By NORAH CREAGHAN

"The fire station just isn't the tame since 'Bill' and 'Doll' retired in 1938" said Hugh O'Neill, assistant city fire chief, as he recalled the days of the horse-drawn ladder wagons, the clang of hand-operated fire bells and steady clop, clop of steel shoes on cobblestone and gravel.

Bill and Doll were fire horses and regular city celebrities in the 30s. Children especially were faithful admirers as the two animals, panting with excitement, waited at the scene of fires. Tourists called in at the station during their stay in the city to inspect, is they termed it, the equipment but actually to admire the gay-spirited horses; 'Bill' and his faithful mare companion Doll'.

When the fire whistle shrieked it's clarion call throughout the city the fire station crew went into action. While one fireman scanned he station's alarm ticker tape for the location of the alarm, the driver, O'Neill, pulled a ring on the floor, releasing Bill and Doll from their stalls to the rear of the building.

The four-footed 'firemen' got rigged with their harness, hinge collars and reins, then, with O'Neill atop the driver's seat, galloped off to the scene of the blaze amid the clanging of bells and jingling of harness. Big Bill was white as snow while Doll sported a brown coat that glistened in the sunlight. Both straining at the huge harness tugs, with butter-fat rumps swaying in rhythm with their spirited gait. Bill and Doll put on an impressive show whenever they appeared in public.

Bill was energetic and a 'natural' fire horse. He would pull for all his worth, especially up the steep hills and really get angry at his companion for not speeding up to his pace. Now and then he would give vent to his anger and bite her on the neck as though to say "Hurry up, Doll, quit lagging -we've got work to do". Doll, on the other hand, was more reserved and, while she went out with the wagon she didn't seem to take the same interest or show the same enthusiasm for the work as Bill displayed. However, the horses pulled the heavy ladder wagon for years through sunshine and over icy roads through breath-cutting storms. It didn't matter to them; they did their job efficiently.

Bill was the playful one, according to his former driver, Hugh O'Neill. He said that Bill would follow the men around the fire station, putting his face against theirs whenever he caught up. Hugh, better known as "Hood", recalls one incident when one of the call firemen held out a lemon instead of his daily treat of candy to Bill. The horse was so sensitive about the matter he kept clear of his "tormentor" for over a week.

Another happening foremost in Hood's mind concerns three women tourists who came to the station, each with an ice cream cone in her hand. Hood brought the horses out and Bill walked up to one of the visitors, reached for the ice cream and promptly gulped it down much to the surprise of everyone, (except Bill and Hood) especially the woman who "lost" her ice cream cone.

Bill apparently had a craving for buttons as well as candy and ice cream. He actually relished them, much to the consternation of any visitor who stayed near the horse for any length of time. Usually the person was minus a couple of buttons when he left. Being a fire horse of the first order, Bill preferred gold-plated buttons to any other type.

The horses seemed to like people almost as well as the people liked them. They were allowed out of their stalls during the early evening and they would promptly trot to the front of the fire station, then stand and watch the people passing by. Hood said he thought Bill actually laughed at times, his eyes seemed to twinkle as he pranced about, watching the people walk back and forth along King Street.

But the fateful day for Bill and Doll came when they were no longer needed; the age of mechanical power had arrived. The changeover was inevitable - that day in February 1938, when the city installed modern fire engines to replace two weary, yet faithful animals. Doll was taken to the Phoenix Square market place and offered for sale. Her regal appearance soon drew the attention of an interested farmer who purchased her and removed her to his farm located a few miles outside St. Stephen. Doll seemed almost eager to retire; weary of the big wagon she had helped pull through the streets of the expanding city.

Thus an old era passed a way and a new one began.

Bill wasn't anxious to leave his life as a fire horse; apparently the clamor and excitement was in his blood, and had become a part of him down the years. By now he was crowding 23 years of age and was bothered with the heaves so his days were spent quietly in and out of his old stall at the station. Bill was often brought out to see his friends and the "boys" at the station and still had a little bit of the old "horse-play" left. Whenever the fire whistle blew and the truck engines turned over for the run, Bill would get all excited. Hood said he often thought of letting Bill run along beside the truck but abandoned the idea because of the traffic hazard involved.

Bill's once stalwart heart, that had taken him through when the going was tough, finally gave up. They buried him on a hill over-looking the city he had served.

Hood O'Neill always loved horses and when Bill and Doll were "put out to pasture" for good his grief knew no bounds. As he recalls it today: "Those horses even watched the men climbing the ladders, as though fearing for their safety. I never had to touch a whip - they knew what to do and almost where to go. The old fire station just isn't the same without that pair, believe me".