On Friday night, tragedy struck the fire service in Warwickshire. The same evening, Owen Amos went on the road with Darlington Fire Brigade's Red Watch - and it wasn't short of incident

IT is cold and dark and a gang of teenage boys in tracksuits are hurling rocks at me.

Welcome to the fire brigade. Ten minutes earlier, the alarm went off at Darlington fire station and Red Watch sprinted from the gym, pulling on uniforms as they ran. We got in the engine, and sped through town. I could hear my heart beat.

We sailed through traffic lights and zoomed across roundabouts. Cars pulled over as our flashing blue lights bounced off bus shelters. A pretty girl, holding hands with her man, stopped to wave as we tore passed Sainsbury's. We waved back. This was brilliant.

There were four firemen: driver and crew manager at the front, others in the back. The journalist was also in the back, struggling to loosen his helmet strap.

The mood was relaxed. We were five minutes from the fire, but they still took the mick out of each other's hair, age, or cooking. No point being tense, they said. Besides, they know what is waiting - a bonfire lit in bushes on the edge of town. In early November, it is routine.

The fire was under control seconds after we arrived. At least 15 teenagers gathered round - most clutched three-litre plastic bottles, half empty, with labels peeled off. Did they start it?

"Put it this way - it's not mice with matches,"said Dave Saunders, crew manager.

Fire engines and firemen are exciting. Just ask the girl walking past Sainsbury's. Problem is, they're perfect entertainment on a cold Friday night. The blue lights illuminate the evening, literally and figuratively. And a 999 call is cheaper than a bottle of cider. The lads in tracksuits asked why the fire was put out but, of course, they knew. They just wanted to chat. Dave explained anyway - calm, reasoned, and humorous. The fire starters liked him, though they would not admit it.

One lad, spotting my journalist's clothes, asked who I was. "If you put us in the paper, we'll hunt you down," he said. Something to look forward to.

As we walked away, older lads in tracksuits arrived. A rock - the size of a tennis ball, but not as soft - was thrown. Then another. Then another.

Dave told his team to put their helmets back on. I hadn't taken mine off.

Dave walked back, alone, and asked the lads to explain. Most mumbled and swigged from their bottles. They wanted confrontation - they weren't getting it. This was the fourth time in two weeks that crews from Darlington had been attacked, either verbally or with missiles. I asked Dave, a fireman for 20 years, whether it was becoming more common.

"I think it is," he said. "The kids are drinking more. It's not as bad as some places, such as Toxteth or Bradford, nothing like that, but I think it's getting worse."

We left the lads to their cider and rocks. "See you in ten minutes," they yelled. "Your wife's a dirty cow," someone added, helpfully.

We went to another bonfire, in another part of town. Again, we were met by teenagers clutching booze. I kept my helmet on.

As I watched the firemen at work, a group of teenage girls surrounded me. They too clocked my outfit, but came to a different conclusion. The girls - bless them - thought I was in charge. I didn't suggest otherwise.

"Can I have your number?" they asked, repeatedly. "You're really fit," said one. Well, it was dark and they were drunk. Also, big yellow helmets are great for covering bald spots.

As we drove off, one teenage lad was determined to keep up. "Slow down," said Paul Hutchinson, Red Watch's glamour boy. "Make him run all the way to town."

Our next call was to a disused factory, where a fire alarm was sounding. From there, it was two more bonfires. At one, a group of impressed lads watched the firemen pick through the embers.

This group was more interested in which football team we supported than chucking rocks. I kept my helmet on anyway. Otherwise, they might have thought I was a journalist.

I had picked a busy night: early November, unsurprisingly, is the fire brigade's busiest period. Weekends - when teenagers' minds turn to drink and bother - especially so.

"Since October 15, we have had about 50 fires,"

said district manager Colin Bage. "Only seven of those were bonfires. Most fires are what we call secondary fires: people leave their rubbish out, their old settees and things, and kids get them and set fire to them. I don't like us dealing with them because it takes us away from proper emergencies. Bonfire Night is a 400 or 500-year-old tradition, and we don't want to end that. We don't want to spoil people's fun. But we can't ignore fires just because it's Bonfire Night."

And people aren't always grateful when their fires are extinguished.

"Darlington isn't as bad as other places for abuse," said Mr Bage. "It does happen though. In the past two weeks, we've had two or three incidents, one involving stones and bricks.

Throwing bricks at a firefighter is a bit off, really."

By 9pm, we were at the station and my shift was over. Red Watch, who also started at 5pm, didn't finish until 8am. That evening, while we put out bonfires, at least four firemen died in Warwickshire, fighting a blaze in a vegetable packing warehouse. It could have been Red Watch.

It could have been any brigade.

Before the warehouse, those firefighters were probably getting stick from jarred-up teenagers.

The job is dangerous enough: in the past ten years, 12 British firefighters have died on duty.

They don't need, or deserve, grief from daft, drunk, teenage lads.

With thanks to Darlington Fire Station's Red Watch: watch manager Sarah Nattrass, crew managers Dave Saunders and Dave Glendenning and Chris Walker, Paul Hutchinson, Craig Jewkes, Alan Hobson, Nick Hall, Marc Strover, Keith Wilshere, and Dave Solly.