SOME were wearing smart blazers with badges denoting what they once did for a living. A few were leaning heavily on walking sticks, their legs and hips showing the wear and tear of their years. Fortunately the sun was shining, as the Glasgow Necropolis, historic as it may be, can be a dreich place, high on a hill-top, when the weather whips evilly around the graves.

Amongst these pensioners were the serving officers, shoes shiny black with the lustre only a daily polish can produce, and with medals on their tunics. Not soldiers though, but firefighters, who had followed the path round to the back wall of the Necropolis, as they do every year, to stand at the elegant grey granite Fire Service Memorial, and remember the seven men killed in mere minutes at a warehouse fire in Kilbirnie Street, a nondescript industrial zone near the train-tracks heading to Central Station, in 1972. Seven men - brothers, husbands, fathers - who had gone to work that morning and never returned home.

It was a Friday morning that August when crews were called to a blaze in the attic at a Sher Brothers' cash-and-carry, full of stock. Firemen - there were only male firefighters then - began tackling the blaze, but the flames spread through hidden voids in the walls leaving the men dangerously exposed as flames flared all around them. Divisional Officer Andrew Quinn ordered his men out of the building, but a quick roll call showed that one man was still inside. Fireman James Rook had become trapped below a pile of falling stock.

So it was either leave him to die or try a rescue operation.

This is the part of the sad story that makes you look inside yourself. At a time when your brain is screaming at you that you should run as fast as you can from flames, Glasgow firemen decided to do the opposite. How many of us can honestly say we would have done the same?

The first attempt ended with firemen pulling out due to exhaustion. Andrew Quinn led the second attempt himself, and they found James Rook, and began leading him to safety. But at that point the first floor ceiling, made of hardwood, burst into flames causing what firefighters call a flashover. The heat measured over 500 degrees Celsius. The six rescuers and the injured fireman died where they stood.

Outside, crews from around the city stood and wept for their colleagues.

The deaths were sorely felt by the whole city. Thousands stood silently on the pavements when six of the seven were buried at the crypt below the memorial in the Necropolis. The city was grieving because this was the second large loss of life in the Glasgow Fire Service in living memory. A fire in a whisky bond at Cheapside Street 12 years earlier killed 14 firemen and five members of the Salvage Corps.

The pain for the families did not end there. The widows were told that they had to leave their homes within four weeks as they lived in fire service flats which would be needed for new firemen. They were to be strewn around the city in council housing just at the time when they needed the strength and support of each other.

The public generously gave money but it was diverted to the national benevolent fund for firemen and not to the families themselves who had to make do with meagre pensions. Remember, this was before the national firemen's strike, and wages were quite pitiful, so pensions were not any better. Inexplicably the Lord Provost of Glasgow at the time said there was no need for fundraising as Glasgow looked after its own, whatever that fatuous statement meant.

However while the authorities may have let the families down, the fire service at a local level tried not to. The medals and uniforms suggests quite a military organisation, but that is more a reflection of the discipline that is required when people are facing such dangerous situations. In reality it is more of a family. Welfare officers ensure that the families and widows of firefighters are not forgotten, inviting them to gatherings, summer trips, and Christmas lunches. Once a member of the family, you remain a member, even though like all families there may be the occasional fall-out and disagreement.

And nor are the dead forgotten. The Necropolis is of course full of grand statues and memorials to the dead of Victorian Britain, but in truth the dead themselves are rarely remembered. Not so with the Fire Service which is why every year on the anniversary of the Kilbirnie fire and indeed on the anniversary of the Cheapside blaze, a simple service is held at the memorial with wreaths laid from the service, the council, the union, charities and individuals.

The families of the men are invited, and former colleagues know the date by heart and turn up every year. No one from the family which owned Sher Brothers makes an appearance, but as a retired fireman tells me, they would not be welcome. Emotions are still heavily felt even after 44 years.

Deputy Assistant Chief Officer John Miller, who spoke at the memorial, reflected that each day, men and women in the service put their own lives at risk to save the lives of others. "But the past shapes who we are," he says. The lessons learned after Cheapside Street and Kilbirnie Street led to safer ways buildings were constructed, and more robust procedures for tackling fires. Since Kilbirnie Street there has never been any multiple deaths amongst fire crews in Scotland.

After brief but moving speeches, a guard of honour, and a lone piper, the former firemen join the serving members and go for tea and sandwiches at a local fire station where tall tales are told of their days in the service.

But this time next year they will be back, and the year after that. It really was a privilege to join them on that quiet graveyard corner last week.