lookout tower. The wooden building is perched right on top of a cliff, where the northern shore of the River Tyne meets the North Sea. It's a spectacular vantage point with commanding views of the whole estuary.
Two shining examples of maritime...
Two shining examples of maritime safety.
The brigade's 110 lives in a tiny garage next door to the watch house, but it's maintained and serviced by Cheviot 4x4 down the road in North Shields.
I meet up with Michael Davy, one of the three brigade section captains; and Peter Lilley, who's on patrol with him today. Michael's day job is assistant manager in the Wallsend branch of McDonald's, and Peter is a criminology student. Talk about diverse walks of life.
Before we begin patrolling the brigade's "patch," an 8-mile stretch from Tynemouth to Whitley Bay, Michael and Peter unpack and check all the emergency gear. It has to work the first time; it could be a matter of life or death.
The Land Rover is also given a daily check. It's a 2002 Td5, bought as a one-year-old ex-demonstrator from a local dealer. It really looks the business, with a huge hydraulic capstan winch up front, lights everywhere, a massive roof rack and white eight-spoke wheels with big, fat all-terrain tires that are ideal on the beach. Michael turns the VHF radio on and signs in with the Coast Guard to let them know the team is on patrol. The radio is also monitoring Channel F1, used by the lifeguards who are already stationed on the popular local beaches.
As we amble up the coast, Michael explains a little more about the organization: "The brigade is divided into three sections--Red, White and Blue--with a section leader in charge of each one. They're named after three of the roles that each section performed in the deployment of the breeches buoy (rope and harness-style) ship-to-shore rescue equipment. I'm one of the three captains in joint control of the entire brigade as well as ambulance liaison officer. That means I get to drive the Defender a lot, which is great."
There are 37 members on call, with about 27 of them regularly out on active duty. New members undergo a six-month training programme, covering first-aid, use of breeches-buoy gear, climbing and abseiling.
Seven burly blokes with latex...
Seven burly blokes with latex gloves tying him up tightly? It's the author's favorite-ever assignment.
It's mid-morning and there's nothing much happening on the beaches and bays. Both Peter and Michael scan the view with an expert eye, looking for any signs of alarm or people in potentially dangerous situations. They remind me of Sir David Attenborough surveying a colony of penguins. Nothing misses their gaze.
Traveling north, they spot some kids on rocks a few yards away from the beach but, after a few seconds, they know that no one's in any trouble and we carry on towards Whitley Bay, the far end of the patrol.
So, what's the weirdest rescue the pair have been out to?
"Someone nicked one of the big swan paddle boats from the boating lake," Michael says, "and went for a drunken midnight cruise and got into difficulties. On another occasion, we were called out to recover a coffin floating offshore; it turned out to be a surfboard with beer crates on it."
Not all call-outs are as frivilous. In 2007 the brigade answered 133 call-outs, including many instances where people were in genuine peril and very glad to see the 110.
We reach Whitley Bay and drive across the causeway to the lighthouse, passing dozens of day-trippers enjoying the morning sun. Grandparents and kids explore the rock pools, seagulls squabble over scraps and all is well with the world (unless you're the seagull who missed out on the scraps). We retrace our route to the main road. As soon as we reach it, a call comes in concerning a group of children cut-off by the tide. The Defender takes off, sirens blaring, lights flashing. Michael drives with experienced skill, while Peter gets more information over the radio. Within a couple of minutes we pull up behind a police car parked above the cliff. A member of the public has called in about the children we saw playing on the rocks half-an-hour ago.
It's a false alarm: the kids are in no danger and are having a fun time. However, the tide is about to turn, so Peter goes on to the beach and persuades the lads to come in. "A lot of our call-outs are like this," says Michael, "but of course, we always respond as quickly as possible."
We spend the rest of the day patrolling between King Edward's Bay, Tynemouth Long Sands, Cullercoats Bay and Whitley Bay and then back again. All four beaches have their own lifeguards but they're on duty only between 9 a.m. and 6 p.m. The TVLB never sleeps.
The day is now well spent and it's almost time for me to be the casualty in this evening's training session. We drive on to the beach and find a suitable spot at the foot of the cliff. We're joined by several other brigade members who've turned out to help Michael and Peter tie me to a stretcher and cart me off the beach. Apparently, it's a vitally important training exercise. Personally, I just think it's an elaborate ploy to make me look a proper charlie (although I don't usually need this much help). The scenario is that I've taken a tumble down the cliffs and fallen among the rocks; all too realistic, given that the next exercise involves me abseiling down the same cliff.
Everyone takes the whole thing very seriously, reflecting the professionalism and expertise of the brigade; I even have to lie on the rocks in a crumpled heap before they place me on the spinal injuries board, brace my neck, secure my "broken" leg in an inflatable splint, and finally strap me on to the stretcher.
Hundreds of people every year...
Hundreds of people every year are hugely relieved to see this heading straight for them.
Suddenly, though, Michael and Peter jump into the Defender to answer a "shout." At first I suspect an elaborate joke--but it's real. A lifeboat from the Royal National Lifeboat Institution has gone to the aid of a child who got his foot stuck in a lobster pot--apparently while trying to steal lobsters. The RNLI team place the boy in the brigade's care until the ambulance arrives. He's OK, although he gets an earful from his parents, the lifeboat crew, and not least, the lobster pot owner.
Fortunately, it doesn't take long to sort out and Michael and Peter are back in time to meet all of us at the top of the cliff to get ready for the abseiling training. From the beach, the cliff looks quite small, no more than 40 feet. From the top, it looks a lot higher--and I can't stop staring at the massive rocks at the base, which are quite capable of providing an extremely hard landing.
"You'll be wearing the big pants," says Michael. `Pardon?' I reply. `That's what we call the abseiling training harness,' Michael smiles. They look like the type of bright orange shorts that might be worn by a professional beer drinker in a drinking competition in a bierkeller in the Austrian Tyrol. At least there's no danger of me wetting myself as I half-stumble/half-slip over the edge.
To my great surprise, once I get my limbs to function properly I really enjoy the all-too-brief descent. Call me foolhardy, but I quite fancy having another go. Sadly, though, there isn't time: the light is fading fast and it's time to pack up and leave.
It's been a really interesting and inspiring day. The Tynemouth Volunteer Life Brigade is a fine body of men and women, who uphold a proud tradition of service and courage. Its Land Rover Defender plays a central role in the brigade's work and, like the crews, it's always on call.
If you find yourself in the area you really ought to visit the brigade watch house, which is also a superb little museum, packed with information and fascinating artifacts. To find out more, see tvlb.org.
The Defender carries an impressive amount of specialist kit:
* Ambulance bag--containing oxygen and mask
* Defibrillator and oxygen pack (red)
* Tow line, helmets, climbing gear, harnesses
* Abseil lines
* Generator
* Survival blanket
* Two stretchers
* Spinal injury board and head support
* Angle grinder--to deal with locks and gates
* Spotlights
* Dozen hand-held torches
* Smoke and flares
* Spades
* Flashing LED bike lights
Tynemouth Volunteer Life Brigade
The TVLB is one of only three volunteer life brigades of its kind in the country; the other two are in nearby Sunderland and South Shields. It was founded in 1864 in response to the tragic loss of life when two ships were wrecked within yards of the shore during the same violent storm.
Initially, the brigade was trained to use a breeches buoy, a rocket-launched system of ropes and pulleys designed to rescue shipwreck survivors. In recent years, its role has expanded to include search and rescue, both on the shoreline and occasionally further inland. From the outset, the brigade worked closely with the Coast Guard and can claim to be the foundation of the Auxiliary Coast Guard Service, recently renamed the Coast Guard Rescue Service. The brigade is on call 24 hours a day, every day of the year, to the North East Ambulance Service, Northumbria Police, Tyne and Wear Fire and Rescue Service, and RAF Squadron 202 to assist in their search-and-rescue work.