MOD Accident summary Case Report Ejection History Site The Ejection Site Jerry Ward’s story
I have often been asked to go into more detail about my flying accident, subsequent rescue and rehabilitation, so here goes: January 1996 found me instructing pilots and navigators to fly the Tornado F3 on 56(R) squadron at RAF Coningsby in Lincolnshire.
- Tornado F3
As an Instructor Navigator I regularly flew with student pilots at all stages of their Operational Conversion to the aircraft. January 10th was no different and I was number two in a three aircraft formation on an air-combat mission. The initial part of the sortie was to be a bounce, where one jet was the ‘enemy’ and tried to surprise and shoot down the other two as they transited to the exercise area. After briefing, the bounce aircraft took off first and prepositioned. Myself and the student pilot were number 2 of the remaining pair, and after an uneventful taxi and take-off, proceeded as briefed at 15000 feet. Contact with the bounce aircraft was soon accomplished and the engagement commenced, however after an error of judgement my jet and the bounce aircraft collided wing to wing, almost head-on and with about 1000 mph closure between the two airframes. I was in the lower of the two aircraft shown below and we lost most of the right wing and a fair portion of the tail section. The aircraft immediately spun out of control, rolling at more than 1.5 degrees per second within 1 second of impact. Thankfully I was strapped into a Martin-Baker Mk 10a ejection seat and the pilot was able to initiate our escape sequence from the front cockpit.
- We collided at about 1000 mph
0.4 of a second after the pilot pulled the ejection handle my seat initiated and I was pulled back into the seat as the canopy jettisoned. Shortly after the main gun fired and I accelerated upwards at about 25G during which time my spine was compressed such that my chin rested on my sternum, but the body can handle this. The rockets on the bottom of the seat fired as the seat cleared the aircraft, shooting me well clear of any danger. That should have been that – the seat was stabilised by drogue ‘chutes and then eventually these pulled out the main parachute and I drifted serenely through the next 10,000 feet to land in open fields. But it wasn’t that simple. Because the aircraft was spinning rapidly after the collision my head was thrown out to one side where it met with the 500 mph wind generated by the speed of the aircraft as we collided. The effect was catastrophic. The airflow got under the rim of my flying helmet and my head was ripped backwards. Thankfully a weak joint in the chin-strap parted and the helmet was pulled clear, but the damage was already done.
Meanwhile, down on the ground a young boy was kicking a football round the yard, waiting for the school bus. It was still early morning and there was still a bit of low cloud and mist about on an otherwise clear day. He lived in Digby Fen, not far from RAF Coningsby; a large, flat area of Lincolnshire basically in the middle of nowhere. Looking up for a moment he saw one of the aircraft crash into the ground and ran indoors to tell his mum and dad. John, still in his pyjamas, put down his breakfast and followed the excited boy into the garden. He looked around and saw a slight smudge on the horizon. Scanning about he spotted another, similar smoke trail and explained to his son that it was unlikely that two aircraft had crashed at the same time and so, dismissing his son’s adamant cries, turned to return to his cornflakes. Glancing up to the sky he was surprised to see two parachutes drifting high down wind over his house. Running indoors he quickly threw on some clothes, grabbed his mobile phone and car keys, told his wife to ring the emergency services and shot outside to his 4×4.
- Martin-Baker Mk 10a Ejection Seat – one careful owner!
- John and I where he found me.
- On the left – after 5 days of traction – the right – after surgery
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Soon the time came to have my breathing tube removed. I was fully conscious at this time and as the tube was pulled out I soon realised that I couldn’t breathe without it. As I struggled to draw air into my lungs my vision started to grey and panic set in. I quickly lost my peripheral vision and as the light reduced to pin-pricks I knew I was dying, but oddly enough I was able to relax at that moment and everything went black. When I came round the tube was back in and I was surrounded by anxious faces. It was a while before they tried again, but thankfully this time they were successful. Now I could speak and my pain was addressed and consequently reduced to bearable levels by a huge cocktail of drugs. I continued to improve but was kept in ITU on large doses of morphine as well as the new drugs.
It was about now that I started to hear some of the details about the horrendous accident I’d been involved in. To this day I don’t remember it, nor would I want to, but much of the detail has been filled in by 2nd hand accounts, photographs and media coverage. All four of us ejected safely; I was the only one seriously injured, and thankfully the jets fell into open farmland with nobody on the ground being injured bar a few cabbages. I mentioned media coverage - we made all the national papers and of course it was covered extensively by all the local papers and TV stations. Some of the many stories are shown below.
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My recovery continued in ITU and one of the more light-hearted problems I had was induced by the combination of a serious head injury and massive doses of morphine. My hallucinations were so real to me that even to this day I can’t sort out the fact from the fiction. Some were fairly obvious though. Here is one such dream. Although time didn’t have much meaning I was aware of night-time on the ward; the lights were dimmed and there were no night visitors once it was established that I would survive. Each night I was loaded onto a trolley and pushed across the fields to the banks of the river Trent where I was left amongst the homeless, the rats and an assortment of other dark characters that my mind conjured up. Each morning the porters would arrive to see if I’d survived the night, and finding me still alive would wheel me back to ITU for another day’s treatment. This was despite the fact that every couple of hours or so a nurse would press a bic biro hard against my finger-nail beds to ensure I still reacted to pain. As if I needed any more! Other occasions would find me white-water rafting on a hospital bed and tumbling over waterfalls only to find myself suspended from the tail of a giant oxen that had been slaughtered and hung down the falls, leaving a trail of blood mixing with the cascading water to glorious effect.
These ‘dreams’ were easy to dispel once I’d got my marbles back, but one in particular stays with me and I’m still convinced it really happened. I was still on the breathing machine at the time and my right leg had just started to show some movement. My wife was walking around the bed and I kicked out and caught her in the mid-riff, winding her quite badly. A male nurse had seen it happen and later, when I was alone, he returned to my side and either turned off the breathing apparatus or blocked it somehow. As I lay there terrified, with my life ebbing away, he told me that if he saw me do anything like it again he would repeat his actions and walk away. He turned me ‘back on’ and left, but I was very well behaved from that moment on!
Finally on the wacky stories front, my brother Paul always managed to bring out the best of them, or was at least present when some of the better episodes manifested themselves. He did give me a fright earlier on in my consciousness though. He was quite close to my bed and we were alone. Without saying a word he bent over and kissed me on the forehead. This was my big, motorcycle cop brother and if you knew him you would think it was a little out of character. Well, I was convinced that I was on my way out and that he was saying his goodbyes. But it was Paul who brought in a trap for catching the ants that I had been raving about in my sleep. At the time I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the trap had to be capable of catching ants and elephants simultaneously.
- Paul in between kissing me and making ant traps.
Another time Paul was witness to one of my stints as Santa’s Little Helper. I was being ‘fed’ painkillers in the form of suppositories and in my confused state the ‘reality’ of it was that Santa’s elves were pushing lemon Bon-bons up my bum whilst telling me what present was required. I would then deposit a bag of marbles, a Lego set or what ever the kids had written in their letters to Mr Claus. The following morning Paul promptly arrived with a packet of Bon-bons and requested a colour television for his son Jason and a bicycle for Joshua!
After 2-3 weeks I was moved out of ITU into a High Dependency ward. Here things got funnier or worse, depending on your outlook. Up until this time I was being fed via a tube up my nose. Different coloured concoctions that looked like a McDonalds milkshakes were pumped directly into my stomach. Why they were different colours I have no idea as there was no way I could taste them. At regular intervals the ‘goo’ was pumped back out of my stomach and inspected to see if I was digesting any of it. I suppose there was the small matter of my weight loss to worry about; I’d lost a quarter of my body weight in two weeks. I guess you could call it a ‘crash’ diet. There was one advantage though. I didn’t need to take a c**p as nothing was getting through. Still, I could fart. Every day without fail I would growl at a nurse to bring me a bed-pan and they’d sit me on it and I’d let rip. When my brain was damaged a part that controls hysteria was moderately affected and I sometimes had trouble controlling my laughter. Farting in a bed-pan never failed to amuse me. One particular day I’d played this trick about 4 times, and the nurses had basically had just about enough when I called for the bed-pan a fifth time. I was told to behave as I’d “just fart in it and giggle”. Of course this was the one time that I really did explode, venting a month’s worth of ’stuff that my intestines couldn’t process’. Added to that, one of the squadron pilots chose that moment to visit and upon seeing me with pipes and tubes out of every orifice, arm, leg and more besides, and added to the whiff of what I’d produced, collapsed into a heap on the ward floor. I was laughing for hours! (You’ll be pleased to learn that I don’t have a photo of the event!!!)
Imagine my joy then, when the tubes were removed and I was to be let loose on my first real meal for weeks. Conversely, imagine my disappointment when a white plate arrived adorned with three piles of unidentifiable liquidised mush. I was to learn over the next fortnight that no matter what I ordered from the menu, I received one brown pile, one orange and one white.
- QMC Nottingham
They would soon wipe the smile off my face. It was time to remove my catheter, which was a relief as I was fed up with having my willy stretched every time I had a walking lesson and forgot to fit the bag to the walking frame! The tube was removed and I was encouraged to drink copious amounts of squash, which I did. Trouble is, I couldn’t go and after 36 hours you could clearly see my bladder through the flesh of my abdomen. This resulted in an emergency catheterisation with no anaesthetic whereupon I quickly filled 2-3 bags with the nurses swapping them as fast as I could fill them. Worse was yet to come as I was told that it would be permanent if I didn’t successfully wee next time. I still have deeply disturbing recollections of my sister and sister-in-law dribbling jugs of warm water over my poor shrivelled man-hood into a sink, whilst singing to it, in the hope it would trigger a response. Thankfully it did, but it was a close run thing. (Again, no picture 
)
Soon it was time for another move – this time to Pilgrim Hospital in Boston whilst I waited for a placement into RAF Headley Court. Okay, I admit that I’ve had some luck so far; some good some bad, but a massive stroke of good fortune occurred when I arrived at Pilgrim. I got there before my notes! Whoopee do I hear you cry, but it meant they had to ask me things … like “are you eating normal food?” Now imagine my joy as they brought me a full roast chicken dinner which I wolfed down. Or rather, attempted to wolf down until I discovered that they really had been right when they said my swallow reflex was almost non-existent, as was my cough reflex. It would have been a shame to choke to death at that stage, and I gave it my best shot, but I slowly managed to teach myself to shut off the route to my lungs and let the food slide down, and I remained on solid food from that day. Another question: “Can you walk unaided?” Well of course I could and there was no stopping me now. I could be seen hour after hour staggering around the ward complex with my neck in a brace, no balance to speak of and my left arm in a sling, but I learnt to walk quick enough and it meant a weekend pass for a home visit.
There were only two things I wanted to do when I got home … well three actually, but I was only capable of the first two. Friday night was ‘Happy Hour’ in the Officer’s Mess, and I was dressed in my flying ‘ovvies’ and presented at the bar. It was the first time in my life that I received a spontaneous round of applause simply walking into a room.
- Time for a drink (soft drinks only I’m sad to say)
It was the most amazing time. I didn’t last long and of course there was no alcohol involved (nor indeed was there for the next 6 … yes SIX years) but for the hours I stood amongst my friends and comrades there wasn’t a minute passed by without someone wanting to shake my hand, even people I didn’t know from Adam. I’m not a very tactile person when it comes to other men, but two out of three of my fellow ejectees were there and it was kind of special when they tried to hug the life out of me. I didn’t have the heart to tell them it hurt like hell.
Saturday was put aside for a drive out to visit my rescuer. I can’t remember who opened the door to hear the immortal words “Hi, I’m Ian Weaver and this is the second time I’ve dropped in on you unannounced.” John is the sort of man that fills a room as soon as he walks into it (I don’t mean that literally John ….mind you ….), the sort of man that you instantly like and want to be friends with, and I’m pleased to say that we are firm friends to this day. At well over six foot and built like a brick s**t house he is certainly a man to have on your side. I can’t say enough about him – he saved my life, He’s my hero. Mind you there is a conspiracy theory afoot that suggests I was just climbing to my feet in that field when he came bounding up, tripped and fell on me and then tried to yank me back up by my left arm. That could explain a lot of the injuries that as yet still remain a mystery!
- My Hero, John
I returned to hospital completely exhausted and they continued with my care. Apart from some physio and one ‘dunk’ in the hydro pool I was pretty much laying about getting my strength back, but soon enough my place came up at the rehabilitation centre at RAF Headley Court. Everything was about to change. First however there was the small matter of an MRI scan at QMC. I had some fun when I arrived at reception. I was taken from the ambulance prostrate on one of those wheelie stretchers and parked in reception whilst the porters checked the times, etc. I looked a state; my head was wrenched up in the biggest neck brace you’ve ever seen, my left arm was in a sling that bound the limb to my torso with straps around the back. I had a sideways Mohican haircut where the back section of hair had been removed for the scalp lacerations and neck surgery, and the front removed for the brain surgery (brain surgery sounds dramatic but it was only where they inserted the probe to monitor the swelling). Finally I had a couple of holes in my forehead from the brace they’d bolted to the skull to hang the traction weights from. All that, plus the gaunt, haunted look on my face meant that I was a state. Anyway, I soon got bored waiting in reception with people staring at me as they came and went, so I started to misbehave. My bare feet were protruding from the blanket covering me and I started to twitch my foot. “Did you see that?” I proclaimed loudly. “I can move my foot!” People stared more and my wife cringed. “There … there it goes again.” Now I’m drawing quite a crowd. “Do you know what, I think I could walk.” By now people were openly staring agog as I pushed myself to my feet and took a few staggering steps. Unfortunately at this point my damaged ‘giggle trigger’ controlling hysteria let me down and I collapsed back onto the stretcher in fits. I just hope I didn’t offend anyone! Anyway, back to the MRI. I’d had one before, but at the time I was blissfully unconscious. I started to get a little apprehensive when they asked me if I was claustrophobic. Well I wasn’t until that day. Next they gave me a detailed description of the panic button; when and how I was to use it, and they made it clear that I was to hold onto it at all times. Stress levels increasing by now. Next it was ear defenders. Gulp. They made sure that every bit of metal in my possession was taken away and asked if I had any internal metal works. “Just these huge bolts holding my head on,” I replied. They assured me it was Ok as these were made of titanium and shouldn’t be affected by the huge magnetic field I would be subjected to. “What about the little steel grid around the bone graft,” I croaked as they laid me down on a narrow bed and fed me into this tube. I never did hear the answer to that one! Now those of you who know me will know that I’m not a particularly big bloke and by this time I only weighted about 9 Stone, but even my slight form could feel the sides on my shoulders and the top of the thing was almost touching my nose. (I don’t want to hear any ‘nose’ comments, thank you). Considering my earlier trepidations I was starting to think it wasn’t actually too bad; I was going to be able to handle it. Then they started the machine. The noise was overpowering and felt like it was rattling the teeth in my skull. Those reading this that have experienced an MRI will know what I mean, though they are a little quieter these days (I had another a couple of years ago). I don’t know what it was about the noise, but it seemed to increase my claustrophobia ten fold. I’ve never been so scared in my life … well apart from when my brother kissed me (see earlier). I was in the infernal machine from hell for just under an hour and to be honest was a gibbering wreck when I was removed and put back onto my stretcher. No more antics on the way out!
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And so … off to Headley Court. I was transported in an ambulance with two nurses but even a simple transfer had it’s difficulties. I point blank refused to pee in the grey cardboard bottle they offered when the need arose. What a sight we made as we pulled into a petrol station on the A1, me still looking pretty much as described above, and with two nurses supporting me as we struggled across the forecourt to the public toilet. Was I a difficult patient??
Arriving at the rehabilitation centre I was admitted to the head injury ward where I would remain for a couple of months. To be honest I felt a bit of a fraud because there were many cases in there with much worse injuries than me. And so begun a two week assessment period where I was subjected to every kind of test, both physical and mental, you can imagine. I was bent this way and that, conducted maths tests, balance tests, logic & IQ tests, endurance tests, psychological tests and even had the amount of muscle wastage of my tongue measured by the gorgeous speech therapist. Therapy started in earnest and I was set weekly goals with carrots dangling if I met them. Such treats as weekend passes or eating in the Officer’s Mess if I could prove that I wouldn’t throw bread rolls about the place. I didn’t really help myself, when at meal times I used to wind up a young soldier that had similar brain damage to me but to a much greater degree. If I did something that amused him he would start laughing, which in turn would set me off. Many the meal time that saw us both out of control hooting like monkeys. Another brain damaged guy who liked to be the centre of attention, didn’t really appreciate this much and would wet himself to regain the nurses awareness. Yes, I enjoyed meal times.
- RAF Headley Court
But of course it wasn’t all just fun. RAF Headley Court is a fantastic facility and so valuable in the rehabilitation of service personnel, even more so these days. Despite the mealtime antics mentioned above, I took my rehab very seriously, taking full advantage of all the equipment and experts that were on hand. I gradually built my strength up, my voice & balance improved and soon I felt ready to take on the world…. well a trip home anyway. Armed with a train ticket and having given a promise that I would take a taxi across London (my fingers were crossed behind my back) off I went. I was still wearing the neck brace and my left arm was paralysed and strapped to my body but it didn’t stop me wavering at the top of the escalator at King’s Cross underground station, one arm in a sling and the other holding a weekend bag, gingerly trying to maintain my balance as I stepped onto that damned moving staircase. One thing that amazed me though, was that not a single person, and this is during the Friday rush hour, not a single one offered to help me. No-one offered me their seat on the underground or helped to stow my bag on the overhead rack on the mainline train. I was amazed and it has certainly made me more considerate to the less fortunate as I go about my daily life these days. Having said that, even before my own experience I’m sure I would have helped somebody in as much need as I obviously was.
Eventually my time at Headley Court came to an end and I was sent home on sick leave. I have to say the RAF were brilliant. I visited the Central Medical Board in London and they considered what to do with me. After much deliberation, during which the choice of me re-mustering into a ground post was discussed and dismissed, they medically ranked me at A5G5Z4 (which I think is about one above a coma) and sent me home to get well enough to discharge. They kept me on full pay, including full flying pay, and after a few more visits gave me a discharge date in November 1997. In the meantime 56 Sqn found me a position undertaking light duties in the simulator, from where I could visit the station physiotherapist 3-4 times a week. (More on that later.) As my strength and speech improved I was given more work, and some comedian even had me teaching the escape system. I think the idea was that someone that had used it could give first hand accounts. Trouble is I couldn’t even remember going into work that day let alone “being launched out of the back cockpit on the furniture ride from hell!” as Harry described it in the comments below.
- Just one of the many courses I saw through the Ground School
Getting to and from work wasn’t without it’s problems; the obvious solution was a bicycle! Again I must have made an amusing sight. My left arm was still paralyzed and I couldn’t turn my head to look over my shoulder. I basically rested my left hand on the handlebar and used the ‘force’. Indicating turns was pretty much out of the question and turning right was always a bit dodgy! Luckily my hearing was still pretty good and I used to wait until the traffic noise behind me was at a minimum, then flap my arm up and straight back down onto the handlebars before I lost control. I must have looked a bit like the old indicators in a Morris Minor. I was itching to get behind the controls of a car though. About the time my left arm started to recover we bought a new car, and I just had to have a go. Finding a quiet road near Woodhall Spa I nervously got behind the controls. Resting my left hand on the wheel I found I could transfer it between the gearstick and back to the wheel with my left knee. My arm could push but not pull at this point in time, but I found I could drive perfectly adequately using just 1st, 3rd and 5th gears. I needed help selecting reverse. The next car was an automatic!
So, my left arm. The Brachial Plexus, a major nerve junction in the shoulder had been fairly well beaten up, probably by some sort of extension injury. (Though I will say that the arm restraints on the ejection seat, designed to stop the arms flapping about in the severe winds during the ejection sequence, reportedly worked correctly.)
- Surgery to fix shoulder
Most experts that had examined it were of the opinion that all the movement nerves had separated and that a nerve transplant would be required. Basically a ’spare?’ nerve would be removed from my leg and transplanted into my arm. I didn’t even know they could do that. In the meantime all the muscles had shrivelled to just about nothing and started to calcify (started to go rock hard like bone). Ross, my physio was of a different opinion and spent hours upon hours exercising the arm and zapping it with all sorts of machines. It seemed like a useless exercise but she persevered, even though I was sent back to hospital to have it fixed. Going in they found that the nerve sheaths were intact and the nerves would grow back to some of the muscles in time. Ross and I worked on it for literally years and she taught me to use the muscles that recovered to give me what is just about full movement today. I still don’t have the deltoids operating, but my skinny little shoulder does ok even to the extent to playing a half decent game of golf.
So where am I at today. After I left the RAF I secured the job in the simulator as a civilian and continued until it closed in 2008 (? I think!). I applied to the Typhoon simulator but didn’t get it and didn’t pursue any other employment. I got divorced and brought up the kids before re-marrying and inheriting three more, so I became a full time house husband.
Physically I’m in pretty good shape. I still have a lot of pain in my left arm, but it’s neurological and unaffected by painkillers, so just something to live with. My neck and back are no worse, if not better, than a lot of people my age with just some lower back issues once or twice a year. The worst problem is a severe burning sensation in my feet and legs, backs of my hands and sometimes around my kidneys. Again this is neurological (from the damage to the spinal cord I think) and is just something to live with. Another manifestation of this is a reversal of hot and cold sensations – ie cold water burns and hot water feels pretty neutral. It makes swimming bloody painful and meant that when I first went home the kids had to check the bathwater for me rather than the other way around. I can still get hysterical over little things occasionally but that has continued to improve over the years and is pretty much controllable. Sombre situations seem to set it off and I did have to leave one funeral in the middle, but that’s a different story best told over a few beers.
Mentally? Well again in pretty good shape. Somewhere I have a letter stating that I am sane! I did have to see more than my fair share of psychologists and psychiatrists, and some more amusing stories spring to mind, but I’ll leave those for another day. I do have a different outlook on life though. As you go through life lots of bad things happen, but it’s always to somebody else. If we didn’t think that then there would be a lot of paranoid people about. But when it does happen to you then you start thinking that all the other bad things might be on your doorstep too. I find that now I’m always thinking the bad things might happen, so go out of my way to ensure they don’t. It’s certainly made me a better driver, especially now that I can use both hands.
- Looks pretty straight to me
Finally I’ll just say thanks to a few people. Firstly to my family. Although I suffered the physical trauma, it was them that had the shock of being told what had happened and sat for hours in the hospital not knowing whether I’d live or die. Them that had to watch their son, father, brother, husband, nephew or uncle (did I miss any?) endure pain that reduced him to begging to be put out of his misery. Them that waited for me to wake up not knowing if I recognise them or if I’d have any mental function at all. Them that agonised over whether I’d ever walk or talk again. I had the easy bit and ’slept’ all the way through that episode Whenever I woke up there was always one of them there watching over me – they’ll never know how important that was. Thank you.
To my friends and colleagues, who again shared those agonies and have supported me through thick and thin ever since. To the fellow crew members involved; Ricko for that last second bunt, Elvis the pulling/roll and Skiddy for not punching out too soon and committing us to a fiery death. Thank you.
To the paramedics, doctors, nurses and all the support staff that gave me the best care imaginable. Don’t ever bad-mouth the NHS to me. Thank you.
To Martin-Baker who made the ejection seat. Need I say more. Thank you.
To the Royal Air Force for the support they gave to me and my family at the time of the accident and for the period of recovery. Thank you.
Finally to John and his family. Without them, especially john, I would not be here today. John, when you read this you’ll see that I can’t find adequate words to praise you, but you know how I feel. Thank you.
THE END
I have never heard the full account of your accident in such detail before Ian, it made me shudder to read it mate, I can’t comprehend the pain you were in and hope I never have to. It would make a great movie.
A very moving account so far Ian. at the time of your accident I’d moved on from the OEU and was teaching at staff college. As you do I felt a very close tie to all involved, knowing some of you very well. I’d also collected one of the jets from Warton with only 3 trips on the clock! Thank God for the skill of the medical people at Nottingham and for the first aid you received at the crash site. My flying days are past – spinal injury!- but in spite of stories such as yours, I miss it! Do you?
Yes Graham it would – you don’t know any producers by any chance.
All those involved in my rescue and recovery deserve high praise indeed, David. I hope your spinal injury isn’t bad; was it from flying? And yes, I do miss it sometimes; mainly on blue/blue days when I see jets flying around and of course the general life and camaraderie, but I’m pretty happy with both feet on the ground!!!
Thanks for the comments guys.
Ian
Great read thus far dear chap. I was lucky enough to ta
K with the other three about their experiences and how it felt and so on; strangely morbid us aircrew but as this type of thing was a real threat every time we flew in ever more crowded skies, I wanted the gory details. However, never had the chance to talk to you about your unbelievably painful and life changing events as the next time I saw you was when I was on my pilot crossover to the F3 and you were a sim instructor. You guys never stayed at work long enough after a sim session for us to chat!!!.
I like Mr Lewis, was shocked the morning it happened. I was sat in the OEU crew room when the news came through and of course we all feared the worst. Good news followed soon after that all four had ejected. It was later in the bar when the tall ginger one arrived in a neck collar for a beer that he relayed to us that you were in a bad way. Without what you have written here I would never have known how bad you were or whatain you were to be in when you finally regained consciousness. The rest as they say is history.
Thank you for what you have written and I look forward eagerly to the rest of the story of your life since being launched out of the back cockpit on the furniture ride from hell! It has been a right riveting read for now and I urge you to add the rest with haste……your audience await the next instalment.
With writing like this, you should consider life as an author! LOL
Thanks for your comments Harry – it’s strange how we always needed to know about these things when they happened, but you’re right; I think all of us were the same and went about our lives knowing this sort of thing happens … but always to someone else.
As for the time we spent in the simulator – well … erm … they didn’t pay us enough!!
Anyway I’m glad you enjoyed the story, and I’m adding to it as we speak … maybe I will write a book about it one day. Will have to ‘get famous’ as an author first.
Cheers
Ian
I think it’s a fantastic vignette, Ian. Harry’s right: us aviators are a bunch of morbid Romans; but it’s not the sober descriptive detail that struck me. Rather, the remarkable courage you showed to get from ‘there to here’. Awesome. Just awesome. Ps I’m going try one of yr books now!
Wasn’t sure I wanted to read this after living through it at close quarters. However some of the stories made me laugh and bought back memories of lighthearted moments which kept us (the family) going through what were difficult times. I spent so much time at QMC I had to ring a friend to see what I had done with the kids. I remember clearly every moment. They are etched on my brain in great detail. We were a close family before but this traumatic time made us even closer and I forward to our annual Christmas family get together. Take care bro x
Weaves…you fellow lucky git. I really didn’t comprehend the amount and severity of your injuries until reading your detailed account. How we survived beyond 08:46 on Jan 10th 1996 never ceases to amaze me. I can tell you that, without your pilot’s bunt at a recorded 0.5 of a second before impact we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I was looking straight into your intakes – no top surface or bottom surface- for the last few seconds prior to impact. We were definitely going to hit with your pitot tube through my seat. Undoubtedly I should have punched out my pilot and I inside a mile as it was clearly a collision waiting to happen despite the best efforts of my frontseater….don’t know why I froze….but I did. Ironically, if we had have gone it might have been bad news for your jet as it was the combination of our pulling/roll and your bunt which created the slight but critical sightline change that turned a fuselage/fuselage hit into a wing/wing slice.
Thankfully your pilot ejected you both immediately following impact and, despite being way out of the published limits, those brilliant Martin Baker seats ensured you weren’t atomised with the majority of your jet in that field near Sleaford. It took me 13 seconds to convince my frontseater we weren’t taking our jet back to base, add a tie to our wardrobe selction and allow the jet to, thankfully, plant itself harmlessly into another field several miles to the north.
After calling the tally at 7 miles and watching you throughout until impact you can probably understand my elation at securing a pilot crossover a few years later and obtaining both a stick and a vote!
I’ve got a bunch of funnies to tell and, like a muppet, I kept my eyes open throughout so have total recall of the event to help fill in some of the blanks if it helps.
Someone summarised the day for the four of us saying that we were definitely on the Reaper’s page that day…but thankfully at the bottom of it and he never got around to us. Evidently, my dear chap, you were slightly further up the page than us three!
Yours, Skiddy
P.S. McB, I’ll have you know that I’m strawberry blonde!
My darling Iain,
Ive just read your horrific accident which made me cry ( you Know emotional woman thing) Having met you on a number of occasions and having had you cook for our P16 girlie nights.. You’d never know the extent of your injures and how lucky we all are to have you in one piece.. Your Hero John and to everyone involved who saved a great and very funny person who’s a fab cook and host and here to tell the tale..
Amazing account and brilliant to read thank you for sharing.
Julia XX
I know have a disturbing picture in my head of Karen and Susan pouring warm water over your flacid member, not a pretty site.
Thanks Swampy, much appreciated. PS there were a lot of other people that showed a lot of courage that day and those soon after. John who rescued me, paramedics, surgeons and of course my family and friends.
Hope you enjoy the book.
Ian
Thanks sis. I did wonder before I decided to put it down on ‘paper’ how it would effect those close, but in the end decided WHAT THE HECK!!! Glad it didn’t upset you. They were hard times but you’re right in what you say about how it’s bonded us even more. Glad you’re looking forward to our ‘get together’ because there’s a 20lb turkey, 10lb ham and a 6lb pork to finish off – not to mention a bottle of Frog
Cya xxx
Skiddy you old bugger – great to hear from you. When I write my memoirs I’ll pick your brain for the missing details. Until today I never knew that we were going nose to nose and frankly I’m glad I don’t remember any of it. You must have had some good nightmares! I can understand you freezing as there is no way you could have realised we were going to hit each other at that point. Maybe you could see it, but you must have been thinking that something would happen to break the collision. I know I would.
It still amazes me that the seats got us out. Good old Martin-Baker eh … and a ‘nice’ tie to boot
How is that pilot stuff going? It must have been a bit difficult to take a step down the rung!!!!
I like that summary – will have to get a tee-shirt made up saying we beat the Reaper.
Take care my strawberry blonde mate.
Ian
Thanks for your touching words Julia – they mean a lot. Sorry to have made you cry. As for cooking at the P16 do’s – can you blame me for doing it when I’m out-numbered 12 to 1 by you lovely ladies from Post 16
Glad you’ve enjoyed the story so far
Ian xx
Graham, what can I say…..
Wibble. What can I say except ‘Soz’. Appreciated how injured you were but reading the detail brings home how lucky the other three of us were in comparison – few feet one way and we would have missed (but poohed ourselves!) – Few feet the other and one huge fireball. Unlike ‘Strawberry’, I actually remember nothing post “s..t” as I got tally about 0.25 sec prior to impact, then waking up in a muddy field with John explaining that my mate was unwell. Please send contact details for John – will pop in and say thanks next time I’m at Coningsby. Bunting/pulling handle/chute descent – no recollection. Luckily for me, my out-of-limits ejection just had me unconscious as my head whacked something on the way out, rather than head separating from spine like yours!
Wish we could have had one of those “S..t, that was close” moments rather than a collision, but as I now know the ‘Big Sky’ theory only works 99.9% of the time. Bugger! Apologies again – I often think ‘what if’ but it won’t change owt (as they say ‘oop norf’). Get in touch if ever in God’s county (N Yorks) – Perhaps come for spin in the Biz Jet bouncing GR4s – step too far?!!! Ricko
Hey Ricko – thanks for getting in touch and believe me there is no reason for anymore apologies; we were in it together and all knew the dangers involved. T’was just one of those things.
John would love to hear from you, and a visit would make his day. If you ever are in the area with a few hours to spare, let me know and I’ll take you round. We still haven’t missed going out to dinner with him on the 10th of January every year. Maybe one year we could go with all four of us. I’ll check with him and then email his details.
I never knew about the last second bunt until Skiddy mentioned it a couple of days ago – it must have been horrifying to see the jet nose to nose and so close – as you say, those few feet made all the difference.
Thanks for the kind offer of bouncing the ‘Muds’, but yes … perhaps a step to far.
Take care, Ian
Weaves – What an amazing and vivid account of the rescue and rehab (Skid’s account of the accident events add to the picture as well). I, like others it appears, never realised the traumas you’ve been through.
You’ve obviously got a talent for this writing lark – I look forward to the next installment and I’ve downloaded your books onto my Kindle so I look forward to a damned good read.
Archie
Hi Archie – great to hear from you. If nothing else this has been a great way for old friends to get in touch.
I hope you enjoy the books. Having read the account on my website you may notice that a few of my experiences have been thinly disguised and smuggled into the stories. Well they do say ‘write what you know’
Take care, Ian
Weaves,
bloody hell, knew it was bad but didn’t know it was that bad! I was out of the F3 force at the time so not quite in the loop as to what was going on. However, my little involvement is that I was in Stanford PTA on the day (on my IOT Flt Cdr Tour)patiently awaitying a heli ride across the training area only to be told he was going to pick up some bloke who’d ejected from an F3 in Lincs. All sounded fairly mundane at the time so please forgive me for cursing you during the 10nm hike to where I needed to get to (to be fair it was Skid I was swearing at).
I would make one final point which is be very careful for what you wish for. During our days on Canberras I seem to remember after a few beers you would tell everyone who cared to listen that the only reason you wanted to cross over to the RAF was so you could fly down the runway at 50ft (in a Bucc if I remember right) then eject alongside the tower.
Cheers
Stonks
Hi Stonks
Thanks for your thoughts – there were a lot of people cursing that day
Not me though – I was having a kip!!!
I remember those words well – silly bravado after a few swift ones, but I never thought they’d come back to haunt me. I remember going off the runway at Leuchars after a NWS failure and as I grabbed for the handle as we were passing the tower I remember thinking how ironic it all was. Luckily my pilot stopped me ejecting by shouting he “had it under control” … just before we crashed off the side of the concrete!!!
Ian
It was strangely good to read this Ian. I often think about that day, your parents rang me in tears wanting to talk to Paul, your Dad was so overcome he couldn’t get the words out and put me onto your Mum. I was shaking like a leaf because I knew something terrible had happened. They want to speak to Paul but he was at work, and out on the road somewhere. I rang his boss and asked them to radio Paul and tell him to come home straight away. Funnily enough the accident had come over his radio and for some reason he knew it was you and was already heading back into the office. He came home spoke to your parents and then went off to the hospital (Lincoln) fearing the worst. He seemed calm, you know what he’s like, but I know he wasn’t. Waiting for news, waiting for Paul to come home and then your parents to get here – it was the longest day ever. Knew you would make it though – only the good die young! (tee hee). xxxxxxxxxx
Thanks Susan – was a hell of a day! I take it from your last comment that you’re suggesting I’m old!!!! Interesting to hear all these different view points on the day – when I’ve finished this third book, I may write the story from as many peoples aspects as I can – quite a difficult project and one that would only really be interesting to a small band of people, but good fun trying to pull it all together. We’ll see.
Ian xx
You got to 50 hun – so …………. Seriously though, we all have our own versions/stories of that time. Wouldn’t want to relive them for real, as I’m sure you wouldn’t. But you know I think lots of people would like to read your story because it’s a true story, with a happy ending
xxxxx
I remember your crash so well , I was working at the Pilgrim hospital at the time as a radiographer. My boss came to find me to tell me that there had been a report of a crash involving jets from Coningsby. My heart did a massive somersault , it was one of my biggest nightmares that I would be at work and Dave (Harry ) would be brought in injured or DOA.
I can’t remember now if he got in touch with me or I with him , but when I found out it wasn’t him and that the crews had been found alive it was such a relief. Then came the guilt , knowing that some other wife was facing what luckily I didn’t have to . It is an emotion that is hard to describe and if you aren’t a wife, or husband of aircrew I don’t think outsiders can ever truly understand it.
It is quite strange reading Dave’s comments about how he wanted all the morbid details, I never did, I wanted to forget what my husband did to earn his pay and always pushed the risks that his job entailed to the back of my mind .
I remember going to the bar and Skiddy walking and in being so pleased that he was fine but then finding out that you were in a critical state.
We all got very drunk that night, all of us hoping that you would pull through , but none of us really knew the seriousness of your condition.
I am so glad you wrote this article now, and very happy that Dave is no longer in the air force,( he misses it but I don’t miss the worry about his safety)
I have to say you came through the accident with a lot of courage, determination and amazing humour . As an ex radiographer it was good to hear the Patient’s side of the story)and as a wife of ex aircrew good to know how things have worked out for you.
So sorry you still have the pain to deal with , but hold on to the giggle factor, it clearly helped get you through the hardest of times !
All the best for your continued recovery.
Thanks Sheena – it’s really great to hear the story and the emotions it evoked from so many different angles. As I said to Susan above, it might make a good book if I can research it and bring it all together in a logical order. Anyway I’m glad you enjoyed the article – I certainly enjoyed writing it and reading the comments that people have left.
Take care, Ian
Good morning mate,
Ian, reading your account and that of all the other participants in this story makes me realise just what a very special person you are. I know you, Fran, Jenny & I see each often, but it’s our get together on 10th January each year that has for me achieved almost “religious” significance. I’m looking forward to seeing you at “Mrs Miggins pie shop” on 10th January.
I see my role on your ladder to recovery as being on the third rung, Martin Baker being on the first rung, the unknown person who “thank god” inadvertently “cocked up” the stitching on your helmet being on the second and me being on the third, I know, I know, but what about the mole? I hear you say, let’s just forget about the mole.
As a result of that terrible day we’ve had the chance to meet some amazing people, your Mum & Dad for instance, what a coincidence Jenny and your Dad working together at HQ RAFG twenty odd years previously. It’s always a pleasure to see Paul and Susan fancy Paul knowing my brother in law “Swifty” hmmmm! I think we’d better get off this it’s getting …………… Spoooooooky!
I have to say that I was particularly impressed by Karen and Susan’s dedication to duty and would like to say if they ever think of a career change, I’d like to book a four hour session, with them and their jugs of warm water, or more depending on the amount of sensation achieved!!!!!!
I know I shouldn’t bring this up but I’m sorry mate, if only I hadn’t tripped over that bloody mole hill all this could have been averted but it was a long run over from Willow Farm and I was knackered and I just didn’t see the bloody mole hill, however, when I hear that I fell with the force of a joint closing speed of 1,000 MPH I think it’s time to get back on the diet!
You are an amazing character, to have gone through the pain and suffering you have and yet to have retained your sense of humour and say-la-vie attitude to life is in the true traditions of the service. I am proud to know you and call you my friend. I’m glad I was there to help.
You very kindly refer to me as your hero, Ian, I’m not the hero in this story I’m only the third rung on a long ladder, you are the hero.
Love to you and Fran & wish the family a very happy chrismas.
John.
Hi John – thanks for your comments. You may be right about the third rung, but that third rung was extremely important. It’s strange to think after these 16 years, that but for that fateful day we may never have met, so at least some good has come of it. As for the mole … I think he was just eating the ladder
It’s great to have you as a friend, Jenny too of course, and Fran and I are looking forward to the 10th as always… I love Pie.
Have a great Christmas, Love to you both.
Ian
Wow this was a really hard thing to read for me. Some of the comments from the other aircrew involved that day are really interesting however, it’s easy to forget there were other people involved that day.
All I can say is to add to what everyone else has said. You did an absolutely amazing thing and I think everyone that knows you, or has met you and heard your story, is amazing proud of what you did and continue to achieve!!
And btw, still super annoyed you got a book published before me
Love you
Chris
Thanks Chris – I know it must have been tough for you and Jenni but in the end I think it made me a better Dad – at least I hope it did. I’m proud of you too …. now get off your ass and get a decent book wrote.
Love you too,
Dad
Absolutely amazing account of events, was literally riveted for the whole thing. Literally can’t imagine being thrust through an experience like that.
And ditto – Chris, get a book written.
X
Hey Wibble,
.
Just found this site via a Facebook link. An amazing story which we studes at 56 never heard the all of for sure! Seems our careers have head in a pretty similar direction, though without a huge visit to the hospital in between- only the best go Sea King Obs > F3 Nav > Stay-at-Home-Dad
Anyway just thought I would post to offer you good luck with your authoring. I’m off to get your books on my iPad (if amazon UK will let me).
Regards
Flossy (RN)/ Kiwi (RAF)
Thanks Liam – glad you enjoyed it.
Ian
Hi Kiwi – as you say – “only the best”
I hope to enjoy the books – you can try ‘Smashwords’ if you have trouble with Amazon.
Ian
Hi Wibble,
Great to see you doing so well in the authorship stakes! It is really most impressive as is your fortitude in all that adversity. I take my hat off to you!
Your story is a fascinating read and I wish I had known more of the detail at the time. We were all rather in the dark about the true extent of it all to be honest.
I remember that day very well. It was one of those bright and sunny Lincolnshire mornings and I had parked outside the Squadron (next to the “Leper Colony”) and was on my way in through the side door to brief a sortie when i almost got run over by the Boss running out the other way looking rather grim. About 5 minutes later, I found out why!
Anyway, I will definitely read one of your books this Christmas!
One thing I do remember of 56 Sqn is a picture of the crater by Skiddy’s desk in the Leper Colony with the caption “The Big Sky theory does not work”!! I always remembered that afterwards!!
Very best
Huge
Hi Huge – great to hear from you and I hope this finds you well.
I’ve gathered from most of the responses that a lot of people were “rather in the dark” about things and at first I was surprised. Then I remembered that the RAF and the medics involved went through great pains to ensure that details of my full condidtion were kept as private as possible to protect me and my family. This is the first time I’ve told the whole story, so maybe it isn’t that surprising.
As for the ‘big sky theory’ – doesn’t work too well if you’re aiming at each other!!!
All the best, Ian
Wibble,
Herbie told me about your article yesterday and I’ve just read it with goose-pimples all over my arms and the hairs on the back of my neck standing up! I can only echo what the boys have already said; I never could have imagined what you went through. What a remarkable story, what a remarkable chap, made me feel quite humble reading it.
I’m glad you’re getting on with life and greatly admire your philosophy; quite a few people in this country could do with taking a leaf out of you book!
I wish you and your family all the very best and if you’re ever in St Andrews, there’s always plenty of room at chez Parker.
Take Care
Poison
Poison – How’s it going? You’re the one that humbles me with your words. Thanks for your comments. If we are ever up that way we’ll be sure to look you up.
You take care too, Ian
Ian,
Many thanks for sharing your story. I will be honest, I do not remember hearing about your accident at the time, so this is a first read for me. It was a little before my short period of RAF flying with East Midlands UAS at RAF Newton (1996-1999), so there is no reason I would have heard about it at the time.
I am just responding to say that I was captivated reading your account, and it would definitely make a good film / documentary. I have worked in the defence industry since leaving the UAS, and am about to move to a new position with Martin-Baker. It is stories like this that reinforce why I want to work there, to be a small part in ensuring that aircrew have the best chance of survival in as many scenarios as possible.
Your courage and strength to recover from the injuries you sustained to the level you have are amazing. If you don’t already, have you considered doing after dinner speaking? It is a very motivational account of overcoming adversity.
Best,
Pete
Hi Pete – thanks for contacting me. I had the pleasure of visiting Martin-Baker after my accident. It was great to see some of the guys that had contributed to my survival. I have done some after dinner speaking but only by word of mouth. I must admit that I enjoy it and it always seems to go down well, so maybe I’ll look into doing more one day.
Good luck with your new position at Martin-Baker. Maybe I’ll look into another visit sometime.
All the best,
Ian
Hi Wibble,
You may remember me, Rick P-E, I was Inspector of Flight Safety at the time of the accident, and I remember speaking with you a few months later at Coningsby. Your story is riveting and I go along with other comments that it should be made into a film. I will do whatever I can to help, if you wish, through my very extensive network of contacts. I do a lot of different things these days including being a Director of a company called Speakers in Command (www.speakersincommand.com) which does a number of things including providing speakers, mainly ex military, for after dinner and conference speaking engagements. If you are intereted I would love to discuss the possibiity of including you on our list of inspirational speakers, but only if it suits you! Well done, Wibble, I really commend you for telling your story, I too can remember very clearly that particular 10 Jan. It is alos intersting to read who else has made comment and I certainly see a number of those names fairly regularly, Huge and Skid to name but two.
Very Best Wishes
Rick P-E
Hi,
I just wanted to say how gripped I was on ur remarkable recovery and terms of events, I had images in my head as I was reading ur story of ur feet hanging out of the trolley, and as for ur gass problem I was in hysterics with u lol.
I’m so pleased that u are doing good, nothing better than to have a happy ending.
I look forward to reading more xx
I remember you well Rick – good to hear from you. Thanks for your comments and I’ll email reference your offers. Take care and have a happy new year.
Ian
Thanks for your kind words Rachel – glad I could bring a smile to your face
Ian
Hi Wibble
Put on to the site be our now mutual friend “big John”. It was not an easy read (there but for the grace……) but hugely positive and enlightening, I hope you got a lot out of writing it all down as I see lots of others are drawing on your experiences. For my part I remember being one of the duty Ops officers of the morning, faeces and fan spring to mind. Our crash team (singular) was assembled as we realised that we actually had two crash sites and up to 4 separate casualties. A situation nobody had planned for and which subsequently drove a lot of post accident planning. Subsequently I spent two nights as OIC the guard team at the Ewerby hole, no doubt in the farmers “best field”. Believe I should see you again in June and look forward to catching up.
Best wishes Deepfat
Hi Colin
Good to hear from you and thanks for your memories. I did enjoy writing the story as well as reading the comments above, yours of which is yet another aspect to the tale. Nice to think you were guarding ‘my’ hole for me whilst I lazed around in bed
Looking forward to coming and talking to you all in June.
Take care, Ian
Wibble
Having wound up the engineering night shift in the early hours, I remember waking up to the news on “Lincs FM” and ITN national news. I was only taling to Herbie about this at the F3 bash! It was my first close brush with an accident and I will always remember the buzz of the armourers when they were finally told that all four of you had successfully ejected – they weren’t aware of the serioussness of your injuries.
It is very interesting to read your detailed account of events and glad to see that you have carved a new life beyond the RAF. Coincidentally, I’m currently at Headley Court myself, undergoing rehab following my fight as a pedestrian with a potato lorry in 2009 … but nothing on your scale old chap!!!
I think that it was the Boss’s summer bbq when I first saw you after the accident and you made me laugh about the cognitive tests that they tried to make you do, and you told them that you most probably couldn’t have done them BEFORE the accident!
Keep smiling and writing!
Jim (JEngO ‘B’ Shift, 56(R) Sqn, 1995/1996)
Hi Jim – great to hear from you. As you say, a good day for the armourers – another 100% success rate and another group of people I need to thank. It was a great feeling when I staggered in under the weight of beer and received my yellow and black handle along with many smiles and pats on the back. Sorry to hear about your fight with the potatoe lorry – hope your recovery is going well; you couldn’t be in a better place. I wonder if any of my old therapists are still there.
I don’t know if you realise it was 16 years today – in about 35 minutes as I write this. As usual I will be out with John tonight celebrating.
It wasn’t just the cognitive tests that challenged me. They had me doing woodwork using enormous circular saws and the like!! If only they knew that before the accident I only had to pick up a tool of any sort and I’d start bleeding from somewhere or other!
Take care, Ian.
Good morning Ian,
Its 0845 “Happy 16th anniversary”
I’ll call you later.
All the best, John.
Hi John – 16 years, would you believe it!!! See you tonight
Ian