I grew up on a working farm in Shropshire and often helped my dad. On a summer’s day three years ago, I helped him cut up a large oak. A dealer had taken the trunk away, leaving the limbs. That morning we set off to chop up the remnants. Wood gets heavier the longer it sits on the ground and this had been there for a couple of months, in sections weighing around two tonnes each. They were stacked on top of each other with a big 70ft limb, known as a lodger, sticking up in the air.
I was standing about 10 metres away from the tree with my back to my dad, making a bonfire with the branches, when I heard a faint gasp. I turned around to see that the lodger had fallen on to my dad’s back, crushing him against a branch below. I ran to him and held his hand; it was tense but there was no pulse. Then I felt it relax. There were no signs of life.
The next 30 minutes were a blur. Neither of us had a mobile because there was never any signal where we were, so I drove to some cottages about half a mile away. I beeped the horn frantically and shouted: “Find anyone – my dad’s under a tree!” I burst through the door of the first cottage and ran up and down the stairs, but no one was there. In the second one, I found an elderly lady, but I knew she wouldn’t be able to help. I just kept going. Someone called 999 for me, and the last house I knocked on belonged to Stuart Wilkes, a firefighter.
Stu tried to make sense of what I was saying and told me to put planks of wood into the boot of his car, where he had a full medical kit, including a defibrillator. We didn’t have a second to lose. I jumped in the car and hit the accelerator, driving over a cattle grid, which caused some planks to fall out of the open boot. I also realised I had driven off without Stu. When he caught up with me, he gave me some strong words and a slap, saying I wasn’t going to save my dad’s life until I calmed down.
Arriving back at the scene, I saw that the fire brigade and air ambulance had arrived, but there could have been a dancing bear and I wouldn’t have noticed. I was only focused on Dad, who was now the colour of a blueberry. I grabbed the chainsaw and started trying to cut him out, sawing dangerously close to his ear. Stu quickly took over from me and began sawing off sections while instructing the rest of us to take the weight of the branch, slowly lifting it. Once freed, Dad was laid out flat on the ground and we began to do CPR. It was then that we were able to see the full extent of his injuries. His chest was exposed, and I could see one of his lungs. His stomach was swollen. One of the medics cut small nicks on either side of his abdomen to let out fluid. Colour rushed into his face and he began to vomit. A wave of relief rushed over me; up to this point I thought he was dead. And by definition he still was, because there was no pulse. The air ambulance rolled him on to a stretcher and flew him to hospital.
My mum had been out food shopping and only found out about everything when she got back. I knew the worst of it was over and just said: “Mum, everything’s OK.” But for her the drama was just beginning. Dad was induced into a coma to help him recover. Day after day we would sit with him. Even the tiniest signs of life, such as his pee bag filling up, were glimmers of hope. After a couple of days the doctors decided to operate; nine hours later, he was awake and could stand up. To come out of an accident like that, with no major damage to his brain or body, was a miracle.
When he came out of hospital six weeks later, we walked up to the stump of the tree. Not only did he have no memory of what happened, he couldn’t remember the whole month before the accident.
Later that year, Stu won an off-duty Lifesaver of the Year award. He is incredible: he has dedicated 25 years of his life to dealing with trauma and tragedy.
In forestry, the lodger is also known as the widowmaker. To say we were lucky is an understatement.
• As told to Celia Lloyd-Jones
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