The Firefighter

The moving words of firefighter Ricky Nuttall, a member of the Red Watch at Battersea, in our first print issue.

I’m staring blankly
Frankly I’m broken
My heart can’t be mended
Befriended or woken
An emptiness consumes me
In sorrow I’m soaked
My words can’t be heard
As I’m strangled and choked
As tears stripe each cheek
With a trail of sadness
My soul is stained black
With the screams. With the madness.
The pain of such tragedy
The waste of such life
The death of a husband, his children, his wife. The stairs were too many
My breaths were too few
My body exhausted. Now mentally too.
The silence of death. My smoke stained hair
A hole in my soul that will never repair
The feeling of failure and pride that combine
To leave me confused and abused in my mind My lips wet with tears. I am lost. There’s no plan. Emotionally ruined. 1 broken man.

“I wrote this poem one night at home shortly after the fire. I felt devastated by what had happened, and guilty that we, as firefighters, hadn’t managed to do more to help everyone. The poem was written in about 3 minutes flat. It just fell out of my head. A few months later it became apparent that I was suffering from depression and PTSD from this incident, but with regular counselling provided for free by the London Fire Brigade, I am pleased to say that I am now back in good place. I will never forget Grenfell though, and I continue to work on events within that community in my spare time. Some of the people have become friends.

Words Ricky Nuttall

Illustration Henry Miller Stirling