HORROR CRASHES: "They leave lasting effects on us... the sorts of accidents that see us return home to kiss the wife, cuddle our kids and put our small gripes and grievances into perspective," firefighter Tom Fraser writes.

There has been a spate of horrific car accidents across the South Island recently. Firefighter TOM FRASER describes the impact these have on those who deal with them.

Small yellow dots. Short parallel lines. Uneven circles.

They're created with a quick flick of the wrist with a cheap fluorescent aerosol canister and add colour to an otherwise non-descript country road that is surrounded by lifestyle blocks, cudding cattle and plots of peas.

More dead on our roads: What can we do? Share your stories, photos and videos. Contribute

But they also document the final seconds of a young Canterbury woman's life. She died pointlessly, violently and horrifically.

The motorbike on which she was a passenger collided head-on with a family sedan on a stretch of open country road.

Months on, faded stains of oil and other engine fluids still mark the point of impact. Months on, others injured in the same crash remain in hospital.

It was just one of dozens of accidents our firefighters attend every year, sadly some of which are fatal.

Drivers need to wake up to the realities that their actions have on a large circle of people.

We firefighters call them MVAs - or motor vehicle accidents. Many MVAs are minor. Some are serious. And others are truly horrific. They leave lasting effects on us and the other emergency crews who attend. They're the sorts of accidents that see us return home to kiss the wife, cuddle our kids and put our small gripes and grievances into perspective.

You must also accept that sleep may not come easily that night. Or the night after.

So, excuse my arrogance, but for Pete's sake slow down, buckle up, pay attention and take care on the roads. My mates and I don't want to be the ones cleaning up your mess.

When we drive to the scene of an MVA there's an added tension. We never quite know what to expect. Details from the scene can be terribly confused. But, onboard it's remarkably quiet; the driver weaves through the traffic with precision, the officer in charge (OIC) tells each crew member what their specific role will be. We then prepare ourselves and our equipment.

No crash scene is ever the same. But our response always is; clear and calm.

One of our crew enters the vehicle to provide initial first aid and liaise with the OIC about the condition of the patients, whether they are trapped and if so, how. They'll usually remain in the vehicle liaising with all emergency services, providing immediate first aid.

A hydraulic motor kicks into gear and powers the various rescue tools that are assembled with haste. Muffled sirens indicate the approaching ambulance or police, a whine from the sky indicates the rotors from an approaching rescue helicopter.

We work with urgency. One crew member operates the "cutters" - often referred to as the "jaws of life" - while another crew member uses the "spreaders".

We often use mechanical "rams". The general public would be amazed by the variety of gear we carry and can use to rescue people. This equipment slices and punches through even the toughest metal exterior with ease. They make short work of car roofs, doors, you name it.

Our officer directs us with authority. The responsibility on their shoulders is immense. They work with the paramedics and plan ahead to ensure a speedy, safe extrication. I don't envy their role.

Inside the vehicle though, it's remarkably quiet; we talk to the patient - whether they're conscious or not. We offer reassurance, assist the amazing ambulance staff and protect them with covers and plastic from the violence of the cutting gear operating around them.

It's satisfying - and relieving - to get a patient out of the car. But our work doesn't end there. Some help ambulance staff load patients, others clean up the glass, debris or leaked car fluids. Officers liaise with police.

Then we gather around what is left of the vehicle and debrief. We pick over what we did well, what we could have done better. Always looking for improvements for sadly, we know our skills will be needed again.

We pack up the multitude of rescue equipment, load the appliance and head back to home, work or family life.

Volunteer firefighters in small communities often talk of leaving their homes in the middle of the night to attend a MVA but checking firstly that their own children are tucked up in their beds. Such is the fear that the call they attend could be their own family or friends. Sadly, we often know the people we're there to rescue.

But, no matter who the patient is, how badly injured they are, their nationality or if they're even at fault - we treat them with respect and dignity.

I often return to the scene of a fatal car crash. It's a time to reflect. I talk myself through the sequence of events, analyse our brigade's performance.

There's often a hastily erected cross at the site, but more likely to be photos, flowers and notes written by friends and family. The circle of people affected by the explicit violence of an accident is large. And of course there's skid marks, oil and blood stains, deep gouges in the road surface. Look closely and you'll see crash debris lying by the roadside.

A friend looked shocked when I told them I sometimes take my two older sons to these scenes. Perhaps surprised given they're aged just 9 and 11. But, at what point do we begin driver education? The earlier the better, I argue.

I show my sons the fluorescent markings and what they referred to; the point of impact, fragments of human tissue, a wheel torn from a car. And, 50 metres away the final resting place of a woman whose final seconds were spent hurtling through the mid-summer air.

The boys ask questions, stand quietly. I can see their little minds ticking over, surveying a scene I hope they never have to witness first-hand. Frankly, I'm astonished by their maturity but quietly pleased that my message appears to be getting through.

We watch the cars coming and going and guess their speeds. While a sign reads 65kmh it might as well not be there. Not one driver adheres to the rule.

Tragically, too often, this is how Cantabrians die.

Speed, inattention, booze, no seatbelt.

Think about it today, tomorrow, always. The trail of MVA destruction weaves so much further than the short stretches of country road that witness these horrors.

* Tom Fraser is a firefighter with the Lincoln Volunteer Fire Brigade.