Wherever they looked, bricks and masonry were piled up around them.

Members of the emergency services faced the daunting task of rescuing any survivors buried beneath the rubble of what had been a factory 24 hours earlier.

A group of onlookers stood and watched. Some wept.

But within a few minutes they had moved out of sight unable to cope with the emotion of the tragedy before them.

The man the rescuers turned to was Brian Sweeney.

The firemaster's distinctive white helmet was easily picked out as he paused to share a word of encouragement with firefighters, talk to community leaders or answer questions from the waiting media.

Few firefighters scale the career ladder as swiftly as Mr Sweeney has done over the past six months - deputy firemaster in November, firemaster in February, in charge of a major disaster on Tuesday.

Far from being daunted by the experience, he brought a constant supply of much-needed optimism.

Throughout the day, Mr Sweeney had the same message for the waiting relatives: this was still a rescue operation and there was still hope.

His words carried conviction.

"If there are people alive we will get them out," he said.

Behind him, as he spoke, firefighters and International Rescue Corps personnel swarmed over the roof slope, hammering in wooden footholds in the steep surface, and hacking out holes which, Mr Sweeney explained, were to allow scope cameras to be passed through in order to examine the voids and cavities beneath.

He emphasised that earthquake victims had been known to survive buried for as long as five, six or even seven days. "The operation will last that long if need be," he said.

"I can say to the relatives we have as many firefighters here as we had at the height of the emergency yesterday. We have all the specialist equipment you could imagine.

"We have 80 to 100 people on the ground determined and dedicated. Trust in us."

This was well-ordered, a systematic search. Every so often there would be a call for silence as the rescuers listened for the sounds of trapped survivors.

For hours the emergency workers toiled, lifting the wreckage away brick by brick, then hacking at the heavy asphalt and timber roof, now pausing to lean against the shell of the wrecked building like a dry ski slope.

They had to work in two-hour shifts, digging for only 20 minutes at a time before pausing for a breather. Some succumbed to the heat and required treatment from paramedics. Bottles of water arrived by the pallet-load.

But for two of the rescuers, this was a game. Gemma, a six-year-old border collie and Holly, an 18-month-old black labrador located two survivors on Tuesday night and were brought in a 5am yesterday in response to a knocking sound from within the wreckage.

The dogs wore protective mittens as they padded through the debris. They were sent in one at a time, the second to confirm any scent indicated by the first.

Gemma's handler, Chris Pritchard, from Leicestershire, said the dogs were trained with a reward.

"If they give a positive indication by barking they get a toy - a squeaky ball. It is treated like a game.

"Our dogs stay at home with us and the squeaky toy is a big part of their lives," said Mr Pritchard.

"They are only sent in when an area has been secured and we don't send them anywhere we wouldn't go ourselves."

A few yards away, there were signs of a community pulling together, with the first floral tributes being laid at a makeshift memorial site.

Meanwhile, the work continued into the night.