SKEGGY
Bringer Of The Seasons
A good friend of mine posted this on Facebook.
It’s that time of the year again to remember.
The date was the 21st of December 1988, the shortest day for most people, or in our case, this would be the longest night of our lives.
29 years ago today, myself and other members of my Regiment were involved in an operation that most teenagers wouldn’t have heard of, or care about.
At that time, I was a teenager serving with the Royal Highland Fusiliers, (RHF, the White mafia). We were based in Redford Barracks, Edinburgh.
We had not long finished our Tyrone and Fermanagh tour in Northern Ireland, and we were about to go on our well deserved Christmas leave the next day.
Everyone was buzzing, looking forward to two weeks leave. All our kit 253d (locked up in the stores) ready for our morning departure hame with a shed load of money. Life was good.
We were in the NAAFI bar getting a pint when a News flash came on the TV to say that a plane had crashed in the borders area in Scotland.
I remember the BOS (Battalion Orderly Sergeant) coming around to the bar to tell us to ‘get oor arses up tae the stores tae git oor combats, water bottles an a shovel’.
So much for our leave we all thought! Everyone was raging that once again, we were getting deprived of our leave.
Within an hour or two from getting told to get ready, me and other members of the Mortar platoon were on a coach heading with the rest of the Battalion to some place called 'Lockerbie' to help with this crash.
I remember falling asleep on the coach and was woken up by the troops suddenly talking loud and swearing as the town came into view. As I looked out the window, i could see the sky light up and the flames in the distance. That wasn't what we were expecting. Not on this scale.
We got to our DOP (Drop Of Point) and stood about with the rest of the Battalion for what felt like ages, thinking 'what the fuck are we meant to do here'? After a while, one of the CSM (Company Sergeant Majors) came over and started to delegate tasks to the troops. I still remember the smell of aviation fuel and the burning smells that hung in the air.
It was at this time we found out the plane was a huge Pan-am Boeing 747, flight no 103 with 243 passengers and 16 crew. It was flying from Frankfurt to Detroit via London and New York.
Some of us went to the Crescent (where the fuselage of the plane fell onto the houses) to help search for survivors, some of us were tasked to put out small fires around the town, some of us were tasked to set up a makeshift morgue. Everyone had a task equally as shit as the next man. But this was nothing to what was to come.
At the end of the longest night of our lives, it was a welcome relief to see the morning come. After a quick power snooze and a feed, we were tasked to move onto the hills surrounding the town.
I remember that morning so vividly. It was a beautiful, cold, crisp, frosty morning when we arrived at our DOP, W02 Norrie Lithgow organised us into extended line and we went for a wee walk on this beautiful morning. We walked 25-30 feet apart from each other in silence, because we knew what awaited us.
It didn't take long until we came across the first lifeless body from Pan-Am flight 103 that had been scattered like confetti when the plane broke up at 30,000 feet. When we found a body, we had to mark the body with a stick and mine tape, this was so it could easily be found again and be photographed in location as it was a crime scene. We would be recovering them later, but for now, we had to find all the others. Soon after the first body was found, we found another, then another, we soon lost count of the amount of bodies we located. There were just too many bodies to count.
A few things that sticks with me, one was that most of the bodies were naked. Falling from 30,000 feet, ripped the clothes off the victims, stripping them of their clothes and dignity. The troops covered up the bodies as best they could, with what they had, without disturbing the crime scene.
The next was when you were a kid and in the cartoons you had watched, the character hit the ground and when it stood up and walked away, there was a perfect imprint left. This is what happened on that hill side. When the body hit the ground with such force, it bounced out of the imprint it made and landed up to 20 feet away. Leaving behind a perfect imprint. So when you found an imprint, you started to search within a radius of the imprint and you always found the body.
The third thing was you expect a body to be stiff when you lift it, but these bodies had very few bones that weren't shattered by the impact. So you had to lift the body higher to stop it dragging on the ground.
Once we had located all bodies in our area, we had to recover them. This meant lifting men women and a few children, and placing them into body bags, then carrying them to centre locations, then load them onto the chinook that came to remove our haul. They were then taken to the makeshift morgue in the town hall.
It was at this time I learned the true meaning of saying that I had heard from when I was a child.
1. Stone cold, the body's were so, so cold
2. Dead cold, speaks for its self. Never felt cold like it.
3. Dead weight, a lifeless body seems to weigh so much more.
We were told that the passengers wouldn't have known what was happening as they would have passed out very quickly, but as one of my comrades Stevie said, their face told a different story.
The victims who were murdered on that flight, were all heading home for the Christmas holidays, they had all their gifts wrapped in colourful wrapping paper to give to their loved ones. These were the same people and the Christmas presents we saw scattered across the Scottish hillside.
When you think of Christmas presents, you probably see them all wrapped up in its colourful wrapping paper sitting under a tree, happy times with family and friends, Myself and others who were at Lockerbie, see the bright colourful Christmas presents laying in the frosty grass, next to the naked, lifeless bodies scattered around the countryside.
I always wondered why the people were naked, yet the presents were still wrapped up. I later found out it was because they were in the suitcases and were scattered when the suitcases hit the ground and burst open. This is why they were still wrapped up in perfect condition.
After almost all of the body's were recovered, the Battalion was finally stood down late on Christmas Eve and we headed home for Christmas, still in the same clothes that we spent days lifting the dead in. They had a smell that I can still remember. For our trouble, we each got a thing called ED pay (Extra Duty pay) of 50p per day, and the Battalion got some award that meant fuck all to the troops that were there that day.
We found, recovered, lifted and man handled more bodies in those few days than most will see in 10 lifetimes. But we were the lucky ones, because we weren't on that plane or were in Sherwood Crescent when the plane fell from the sky that night.
A total of 270 people died that night, 243 passengers and 16 crew and 11 residents from Lockerbie.
Gaddafi had supplied the murdering bastards in the IRA with Semtex and weapons years before. This was the same bastard that now sanctioned the murder of these men women and children on that day back in 1988.
This wasn't my first encounter with the aftermath of terrorism, and it certainly wasn't my last. 20 odd years of my life was spent protecting people from terrorism and I lost many a friend along the way in doing so.
As a soldier, it’s hard to deal with, when you see women and children murdered, it’s a bit easier when it comes to men for some reason. But it’s hard to describe, but fellow soldiers will understand what I mean.
My wife and kids will confirm, even to this day, I hate getting Christmas presents, no interest in it what so ever. I still go through the motions and give out the presents, but I hate getting them.
This was only a few days of my life 29 years ago, but I still remember it like it was yesterday.
Lest We Forget.
It’s that time of the year again to remember.
The date was the 21st of December 1988, the shortest day for most people, or in our case, this would be the longest night of our lives.
29 years ago today, myself and other members of my Regiment were involved in an operation that most teenagers wouldn’t have heard of, or care about.
At that time, I was a teenager serving with the Royal Highland Fusiliers, (RHF, the White mafia). We were based in Redford Barracks, Edinburgh.
We had not long finished our Tyrone and Fermanagh tour in Northern Ireland, and we were about to go on our well deserved Christmas leave the next day.
Everyone was buzzing, looking forward to two weeks leave. All our kit 253d (locked up in the stores) ready for our morning departure hame with a shed load of money. Life was good.
We were in the NAAFI bar getting a pint when a News flash came on the TV to say that a plane had crashed in the borders area in Scotland.
I remember the BOS (Battalion Orderly Sergeant) coming around to the bar to tell us to ‘get oor arses up tae the stores tae git oor combats, water bottles an a shovel’.
So much for our leave we all thought! Everyone was raging that once again, we were getting deprived of our leave.
Within an hour or two from getting told to get ready, me and other members of the Mortar platoon were on a coach heading with the rest of the Battalion to some place called 'Lockerbie' to help with this crash.
I remember falling asleep on the coach and was woken up by the troops suddenly talking loud and swearing as the town came into view. As I looked out the window, i could see the sky light up and the flames in the distance. That wasn't what we were expecting. Not on this scale.
We got to our DOP (Drop Of Point) and stood about with the rest of the Battalion for what felt like ages, thinking 'what the fuck are we meant to do here'? After a while, one of the CSM (Company Sergeant Majors) came over and started to delegate tasks to the troops. I still remember the smell of aviation fuel and the burning smells that hung in the air.
It was at this time we found out the plane was a huge Pan-am Boeing 747, flight no 103 with 243 passengers and 16 crew. It was flying from Frankfurt to Detroit via London and New York.
Some of us went to the Crescent (where the fuselage of the plane fell onto the houses) to help search for survivors, some of us were tasked to put out small fires around the town, some of us were tasked to set up a makeshift morgue. Everyone had a task equally as shit as the next man. But this was nothing to what was to come.
At the end of the longest night of our lives, it was a welcome relief to see the morning come. After a quick power snooze and a feed, we were tasked to move onto the hills surrounding the town.
I remember that morning so vividly. It was a beautiful, cold, crisp, frosty morning when we arrived at our DOP, W02 Norrie Lithgow organised us into extended line and we went for a wee walk on this beautiful morning. We walked 25-30 feet apart from each other in silence, because we knew what awaited us.
It didn't take long until we came across the first lifeless body from Pan-Am flight 103 that had been scattered like confetti when the plane broke up at 30,000 feet. When we found a body, we had to mark the body with a stick and mine tape, this was so it could easily be found again and be photographed in location as it was a crime scene. We would be recovering them later, but for now, we had to find all the others. Soon after the first body was found, we found another, then another, we soon lost count of the amount of bodies we located. There were just too many bodies to count.
A few things that sticks with me, one was that most of the bodies were naked. Falling from 30,000 feet, ripped the clothes off the victims, stripping them of their clothes and dignity. The troops covered up the bodies as best they could, with what they had, without disturbing the crime scene.
The next was when you were a kid and in the cartoons you had watched, the character hit the ground and when it stood up and walked away, there was a perfect imprint left. This is what happened on that hill side. When the body hit the ground with such force, it bounced out of the imprint it made and landed up to 20 feet away. Leaving behind a perfect imprint. So when you found an imprint, you started to search within a radius of the imprint and you always found the body.
The third thing was you expect a body to be stiff when you lift it, but these bodies had very few bones that weren't shattered by the impact. So you had to lift the body higher to stop it dragging on the ground.
Once we had located all bodies in our area, we had to recover them. This meant lifting men women and a few children, and placing them into body bags, then carrying them to centre locations, then load them onto the chinook that came to remove our haul. They were then taken to the makeshift morgue in the town hall.
It was at this time I learned the true meaning of saying that I had heard from when I was a child.
1. Stone cold, the body's were so, so cold
2. Dead cold, speaks for its self. Never felt cold like it.
3. Dead weight, a lifeless body seems to weigh so much more.
We were told that the passengers wouldn't have known what was happening as they would have passed out very quickly, but as one of my comrades Stevie said, their face told a different story.
The victims who were murdered on that flight, were all heading home for the Christmas holidays, they had all their gifts wrapped in colourful wrapping paper to give to their loved ones. These were the same people and the Christmas presents we saw scattered across the Scottish hillside.
When you think of Christmas presents, you probably see them all wrapped up in its colourful wrapping paper sitting under a tree, happy times with family and friends, Myself and others who were at Lockerbie, see the bright colourful Christmas presents laying in the frosty grass, next to the naked, lifeless bodies scattered around the countryside.
I always wondered why the people were naked, yet the presents were still wrapped up. I later found out it was because they were in the suitcases and were scattered when the suitcases hit the ground and burst open. This is why they were still wrapped up in perfect condition.
After almost all of the body's were recovered, the Battalion was finally stood down late on Christmas Eve and we headed home for Christmas, still in the same clothes that we spent days lifting the dead in. They had a smell that I can still remember. For our trouble, we each got a thing called ED pay (Extra Duty pay) of 50p per day, and the Battalion got some award that meant fuck all to the troops that were there that day.
We found, recovered, lifted and man handled more bodies in those few days than most will see in 10 lifetimes. But we were the lucky ones, because we weren't on that plane or were in Sherwood Crescent when the plane fell from the sky that night.
A total of 270 people died that night, 243 passengers and 16 crew and 11 residents from Lockerbie.
Gaddafi had supplied the murdering bastards in the IRA with Semtex and weapons years before. This was the same bastard that now sanctioned the murder of these men women and children on that day back in 1988.
This wasn't my first encounter with the aftermath of terrorism, and it certainly wasn't my last. 20 odd years of my life was spent protecting people from terrorism and I lost many a friend along the way in doing so.
As a soldier, it’s hard to deal with, when you see women and children murdered, it’s a bit easier when it comes to men for some reason. But it’s hard to describe, but fellow soldiers will understand what I mean.
My wife and kids will confirm, even to this day, I hate getting Christmas presents, no interest in it what so ever. I still go through the motions and give out the presents, but I hate getting them.
This was only a few days of my life 29 years ago, but I still remember it like it was yesterday.
Lest We Forget.
