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I have often been asked to go into more detail about my flying accident, subsequent rescue and rehabilitation, so here goes: Â January 1996 found me instructing pilots and navigators to fly the Tornado F3 on 56(R) squadron at RAF Coningsby in Lincolnshire.Â
- 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.Â
- 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.Â
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.Â
- 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 IÂ 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
Â
08:46 10th of Jan 1996….that’s 15 years I didn’t think we would have Wibs! Give John Philips my regards (I trust you are having your annual get together later tonight) and I hope I can join you on this day in the future. We should get all the Rambo formation together one day including Cliff and Robbo. I remember Robbo (with his typical dry sense of humour) saying that as they broke back into the circuit at Coningsby he called “the only remaining part of Rambo is on the break to land!” Have a good one mate, Skiddy
Sorry 16 years…..Maths used to be my strong point so maybe they did give me a labotomy when I crossed over!!
Yep 16!!! I’d rather have a bottleinfrontofme than a frontalabotamy
I’ll pass on your regards to John & Jenny and suggest we all get together – next year maybe … sounds like a plan. Take care Skiddy.
Ian
Ian,
Thank you, Dave Gledhil shared this amazing and inspiring chapter of your life with me. I feel quite honoured to have read it (as cheesy as that sounds). Sadly I knew very little of the event at the time, as I didn’t join the RAF until 6 months after you ejected (with my good friend Rob Laidlar from the photo above) but went on to become a Controller/ Allocator. I can’t imagine what you went through, but have unfortunately witnessed the ejection of aircrew under my control, the feeling of seeing the plot dissapear and not knowing for some time of the fate of the dudes you were chatting to only moments before is a sombre memory.
I am currently serving on 56(R) Sqn which, if you are not aware, is now part of the Air Warfare Centre (T&E). I agree with previous comments regarding publishing a book on the subject (you are a compelling author). Additionally I agree that you’d make a great speaker at dinners. On behalf of the Sqn, we would be honoured if you would be interested in attending a 56(R) Sqn annual dinner (next one April 2012). Its normally a good crack and I know you’ll see many familiar faces.
Sorry for hi-jacking so much text space here. Thank you again for sharing this…..I’m off to find your e-books.
The very best of luck with all your future endeavours…..maybe even ’stand up’ with that sense of humour
Kind regards,
Ange
Wibble
What an outstanding piece; had me in tears and laughing at the same time. It is great to see that you have come through such a traumatic experience with such fortitude and your sense of humour intact. Good luck with your writing career and I look forward to reading your books.
Al
Hi Ange
Thanks very much for your comments. Yet another aspect to the story; controlling a jet that gets into trouble and the crew eject from – not something I’d thought about before. We were autonomous (where’s the spell-check when you need it?!) I think. Thankyou for your kind invitation – I’d be honoured to accept and will e-mail you tomorrow so you can pass the details nearer the time. I hope you enjoy my books and thanks for your wishes of luck, thought I think ’stand-up’ may be a step too far. All the best, Ian.
Thanks Al – I’m glad it could bring a smile to your face – I certainly enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoy the books – it’s always a bit nerve wracking when someone I know reads them. All the best, Ian.
Ian,
Unfortunately the “young boy kicking a ball around the yard” is not quite as innocent as it first appears.
Just as you were having your collision thousands of feet in the air, I was engaged in a similar ground based version…a cataclysmic bollocking from my mother. Obviously this was an equally rare event and quite uncalled for if memory serves.
In a fit of rage I stormed outside and faced towards Digby when I noticed your F3 ‘flying’ overhead. Jets frequently flew around the area but not many which seemed to have a small portion of wing missing. This I dismissed as being an optical illusion caused by the swing wing design of your aircraft. Still, I tracked the jet downwards until it disappeared from view behind the next farm house, this was followed by a brief spout of flame which shot into the air.Â
I immediately ran into the house to tell my parents what I had just seen. When we all rushed back outside my parents could only find 2 small puffs of smoke, only one of which was in the same direction that I claimed to be the crash site. With my argument dismissed we all began walking into the house when the old man looked skywards to see two parachutes floating overhead…….’I told you so’ still doesn’t do this moment much justice. You know the rest of the story.Â
Your account has been truly riveting and I’m proud that I can call myself a small part of it.
I’m not sure what I had done to upset mum so badly that morning, but if I hadn’t, Â I wouldn’t have been outside to see you drop in to our lives…..who says crime doesn’t pay!
Matt
Hi Matt
Thanks for getting in touch and providing yet another angle to view the incident from. You in trouble???? Surely not! From your account I guess you must have been watching the Skid and Elvis’ jet as ours, that went in near Ewerby, was just about vertical at the moment of impact. You say your contribution was a “small part of it”, but without that small part no-one would have come to my rescue until a Seaking homed in on my locator beacon, probably some 40 minutes later. In that time I would surely have died as it was only your Dad’s action of sorting out my breathing that kept me alive in the early stages. So thankyou for that
All I can add is that I couldn’t have “dropped in” on a nicer family and it has been a pleasure to get to know you all over the last 16 years.
All the best, Ian.
Ian, what a fabulous story. Fabulous for the pain and trauma? Hardly. But for your survival. Being touched with a head injury sister that didn’t end like your story, and a daughter paralyzed, that is now walking… you’ve touched my life. Your sense of humor reminds me if we can’t laugh, we cry. Sometimes we do both. Thank you for sharing your experience!
Thanks for your comments Karlene and I hope things go as well as they can with your family, Ian
Wow, what an inspirational story – you made it! Congratulations on a fantastic effort to rebuild your life – and with such a sense of humour!
Cheers,Tony
Thanks Tony, Ian
Ian, what an amazing story, terrifying and inspiring. I admire your strength, perseverence and also your writing!
I wasn’t going to read people’s blogs today; wanted to focus on work. But I could not stop reading this!
Lisa
Hi Lisa
Thanks for reading it and for your kind comments – Now back to work!!!
Ian
Hi Dad,
Just came across this on your Facebook account…as chris has said before it is very hard to read (even harder to type a reply through the tears!)…mainly because we sheltered from the truth so much and I never got round to actually hearing all the details since.
The story from my perspective…Chris and I went to school as normal…as normal as it gets. At lunch time one of our teachers came in and said i had to go with her. The school bully was sat at the table next to the corridor door and taunted me about getting into trouble. Once I got into the staff room (for the first time ever) I was given the phone and Mum tried to bravely explained the situation. It was then my job to explain things to my little bro. We were then released out into the playground to try and process the news we had just received.
After school we were then picked up by another RAF family and then we spent weeks going from one family to another (including nan and grandads) as Mum was staying at the hospital. Each family had this strange habit of turning the TV off every time the local news came on! So the only way I really found out what was going on was through friends the next day at school.
I remember the first time I saw you after the accident. We were taken to the family room where everyone was waiting putting brave smiles on for our sakes. Grandad treated me to a chocolate bar from the big purple Cadbury machine. We were then taken by a nurse through some big double doors to ITU. I think what happended after that was possibly the scariest thing i have ever gone through. I hardly recognised you, you had no top on and there were wires attached to every bit of skin on show. Sorry to say it…but you smelt of wee! Under the bed there was blood on the floor, which I later found out was from a procedure that had gone wrong earlier that day and being as little as we were; the blood was a lot easier for us to see than anyone else. Chris and I just stood there, staring. You could not speak as you were still on the breathing apparatus. So Mum just spoke to you on our behalf and to us on your behalf. When it was time to go we were lifted up to give you a kiss…I walked away not knowing if I was ever going to see you again.
As you say, most people normally say that “it will never happen to me”. What happened on that day 16 years ago has certainly made me appreciate the value of life that bit more.
Thank you to everyone that was involved in helping allow my Dad to come home in (nearly) one piece. Trust me, the brain damage is not noticeable…you are just as crazy as you were before!
You talk a lot about your heroes…I just want you to know that YOU ARE MY HERO!!!
Love Jenni x
Thanks Jenni
I knew it must have been hard but your account brings it home. I didn’t even know you’d visited in ICU – the first time I remember was after my tube was out and I could speak – up on the High Dependency Ward. It must have been awful for you. Love you loads,
Dad
Oh I forgot to mention…I also came to see you at Pilgrim, I remember holding you up whilst you wobbled your way around the ward over and over again, avoiding the crazy lady
So there were some smiles!!!
I remember the crazy lady – the one whose foot had been run over by a lorry – *shudder*
Well I did it, I managed to read most of it or really skimmed it which was enough to bring back bad memories. I think you should have included the christening service when it was Christened James and the Hell of a tantrum you threw when you found out how much height you had lost. And the first drive back from Boston for your first weekend home when we totally packed you in with pillows and you sweated all the way as other cars passed us flashign and bleeping us(hardly surprising as you limited us to driving at 40mph) You missed out (or I thnk you did, shaking a bit now so skimming even more) the time when the doctor read your notes and walked into the consulting room and left thinking he had the wrong patient, he expected you drooling in a wheelchair. I guess your amazing will power won at every turn and its great to see you kept your humour intact. The main hallucination I remember was the fact the ICU had a balcony with more beds on it
There was the night you would not remember, maybe a week into it all, when a family of gypsies were involved in a really nasty car crash. Until then all had been pretty much the same in the ICU but that night they all passed away one after the other and so did a lot of the other people who had been there when you arrived. All night there was silence as the machines were turned off, the curtains around your bed were drawn so I couldnt see anything and there was the eerie hiss of the wheels of the containers they removed the bodies with. It really felt like you were lucky to make it through the night then, it was the one night I really thought you might not
And giggle trigger? What happened to the donkey bray?
Thanks for your comments Claire.
I think there’s probably a lot of things I don’t remember but some of them come flooding back now that you mention them. I’m thinking of writing the whole thing into a book looking at the fateful day and subsequent months from lots of different points of view. If I decide to go ahead with it your contribution would be invaluable and much appreciated. Watch this space. Anyway, I hope it brought back some good memories as well as the bad. I know that the time at the beginning, in ICU, must have been terrible but hopefully some of the lighter moments help to balance it up.
Take care, Ian.
Chris told me about this and its really the first time I have thought about that time ever, it was very hard to read it today. I am more than happy to help and to provide my version of what happened, in fact I will start jotting things down. There were funny moments as well but they were kind of like brief rays of sun that lit hours of darkness, confusion and pain but thankfully it was the sun that was easier to look back on. I am a little concerned about how much of the darkness you wish remembered, maybe some will be hard for you to read. I see you have a Kindle, I have a Sony e-Book and wonder how did I manage without one before?
Stay well – have good days and not bad and tell me if you want me to send you my notes as I go along. I am not sure there were any good memories to start with, the only good things were the indomitable way you constantly beat the odds and got better
Take care
Amazing detail of your escapade! It was fascinating reading!
CT knew most of it but I don’t think I did, although seeing you so often at the Med Centre at Coningsby you’ d think I would! I feel privileged to have met you at that time and so happy all is well with you now!
Best wishes x
Hi Guys
Thanks for your kind words. Hard to believe I was in there three times a week for years!
Take care, Ian x
What a truly amazing account of an horrific accident.
Good luck to you in the future Ian.
Well done to those involved with your medical care and rehabilitation.
[...] injuries incurred during his ejection from his F3 In January 96, written in his own words. My Accident | Ian Weaver Makes some sober [...]
Hello Ian,
Just read your story and find it incredible. You’re a very strong man and couldn’t imagine what you went through! Your drive to continue working for the RAF in the simulators was great, true aviator. Mass amout of respect for you and your family.
All the best,
Chris Robinson (Military aircrew wanna-be)
Hi Chris
Thanks for your kind words and good luck with your Wannabe Career
Ian
Thanks Alan
Ian
Ian
What a remarkable yarn.
As an aviation writer, this was an incident I was aware of, but naturally not the details of your injuries and incredible recovery.
I hope you won’t mind me saying that it is extremely well written and most definitely deserving of broader distribution!
Kind regards
Gareth Stringer
Thanks Gareth – feel free to ‘distribute’
Ian
Hey Ian
Its Chris again. Just a quick question, was you a Fleet Air Arm Observer prior to being a Nav in the Royal Air Force? Just noticed someone commented saying you changed services.
Kind regards,
Christian.
Hi Chris
Yes I was. I was FAA from 1979 – 1989 mainly in Sea Kings (814, 810, 706) as well as an exchange tour with the RAF (360), and a trip to Antarctica with HMS Endurance (829) – Happy days
Do you have a connection with the FAA?
Ian
Hey Ian
Thats brilliant, what variant of the Sea King did you operate, or was you on a few different ones during your time? I don’t have any real connection with the FAA. My uncle was a Wessex aviation tech a while ago, thats as close a connection I have really. Just been looking into the careers with the FAA for Aircrew and Observer looks like a great job!
What aircraft did you operate in your exchange tour with the RAF?
Chris.
Wibble,
Incredibly moving and well written (I’m looking forward to reading your books now). Its amazing to read what you’ve been through and its so good to know that you’ve come through it.
Scottie
Thanks Scottie – hope you enjoy the books.
Ian
Hi Chris
It was a brilliant job – I operated the ASW Sea King (Mk 3 & 5 if I remember correctly). On exchange with the RAF I flew the Canberra Mk T17 (EW) and when I transfered I flew the Tornado F3 after training in the JP and the Hawk.
Ian
Awe inspiring! I was based at RAF Leeming from 91 to 95 in a ground trade and took up rotary flying several years later. As an offshore helicopter pilot, I seriously hope I never have to eject!
Hi Jim
Glad you enjoyed it Jim. Yes, ejecting might be a problem in your case!!! I guess you have to visit the ‘Dunker’ regularly now – great fun. My Brother-in-Law works offshore and just loves it!
Ian
Hey Ian
Sounds like you had a great time operating many different aircraft in the FAA and the RAF. Definitely a career I wish to follow. As a Canberra T17 Nav, was the Nav position in the nose of the aircraft or was that just on the Pr9 variant? Was flying for the RAF much different to flying for the FAA?
Sorry for all the questions haha.
Regards,
Chris.
Ian
GUMF!
Now that’s a story! The motley crew pictured above (April 1996) knew that you were the chap that had ejected and that you had suffered a pretty nasty injury, but I’m pretty sure we were never told half of what you have recounted above. Terrifying, fascinating and inspirational to read. For those of us who “suffer” more mundane day to day problems, it’s a useful reminder that we are actually blessed and that our lives are pretty straightforward.
Heartfelt congratulations on your current book success and thanks for sharing your experience.
Hope to see you at the gathering on 25 May in London….
Trousers
Hi Wibble,
That is an incredible account. Although all of us on 56 Sqn at the time were aware of the horrific injuries you had sustained, I don’t think I was quite aware just how desperately life-threatening they were, the length of recovery, the bravery you showed to overcome them and the efforts of all those involved in the recovery process. It is an account that is both inspiring and humbling at the same time.
I remember 08:46 10 Jan 1996 well, as I was on the next sortie to get airborne after RAMBO 1-3 and had just snapped my PEC into the ejection seat to hear either Cliff or Robbo (sorry guys, old age setting in to recall exactly who made the transmission) putting out the MAYDAY call. I copied down the details, told my bemused student pilot to shut down and get outside as we weren’t going anywhere and rushed inside to tell the engineers that we had just had a double ejection and to quarantine the F700s before going to the Ops Room to break the news to the Auth and confirm which four of you were in your parachutes. The Boss was quicky on the scene, bit of frantic ‘tach stroking and then he disappeared down the corridor (where I guess he bumped into Huge, as recounted above).
We did try and give you a beer when we came to visit you all in hospital later that evening, but the Med Staff were a bit boring and wouldn’t let us. I remember Ricko looking a bit shorter than usual and wearing a white medical smock that was for too long for him and Elvis’s face a bit scarred from the ejection.
Reading your account makes me realise how lucky I was to get away as lightly as I did with my ejection. On more than one occasion, I would be sat in the crew-room on XXV Sqn with Ricko and Skiddy and someone would comment how rare it was to meet ejectees before they knew our respective histories! For many ejectees, it seems the opportunity to tell the story is a cathartic process and I do hope this story gets the wider audience as other commentators have offered to facilitate. As Skiddy and Ricko have said, it could have been absolutley horrendous and we came so close to losing four great mates on that January morning.
Keep writing, keep smiling and keep looking after yourself. Hopefully see you at the F3 reunion later this year?
Best Regards
Herbie
Hi Wibble, what a fantastic story, you have my total respect and I am proud that I played a small part in your survival. I was the winchman that fateful day on the Sea King from Wattisham, the Leconfield cab picked up the other pair. We landed in the field close by and I walked (quickly) over to you to find your pilot and John beside you, I asked him your name and he said ‘Wibble’. This made me think that your pilot had a head injury and had gone a bit funny! I have clear recollection of that day as it was my last shift at Wattisham prior to becoming an instructor, on the way back from Lincoln we were diverted to pick up an F16 pilot who’d ejected over the North Sea. Ejectees are just like buses eh? I am now OC 203 Sqn at Valley but live at Dorrington, within a couple of miles of where you landed. Best wishes DT
Hi Ian,
tempted to say you should have stuck with helicopters!
Didn’t hear about this at the time, but very glad to hear that it had a happy ending.
What a cracking read, look forward to seeing the movie!
ATB,
Chris
Hi Chris (Robinson)
The T17 Nav seat was in the back as you suspected. As for the difference between flying in the RN and RAF – it was a huge difference but both very rewarding in their own way.
Ian
Hi Trousers
Hope you didn’t mind me adding the course photo – it does you all such justice!! Thanks for your other comments, and as for the 25th May – I didn’t know anything about it – out of the loop I guess. I’ll look into it.
Cheers, Ian
Hi Herbie
Great to hear from you and to read your account of events that morning. As I’ve mentioned above somewhere I might look into gathering as many different accounts and perspectives together as I can and write an accurate account of the event and my recovery – we’ll see.
Is the F3 reunion in May – as mentioned by Trousers. I haven’t got any details but will look into it and hope to see everyone.
All the best, Ian
Hi David
Thanks for getting in touch. As far as I’m concerned you played a huge part in my survival; as I’ve always told people that ask me about my rescue, the RAF and RN SAR crews are the best in the world and I wouldn’t have wanted to be picked up by anyone else. Apart from anything else, I guess you are highly trained in how to deal with an ejectee and given the state of my neck it needed careful handling. Having done some SAR during my time in the Navy I know how difficult it can be ‘in the field’ so many heartfelt thanks to you and the rest of your crew.
Ian
Hi Chris (Wood)
Thanks for getting in touch. Movie …… if only!
All the best,
Ian
Ian
Drop me a line on Facebook and I’ll send you the details of the reunion.
But Yes – 25 May in London!
Trousers