Struck By Lightning

Most people imagine that the risk of being struck by lightning is somewhat similar to the risk of winning the National Lottery, or perhaps that of “close-encounters” style alien abduction. Anybody who has spent some time in a hospital burns unit will know that this blatantly untrue: In the UK, lightning strikes are frequent incidents – the victims mostly die instantly, but those who are not electrocuted usually make a complete recovery. I know this for a fact because about fifteen years I was struck by lightning, and have lived to tell the tale.

The people who most frequently become victims of lightning are golfers and mountaineers. The first category tend to be determined men who play through the rain. On a gently undulating golf course, a raised golf-club acts like a perfect lightning conductor; a metal spike which will guide the millions of volts through the sportsman’s arms and into his heart and lungs.

The second group attract the lightning because like the golfer, their metallic mountaineering kit provides a more convenient route for for the spark to cross from the clouds and the earth. Climbing axes and crampons provide an ideal form of earthing which makes the climber into a human lightning rod. In the case of the unfortunate mountaineer, he is more likely to be killed by a sudden fall then the electric shock.

When I was struck by lightning I was neither a mountaineer, nor a golfer: I was a schoolboy.

I attended a famous school called Repton. It’s famous for being the place where Roald Dahl got bullied (and became his inspiration for “Boy”). It was also the educational institution responsible for that pillar of society Jeremy Clarkson. Like most British private schools, Repton had a profitable arrangement with the Ministry of Defense.

Boys above a certain age are compelled to take part in an activity called “CCF”, which is short for “Combined Cadet Force”. These children are made to wear the uniform of army cadets, and told to do vaguely militaristic things for one afternoon a week. The idea is that some of these boys will learn to love the army life and will go on to attend Sandhurst or some other military school. The other boys who wouldn’t normally have anything to do with the armed forces are made to put up with it; Our discomfort was a small price to pay to solve the MOD’s recruiting problems.

From time to time, those of us who were involved with the CCF were required to attend “Self Reliance Exercises” - these were typically outward bound expeditions to drab military training bases where the somewhat fascistic teachers of Repton took on a new horror.

What has all this to do with being struck by lightning you may ask? I am merely setting the scene – giving you the measure of the system which caused me to involuntarily give up a half-term holiday, and why I found myself trudging up a hill in the Breckon Beacons in the middle of a ferocious thunder storm.

Incidentally, in addition to playing golf or scaling mountains, another category of people who are very likely to be struck by lightning are foolish children who insist on hiking through a thunderstorm whilst wearing steel-framed ruck-sacks full of camping and cooking equipment.

As you read through this, bear in mind that when lightning strikes, logically it must strike something. More often than not, that something is a rock, or a sheep, for these are the sorts of things which are commonly found in the sort of hilly places where lightning strikes most.

Young human beings are struck with lower frequency, because most humans have the sense not to climb mountains in the middle of a storm, and certainly not while carrying a device almost certain to attract that lightning. It is intellectually weak to merely state that lightning strikes are improbable. It is perhaps more correct to say that given a minimal level of caution a lightning strike is improbable.

If on the other hand a group of people do everything in their ability to propel towards an electrical storm whilst wearing gear that is most likely to encourage some form of interaction, then this sort of disaster can be expected.

That morning one of the teachers had dropped us off at the designated grid co-ordinates in a school owned land-rover. Our orders were to cross a certain number of hills and pitch camp at a specific location. The next day we were to complete our journey. The day began with glorious sunshine, a perfect backdrop to some gentle welsh hills. It was to be a long hike.

As we climbed higher, the weather turned. Within half an hour a golden sunny day became dull and overcast and then suddenly burst into torrential rain.

I have mentioned that there are certain factors that increase one’s probability of being struck by lightning; For example standing on an exposed area of wet soggy ground, carrying rod-shaped metallic objects and being in close proximity to that storm are certainly best avoided. A sensible person with even the most rudimentary grasp of physics would know this and descend, seeking shelter, however we were close to our first way-point, and felt compelled to trudge on.

I remember my last few moments before being struck by lightning. I actually felt a kind of exhilaration; realising that I was totally wet-through it was therefore impossible to get any wetter than I was at that moment. Knowing that things could only improve I put extra effort into my ascent of the hill. I had expected that the exertion might keep me warmer.

The moment of electrocution is hard to describe. One instant I was running up a hill, the next moment I saw only white. What I heard was massive and ear-splitting. I felt nothing and sensed utter disorientation. For a five seconds it was as if I was floating in a brilliant white void.

Seconds later my senses returned. The light appeared to fade and I found myself lying on my side weighed down by a heavy rucksack which I could see had partially been exploded. It’s contents had been strewn around the cliff side.

Torn sheds of metal were once parts of a butane cooking-gas cylinder that I had been carrying. Fortunately this had been nearly empty and for some reason had not burst into flame.

I couldn’t feel my hands or my feet; I was paralysed and felt colder than I could ever remember.

My basic understanding of biology caused me to suspect that my spine had been injured and that I might never walk or do anything ever again. My mind reeled with an imagined nightmare of permanent paralysis.

I was quickly able to prove that this was not the case, as with what seemed like monuments effort I was able to wiggle (but not feel) my toes. These were visible because the lightning had shredded my Levis jeans and Hi-Tec trainers. I soon realised that I could move but not feel all of my limbs.

My next chalenge was to uncouple myself from the heavy ruck-sack which pinned me down to the muddy ground. Normally this task would take an instant and would be complete without an iota of thought, however on this cold day with my numb fingers it took what seemed like a minute of fumbling.

Since I had been running I was about a hundred meteres away from the rest of my team. At the time I had not known that another boy in the group (called Ben Slack) had also been struck. He had been wearing a St. Christopher’s Cross. This thin chain had conducted the charge directly into his thorax which stopped his heart and breathing. Later I was able to reflect on the irony that St. Christopher is supposed to be the patron saint of travelers.

Fortunately the oldest boy in our group (Kerian Bowers) knew basic first aid and was able to resuscitate him. I knew none of this as I called for help.

The first person to find me was a boy called Simon. I no longer remember much about him other than that his nick-name was “Puttyhead” and that he was one of the few who actually loved this miltaristic mucking-about. His father had been a paratrooper and I believe he graduated to Sandhurst. Simon had the presence of mind to run for help.

Remember, this was long before most teenagers could afford mobile-phones. He sprinted to the bottom of the hill where he had previously observed a group of bungalows; At the time these were occupied by a group of Christians engaged in some sort of retreat. They brought blankets up to those of us who couldn’t move and helped bring those that could walk to shelter.

Almost as quickly as the storm had begun, it was over. I lay on the mountainside, swaddled in borrowed blankets shivering as the paramedics arrived and took over from the concerned Christians.

Within an hour from the start of my ordeal, I was lifted by helicopter to a burns somewhere in Wales. The boy whose breathing had stopped made a rapid recovery, and was driven down the hill in a rugged 4×4 ambulance.

So that was the incident, but by no means the end to the ordeal. The following month saw a tedium of surgery, recovery and malcontent, but that is another story which I shall save for a future blog entry.