WE’VE GOT NO GAS

On Wednesday evening, 16th December my wife and I were entertained by friends Mark and Jill. It was a great night but it finished rather too late, as I had a busy day planned for Thursday.

At about seven thirty the next morning, with a slight hangover, I ran the shower and left it to warm-up. Meanwhile Lita, my wife, went down stairs to make tea. “Have you been messing with the Aga. It’s gone out?” she called up to me.

“No!” I replied, “leave it for now; I will look at it when I’ve had my shower.”

“You must have messed with it, it doesn’t normally go out!” She was back upstairs now.
‘She is always ready to jump to my defence?’ I thought.

“I haven’t messed with it,” I protested, “I will look at it when I have had a shower;
Oh No! The shower doesn’t seem to be getting hot!”

I checked the boiler and the Aga, neither of them were working. The pilot light to the gas fire had also gone out. It must be the gas, I thought? Living in Bidford we are used to power cuts, we get them on average every three or four weeks, they sometimes go on for days on end but I have never had a gas cut before.

I phoned our neighbours and enquired about their heating. Ingrid said that her boiler had gone out and Peter was in the cellar, trying to re-light it. Not an easy job with a sore head from last night. I said that I thought it was the same problem we had, WE’VE GOT NO GAS.

“What do we do about that,” Ingrid asked,

“I really don’t know,” I replied, “it is not a situation I have had to deal with before? I will ring the gas board; no, it’s not called that anymore, is it?”

As I looked up the number of British Gas, I remembered the problem we had when we moved into Bidford, nine years earlier. I then rang The Gas Board number from the phone book. It was a Solihull number, I asked them to transfer the supply to us.

“Did you say Bidford-On-Avon” I was asked, “Only we don’t supply gas there?”

“Well,” I replied, “There is some smelly stuff that comes out of a pipe, and you can light it, I am pretty sure it is gas.”

“Are you sure it’s not bottled gas?” I was asked

“Positive” I replied, “There is a gas meter, if that is any help to you!”

“Does it have any numbers on it,” she asked, “You should ring our Bath office,” she said, after I gave her the meter details. Bath is more than three times as far away as Solihull!

That all happened when there was only The Gas Board, I was dreading the thought of having that conversation now that there are many Gas Companies.

With that previous phone conversation in mind, I thought I must make sure I get the correct phone number, so I checked my gas bill.

On the front-page of my gas bill, right at the top in a prominent position, is an 0645 phone number; ‘For Bill enquiries only.’ Under this number it said for all other enquiries please see overleaf.

On the back of the bill, there were numbers for moving home, moving your gas supplier, meter readings, leaks etc. and then it said, for all other enquiries call the number on the front of the bill.

I rang the number, and got through to an automated answering service. “Please listen to this entire message before selecting the service you require.”

After listening to the menu on offer, I pressed 5, for any other enquiries.

“You are through to our ‘other enquiries service.’ If you would like to return to the previous menu press 1; alternatively, if you really wish to spend a fortune on you phone bill, please hang on for as long as you can afford!”

After a long wait, I decided to press 5 again and was instantly connected to a real live person!

“This is the British Gas enquiry line, my name is June, and how may I help you?”

‘You could shorten your introduction I thought, that would save on my phone bill.’ No I must be positive.
“I haven’t got any gas” I said,

“Would you like to apply for a gas supply?” June asked,

“No!” I said, “I had gas yesterday, I don’t have any today.”

“Have you checked that it has not been turned off” she asked,

“Yes,” I said, “the meter is turned on, my boiler is not working, my gas fire is not working, my cooker is not working, my neighbours boiler is not working, and nor is their cooker, WE’VE GOT NO GAS!”

“Is it due for service?” she enquired,

“No!” I replied, “It would be most unusual if five appliances all expired at the same time because they were all in desperate need of a service!”

“Do you think there has been an interruption of supply?”

“I think there has been an interruption of something”

“Right, I will go through a few safety features with you,” she continued,

“Safety features?” I asked, “What for?”


If you have an interruption of supply, you have to go through the safety features.” she said,

“Right, OK!”

“Is your gas meter in a cellar?” she asked

“Yes” I said,

“Right, in that case, this is an emergency situation and you must not touch it.” she said

“Why not?”

“Any room below ground level, such as a cellar can fill up with gas and become a hazard; it will be dangerous to go down there”

“Umm. Well, when I say the gas meter is in a cellar, we call it our cellar, but it is at ground level. We live in a very unusual house you see” I said

“Right, in that case,” she said, “go to the meter and turn the gas off. Don’t turn any lights on or off; don’t strike any matches, don’t smoke, don’t do this, don’t do that and don’t spend any longer than you have to in the room with the meter.”

“Look!” I said, “There is absolutely no point in any of this. WE’VE GOT NO GAS!

“Yes, but we have to go through the safety precautions when there is an emergency,” she said.

“Arr! So you think it is an emergency then?” I said,

“No, but it might be.”

“You agree it might be an emergency?”

“No, I have got to prepare myself, in case it is an emergency!” she countered, “But I am not agreeing with you that it is an emergency, or even could be!”

“Look, I am phoning you because we’ve got no gas. There is no point in turning the meter on or off, smoking or not smoking, turning lights on or off, WE’VE GOT NO GAS!!”

“We have to go through the safety procedures, before we can do anything else. Will you make sure you carry them out?” she insisted, “Please turn the gas off now.”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!; I have done all that!”

“You could not have done it all that quickly,” she said

“I’ve done it, I’ve done it. Look, let’s assume that I’ve done it, will you?”

“I have got to know that you have done it!” she said sternly


“How could you possibly know whether I have done it, or not?” I noticed my voice getting higher.

“You have to be away from the phone long enough to turn it off.”

“Right, Look, this phone is next to my cellar, I am now reaching into the room. I can just touch the meter. I have now reached the handle. I am turning it, the gas is now turned off! Happy?”

“NO! Go and turn the gas off at the meter, NOW!”

“It’s OFF, It’s OFF, It’s OFF; I’ve turned the bloody thing off!! Right! Now what do we do?”

“You now wait for our engineer to arrive. He will be with you within the hour.”

“Urrh. You are going to send someone round, are you?” I asked,

“Yes. For a gas leak! We always send an engineer within the hour when a gas leak is reported.”

“We haven’t got a gas leak, WE’VE GOT NO GAS!
You have not at any time agreed with me that we’ve got no gas. Have you had any reports from other people in Bidford that they are without gas?”

With an audible sigh, she said, “What’s your postcode?”

“B50 4Blah Blah” I replied

“Just one moment,” said June,

‘did de did de did de did’ I was treated to ‘The Archers’ signature tune whilst she was away. That’s the longest running soap opera in the world; I thought ‘how appropriate.’
She was gone quite a long time, ‘I wonder if she’s gone to the toilet,’ I thought to myself.

“I have checked with my boss,” she came back to me, “and you have an incident.”

“I have an incident?” I enquired,

“There has been an incident in B50,” she replied

“An incident?” I enquired again, “What sort of an incident?”

“There has been an incident in B50.” she repeated, “That is all I can say. We shall deal with it as soon as we can. We are calling engineers to your area from all over the country to deal with it.”

“That is gratifying to know,” I said, “thank you for your help.”

I went next door to my neighbour’s house to inform them of the incident. There was a Transco Van outside. My neighbours were debating whether to light their open fire. I said that there did not seam much point as they were both off to work soon. Isn’t it funny that as soon as something happens to break your routine, your common sense seams to leave you!

When I returned to the street, there were now five Transco Vans outside, ‘They seem to be taking this seriously, I thought to myself, ‘Perhaps they will get it sorted!’ I returned home.

I went out again a short time later, and to my amazement I was able to count twenty six Transco Vans and lorries, some with trailers. They were all parked in Church Street, which normally just about holds 12 cars.

Church Street is virtually a cull-de-sac because at its end is a no-entry sign. Can you imagine the scene as about a dozen transit vans, most of them with trailers; try to turn round in the space at the end of the street where it would be difficult to park more than three or four of them? Down in The High Street there was another forty or so and the main village car park was overflowing with Transco Vans.

Out of these vans came lots and lots of jolly workmen, all in their Transco uniforms of blue trousers and jumpers, some also had high-viz yellow dayglow, bodywarmers on top. They all looked very smart but were they doing anything?

Nothing seemed to be happening, other than lots of drinks were being poured from a variety of flasks and numerous sandwiches were being consumed. Most of the men appeared to be talking on mobile phones.

The only other activity happened when a particular lorry opened its roller shutter tailgate, to reveal boxes of fan heaters and electric hot plates stacked from floor to ceiling. A huge crowd of women seamed to appear from nowhere, and descended on the lorry. They stripped it bare in what could only be just a few short seconds. It was like a plague of locusts stripping the leaves off a tree. They dispersed as quickly as they had appeared, carrying their booty with them.

Anyway, I had things to do and people to see, I had to go to Birmingham, so I did just that. On my return in the early dusk of the late afternoon, The scene was what I imagine the set of a Hollywood war film would look like; I was half expecting Bruce Willis in his string vest to appear from one of the vehicles. Bidford’s first ever Christmas lights gave the whole scene a strange air of unreality.

There were dozens and dozens of Transco vans and lorries, some of them parked but most of them moving. There were flashing lights and lots of noise and uniformed people with clipboards every where. Had the Martians landed I wondered? No they would not have clipboards!

There was a lone BT van, with a lone BT man, up the BT pole next to the Church Hall. I presumed he was setting up a telephone for the Church Hall which I saw now had a smart new sign saying “TRANSCO INCIDENT ROOM”. This was going to be a long job I thought.

Whilst I was out and about, I heard on the local radio that there was an interruption of gas supply in Bidford; the radio said that an incident room had been set up in Icknield Street. I thought that was funny because I live in Icknield Street and not only had I heard nothing, but all questions aimed at any of the officials I had seen in the morning, had received a shrug of the shoulders as a reply.

Now I had returned in the late afternoon, I thought it would be a good time to find out what exactly was “The Incident” before most other people returned from their work. As we approached the ‘Transco Incident Room’ we were prevented from entering by a mountain of a man in a new Transco uniform, he was probably a nightclub bouncer drafted in especially.

He was the size of a brick built outhouse and he completely filled the doorway to the church hall. With a deep gravely voice and a very menacing tone, he said,
“Can I ‘elp you?”

I enquired, “This is the incident room?”

“Yes”

“We have come to find out what is happening.”

“There is nothing happening at the moment” was the curt reply.

“Well I can see that nothing is happening here,” I said, “ but the village is over-run with Transco vans and Transco men, our gas supplies have ceased and nobody seams to know what is going on. Can you tell me what the situation is?”

“We’ve Got No Gas,” he said

“Yes,” I replied, “That reminds me of a conversation I had on the ‘phone about nine hours ago, but can somebody tell me what is the problem. What else can you tell me?”

“There has been an incident,” he appeared to use up all his intellect to say the words. “It will take some time to put the gas back on.”

“Some time?” I questioned, “What does ‘Some time’ mean? An other five minutes, several hours, a few weeks or months? Or even Years? You don’t know how long? What are we supposed to do about cooking or heating in the mean time?”

“If you go and see that man over there,” He pointed with his huge hands to another huge man, this one had three gold ‘ear rings’ in each eyebrow, “He will take your name and address.”

“For what purpose?” I enquired

“He will fix you up with a heating appliance.” was the reply

I spoke to ‘Three Earrings’ and asked him “What can you tell me?”

He said “We will give you a hot plate and a fan heater. We are expecting a load at three O’clock.”

“It is now quarter to five.” I said

“Well, nothing goes quite according to plan does it?”

As he said that, a hired van turned up, packed to the gunnels with hot plates and fan heaters. After the locusts had again had their fill, we were given one of each from what remained. We returned home to contemplate the evening ahead.

‘Wow, I thought to myself, there must be well over a hundred Transco vans here and they are also now hiring vans in. This must be costing a fortune.’

Having missed my morning shower I was now feeling a bit sticky so to improvise a water heater, we set up the new hot plate on the top landing of the stairs and proceeded to boil saucepans of water for a bath. Having experienced an unusual day, the hot bath was very relaxing; without any central heating, it seemed a good idea to have an early night.

I was woken by a loud noise, I looked at the clock, it was 12:30 am. The noise came again, a loud banging on our front door. “Whatever they are selling, I’m not buying it,” I said to my wife, and turned over to go back to sleep.

The banging got louder and more persistent, so feeling completely disorientated I wrapped a bath towel round me and went down to answer the door.

“Transco Sir,” two men greeted me, “We have come to turn your boiler on.”

“I can do that myself in the morning.” I said, “once the gas is back on.”

“We have to check that your boiler is working properly, Sir.”

“But it’s automatic,” I said, “It will come on itself when you press the button.”

“We still have to check it Sir,” I was informed, “it’s regulations.”

I led them to our boiler; I pressed the button, the boiler ignited. The two men shone their torches at it and agreed with me, the boiler was working.

“Thank you Sir,” they said, “Now what about the little old lady next door, do you know if she has a gas boiler?”

“She is not little," I said, "And she is certainly not old,”
“She does have a boiler, its in an out building. She is away at the moment but I do have a key.”

I struggled into a pair of shoes and led them round to the back of the house next door. Having satisfied themselves that her boiler was fine, they bid me fair well. It was only then I realised that I was standing in a neighbours back garden at one o’clock in the morning, in the middle of December, naked apart from a towel round my waist.

Our gas was off for about 17 hours, it was another three days before everybody in the village was reconnected.

Since “The Incident,” or boiler has been playing up.

The only time that it will work perfectly well, is when the repair man comes to fix it so he cannot find the problem! At all other times it only works intermittently. The whole ‘incident’ reminds me of the old Flanders and Swann song, “The gas man cometh,” How right they were.

Roy Aylmer Bidford-on-Avon December 1998