My First Call Out

Jan Millar

After 18 months of intensive mountain rescue search dog training, I qualified as a Novice Search Dog handler in November 1988. I waited eagerly for my first call out.

The callout came on December 21st, 1988 around 2000 hours. I had already seen the newsflash interrupting 'This Is Your Life' and had anticipated that my dog and I may be called. I was told to make my way south to 'Lockerbie'.

The name would come to haunt me. It probably will for the rest of my life.

After being redirected by the police at Moffat, I made my way down an eerily quiet A74. In the distance I could see a red and golden glow. Lockerbie.

I drove to the police station through scenes you would encounter in a disaster movie set. Flames shooting to the sky, a strong scent of kerosene in the air, badly damaged houses and a massive smoking crater with debris all around it.

2 other dog handlers joined me and we were tasked to search some fields quite far out of Lockerbie. On the way to the farms, driving round a corner on the dark country road, my headlights lit up my first sight of that huge, white nose cone. I can still feel the shock wave I experienced all these years ago. A sickening lurch in my stomach confirmed that I had entered a nightmare world and was going to witness sights I could never have imagined in my worst nightmare. Twenty years later, when I glimpse that nose cone, unexpectedly, on the TV, I still have a lurch of panic. Will this reaction ever leave me?

The three handlers put harnesses on their excited search dogs and spread out across a field. It was pitch dark and drizzly and I wished that my torch had a stronger beam. Within minutes our search dogs had returned to each handler, indicating by barking loudly, taking us to piles of luggage, bundles of cargo, pieces of debris all scattered around the field.

The dogs were confused by all the human scent, and amount of debris, particularly my dog on her first real search - what to indicate on first? We praised the dogs but continued looking for people.

I find it incredible now that I was naive enough to think there may still be a living soul waiting to be rescued. It didn't occur to me at that time that the humans would have fallen over 30 000 feet and would obviously have no chance of survival. Or that the impact would leave some bodies in a horrific state. Or that some scenes would be so surreal I still question myself if I truly witnessed them.

Truth to tell, no preparation could have helped me cope with what I experienced over the next 20 hours. The sights encountered are firmly imprinted on my subconscious and rise to the surface as nightmares during stressful times.

I am asked why I continue to devote much of my time to Mountain Rescue as a volunteer search dog handler after that horrific experience 20 years ago. It's a question I find difficult to answer, and I'm not sure I understand why I do it myself.

One answer would be that I enjoy the challenge and pleasure of training and working with a dog as a volunteer mountain rescuer (I'm on to my third search dog now). I also take great pleasure in being out in the Scottish countryside experiencing different seasons, the ever changing scenery and sights and being self sufficient in fairly remote areas.

Perhaps, deep inside my mind, I'm hoping that by continuing to help rescue people, it may balance some of the evil I witnessed on 21st December, 1988.