For me, the sound of a helicopter brings me back to Christmas Eve 1998, hearing the rescue copter in the wee small hours, and seeing it's lights hovering over Sligo town for far, far too long to be a training mission on that night of all nights. It wasn't until mid-way through Christmas Day that I discovered that they had been trying to locate the bodies of my friend and his brother who were in the water. I have never forgotten that feeling, that sound, nor watching those lights.
Rescue 118 flies over my parent's house on it's way home on a regular basis, and I have yet to hear that familiar sound without remembering that night in 1998. Every time I hear it, I hope beyond hope that they are out on a training mission, nothing more than that, that no-one is awaiting their arrival, that no lives are about to change irrevocably and that the crew are merely training; and hopefully, on their way home, taking in the beautiful bay and mountains as they prepare to land.
Those of us on the coast, who have people in and on the water know the value of the Coastguard, we know the value of the RNLI, of the volunteers who drop everything to rush to help others, of those whom, when you thank them, tell you that they're just doing their job. It is a job that appreciated by coastal communities, by mountaineers, by outdoor enthusiasts around the country, and especially in the last few days mores than ever.
The sea is a beautiful yet cruel mistress, and all I can wish for this evening is that the sea, the waves and the seabed and nature somehow show some clemency and returns the three missing men to their families soon; and I hope that we, as a country, never forget the daily debt we owe these men and women who guard our coasts, in the air or on the sea.
