A Very Bad Motorway Crash

When you have worked almost all of your service on the Traffic Police Patrol Department you often get asked questions about your experiences in the job. As soon as someone at a party, or other social encounter, learns what it is that you do for a living you get what seems at times like a well–rehearsed repertoire of enquiries.

“What is the fastest you have ever driven?” is a fairly regular one, as is the one about how many car chases have I been in? “What modifications are made to the cars?’ is another. “Don’t you find motorways boring?‘ regularly crops up, and then there is, “Why were there three police cars at junction 24 of the M6 last Friday at around lunchtime?‘

These are all enquiries that stem from a genuine fascination of what seems to be for most people a mystical and secret world, of which they have very little real comprehension.

Let’s have a go at copper bashing

You always know that when you get the one asking how many people you have nicked for speeding the enquirer is not enquiring at all, at least not through genuine interest, but merely squaring up for a ‘let’s knock the old bill’ session. These narrow–minded people I merely treat with contempt because if that is all they think a traffic cop does each and every day of their working life they need to get themselves better educated.

Out of all the questions that I get asked as a traffic police officer the, “I bet you have seen some horrible sights haven’t you?” is common and “What is the worst accident you have been to?” rates very high on the popular curiousity chart. At least there are more sensible questions, and ones that I have far more time for.

The experience of hundreds of road crashes
of various levels of severity

In a period spanning nearly twenty–years, as I write this piece, I have attended hundreds of road crashes, ranging from minor damage only knocks to multiple pile–ups. Some of these result in no injury, but in others there have been tragic deaths.

Every road collision is a serious event, regardless of its outcome. Even one that results in minor damage has all the potential for taking a life, given slightly different circumstances. I have been to reported minor damage road collisions and found upon arrival the scene is one of absolute carnage. I have been sent to others that have been reported as serious injury, even possibly fatal, but found the worst casualty had no more then a cut finger.

Ask me out of all the road crashes I have attended which had the most effect upon me personally, then I would say that question does narrow it down to make the task of providing an answer slightly less difficult.

What happened on that night
was extraordinary to the point of being bazaar

Many of the road crashes I have attended have affected me in one way or another, but the one I want to talk about here sticks in my mind quite vividly. This isn’t because there were a great number of vehicles involved, or because someone died in my arms, but because very little of what took place that night followed any line of normal expectation – expectation based upon common logic and past experience.

It was a late shift in November 1991, and I was working a motorway patrol duty with Tariq, a close and respected friend and crew mate. he and I had worked together for a couple of years and had got to know each other pretty well, getting know each others little foibles and habits. It was a miserable night, with relentless heavy rain teaming down, a blustery wind and a whole pile of quality jobs that kept coming in relentlessly one after another.

The motorway is a miserable place when it is wet

When I say we had quality jobs I say it with sarcasm. There was the usual task of closing lane–one to protect a tyre fitter changing the off–side wheel of a heavy goods vehicle on the hard shoulder, removing tyre debris from the carriageway and a pedestrian thumbing it along the hard shoulder. Checking on the welfare of a lone female motorist with her car broken down and awaiting the RAC was another, as well as dealing with a tarpaulin blown from a lorry that was fluttering its way across all six lanes and threatening to cause complete mayhem and consternation.

Having started shift at 3pm we hadn’t stopped all afternoon and every single job seemed to necessitate us both getting soaked to the skin, despite the wet weather gear we were wearing. However, at around 8.30pm there came a window of opportunity, the chance to have something to eat, and as we were at that time close to junction 5, the local village chip shop seemed a welcome oasis at which to grab something warm and fulfilling.

It is important to always maintain a sense of humour

“Janet will shoot you if she knew you were eating chips again,” I quipped at Tariq as we made a dash from the shop door to the car, trying not to let the teeming rain get to the paper packets we were carrying. Tariq and his wife were on a healthy eating campaign and she had charged me with the responsibility of keeping her informed as to her husbands eating habits when out of her sight — only light–heartedly of course.

However, this provided a source of amusement for when we met, as she would playfully rebuke him for his indiscretions having been supplied the necessary incriminating evidence from me.

“Bloody weather!” he cursed as we simultaneously slammed our doors shut and began ferreting in the chip wrappers. “Did Janet give you a packed lunch today?” I asked. “Yeah,” he nodded and then cocked his head towards the rear foot well where he had earlier placed his holdall. “Salad!” he coughed with his mouth full of fish.

Right on cue, the police radio summoned attention

“HB receiving Tango–Alpha Nine–One, Tango–Alpha Nine–one.” Tariq hastily wiped his fingers on a damp paper serviette and picked up the handset. “Tango–Alphe Nine–One, at junction five, go ahead.” He replied.

I was thinking rather crossly that even when you can seem to manage two minutes away from the motorway, as soon as you fill your mouth with food, something happens. Well, if you can’t take a joke you shouldn’t have joined, as all the ollder serving officers used to say.

A report of one car left the road onto the neaside embankment

“Tango–Alpha Nine–One, eight seven thee one on the alpha, report of vehicle having left the carriageway.” “Roger, HB. En–route.” Tariq answered. “Bloody typical! How do they do it? he said. They drive on an almost dead–straight piece of road and yet they still manage to fall off it.” I laughed at his outburst and suggest he calm down lest he get indigestion.

When you work a motorway for a long time you get to know it well. I don’t mean you get to know it like the commuter who drives it there and back every day to and from work will get to know it. I mean you really get to know it. Every wrinkle, ripple, crack and bump better than your own back garden.

You know the elevated section at junction 3, where the wind can cut across the valley and freeze your nads off as soon as you step out of the car, the weird weather systems that develop between junctions five and six – a location where I had experienced brilliant sunshine, pouring rain and settling snow over a quarter of a mile.

When you work a motorway for a long time
you get to know where the crashes often happen

You also knew the areas where crashes were most common, and with each location, what the probable cause would be even before you go there. In wet weather certain areas would collect standing water because the road–makers had not put enough camber on the road when they built it, and the places where the road–camber reverses causing rain water to run in a stream from the central reservation and the hard shoulder, or vice–versa.

The location given by the radio operator was a marker post number and from my intimate knowledge of the road I knew this to be at Manor Farm overbridge, about a mile and a half prior to junction seven. I also knew this was not one of the more usual places where collisions occurred.

“Aquaplaning I expect.” I gawffed, trying to cram as many chips as possible into my mouth before making for the scene. “Driving too fast in these conditions and has gone over the brow and caught that wet bit just before the bridge.” Daft isn’t it? On that night there would hardly be a dry bit would there? Yet, when talking about the wet bit, both Tariq and I both knew exactly what I meant?

The distance from the chip shop to the scene was around eight miles

Under good conditions it would take around four minutes in a 3–litre Vauxhall Senator to get there, but these were not good conditions.

I was all too aware of the risk of aquaplaning, and the worst thing that can ever happen to a traffic patrol officer is to become involved in a collision whilst trying to get to the one he is responding to. It is in times like these much of your success comes down to rigorous self–discipline and all the previous high quality and intense driver training.

As I joined the Northbound carriageway at junction five. The windscreen wipers were at double–speed, being barely able to cope with the amount of rain hitting the glass. I noted the volume of traffic had subsided somewhat since our departure from the ‘slab’ some twenty–minutes or so earlier.

150mph at that point is easily managed, but not tonight

Had it not been for the weather we could have made very good progress. I had often driven over the top of junction 6 at 150mph +, but this was not the night to try that one. Indeed, just after junction six, a stream runs across the road when it rains hard, as there is a camber–switch. This is a real trap for those who do not drive in a cautious manner in these adverse weather conditions and I knew it well. Even at my speed of 80mph the car expressed its displeasure as I went through that section.

As we neared the location I steered gently to the hard shoulder and slowed to a crawl, whilst Tariq notified the control room that we were at the location given.

Location, location, location – the information is often wrong

Working on the motorway you would often be given inaccurate information about where incidents had happened, not because the control room staff didn’t know what they were doing, but because they were dealing with someone on the telephone who would be in a shocked and confused state. This makes it very difficult sometimes to get precise information of the where the problem is – or where the informant is at the time. I know this because I have also performed that role of a control room operator and it is very taxing at times.

Experience had taught me to slow right down and well before a given location of an incident, before moving in slowly so as to not get tangled up in whatever it was I would be going to, or even to miss it altogether.

I remember being with a newcomer to the traffic department once, a lad who thought he knew it all, and who went barrelling along the motorway in search of what was reported as a large piece if timber in the carriageway. Despite my best advice to him to slow as we neared the area, he kept right on going.

“Where is the bloody thing then?” I remember him saying, which neatly coincided with the point when we practically left both axles on the road behind us. “That’ll be it then!” I remember saying. He didn’t so that again, at least not with me in the car.

On this occasion the reported location was spot–on

The location given for the incident Tariq and I were attending was actually spot–on and as we passed under Manor Farm overbridge I saw there was a white Ford Sierra Sapphire, picked out in the peripheral area of the headlights. Not a usual place for a collision on that road, I thought.

The car had crossed the hard standing area belonging to a brick building that housed the wizardry for the motorway telephones and matrix signals.

Completely missing the barrier along the edge of the hard shoulder next to the building the car was well clear of the the hard shoulder, although I could see its front had penetrated the Armco barrier on the inboard side of the hard standing area.

Driving very slowly
and looking for any sign of life

I remember driving very slowly a little way passed and looking for any sign of the occupant, or occupants, by using the ally lights fitted to the ends of the police car roof bar. I could see that generally the car was only slightly damaged at the front, a normally reassuring sign that no one had come to any serious harm.

The Sierra had gone through the line of the barrier about half and half, with the end of one of the barrier sections appearing to butt up against the centre area of the driver’s door panel. This was strange–happening number one, as how had the car managed to penetrate the barrier — a galvanised steel structure that is designed to withstand fantastic amounts of force without being breached?

These motorway barriers, in either the box–section or corrugated design, were built in sections that were either seam–welded or bolted together, and with closely spaced upright legs providing support. Yet this one had somehow failed. Thought as to why that should be were quickly dissmissed as the search began for people from the car.

Flicking the headlights onto full beam,
expecting to see someone walking up the hard shoulder

I squinted through the glass of the rain–drenched windscreen towards where I knew to be the nearest SOS telephone, only about 100–metres further on. I was looking for any sign of someone on foot, perhaps walking back to the car along that unlit and so very dark motorway.

“Call them up and ask if the driver has phoned in from the box?” I asked Tariq. “I’ll go and have a look in the car.” I reversed back to the Ford Sierra and heard Tariq begin speaking on the radio as I left the police vehicle, making my way around the back of it towards the Sierra. As I approached I shone my torch at the driver’s door, noting that the window glass was either wound down, or missing altogether.

Given the lack of substantial damage
it appeared at the time the car window has been wound down

People would often leave their cars and walk off in these circumstances, either to go to the motorway phone, or to the nearest sign of habitation, in search of a telephone. As the end of the barrier section was butted up against the door it seemed logical that someone had got out by way of the window, leaving it open following their exit.

Sometimes, if they had perhaps had too many sherbets, or had something else to hide, people would disappear altogether, being prepared to lose their car and contents rather than to be found by the law. This Sierra seemed to be an unoccupied vehicle, and yet was that a groan I just heard?

Listening intently for any sound from the car

Still advancing upon it I cocked my head to one side, straining my ears for the sound, if there had been one, to repeat itself. As I got within arms reach I heard it again, a pitiful and feeble groan. Shining the torch through the open window there was a man sitting in the driver’s seat, resting his head back against the head restraint.

“You alright mate?” I said in my usual jovial approach, despite the miserable weather and the memory of the lukewarm fish and chips somewhere in the back of the patrol car getting even colder. I shone the torch at his face and noticed how ashen was the pallor of his skin appeared. “It’s my mate,” he groaned. “His legs have gone.”

Switching my torch beam from the driver’s face to the same area of the passenger side of the car I saw there was a second man sitting there. Peering in I said cheerfully, “You alright there?” As I looked at him he seemed pathetically weak and barely managed to utter the words, “My legs.” This prompted me to shine the torch downward, and what met my eyes at that point I will never forget as long as I will live.

That is when I saw the barrier had penetrated the car door,
and reached the one on the other side

The crash barrier, through which the car had penetrated, did not have it’s un–joined end resting up against the outer skin of the driver’s door as I had first assumed, but had cleanly penetrated it. The end had punched through the metal as if having been pushed into a block of butter, and was in fact actually resting up against the interior lining of the passenger door.

Except for a small amount of sinew, the barrier had severed four human legs from the torso’s of the two men. Shining the torch further downward, the footwells of the car were filled with blood.

I saw two large ankle deep puddles, one on each side, of what looked like dark red paint. More was being added every second, pumping from damaged arteries that were concealed from me by this massive intrusion that had invaded the car.

Quickly assessing the situation I realised I could not get to any pressure points on either of their bodies to stem the bleeding, as the barrier was obstructing all access. I ran back to the car, wrenched the door open and said to Tariq, “Get on the radio. Tell them we need a full medical team here with a field theatre – and the fire service! That barrier has gone right through the car and taken off four legs. There are two guys trapped in there!”

I didn’t wait for a reply,
but slammed the door shut and ran back to the Sierra.

What can you do in that situation? There you are with these two people who you know are going to die very quickly unless someone can do something soon to help them, and they see you there as a person in uniform that is going to be their saviour.

A sickening feeling of helplessness

A sense of inadequacy overwhelmed me that was exacerbated by the fact that I knew the nearest ambulance station and hospital were some ten miles further north, and those that would come to help would have to travel passed the scene on the opposing carriageway before turning at the next junction to come back.

In that situation all you can do is talk – talk about anything and everything to try and keep these people as calm as possible and to try and comfort them in their state of terror.

Well I talked all right, and for what seemed like an absolute eternity. Even after the first ambulance had passed by on the opposite carriageway it seemed like a year and a day before it got back to the scene. It was mentally draining.

What happened over the next few hours was almost unbelievable. We had the northbound carriageway closed to traffic, four ambulances, several fire tenders, police vehicles all over the place together with private cars that had been driven by medical staff, and senior fire and ambulance officers attending the scene.

Hospital staff scrubbed up and ready to perform surgery,
and yet walking about on a road

Seeing surgeons and theatre staff walking around on a rain swept motorway dressed in their green gowns and clog theatre shoes was really quite a bazaar sight. There were people everywhere and yet everyone seemed to be doing something.

The fire service cut off the roof of the car fairly soon after arrival, people were fetching and carrying supplies and equipment and orders were being shouted to anyone who was in a position to do whatever was required, regardless as to which organisation they belonged to.

Lighting was a problem and I had turned the patrol car around so that it was facing back at the scene, illuminating the Sierra with the headlights. I wish I had been equipped with a camera, not through any warped and twisted sense of satisfaction at being there, but no amount of words that I can write here will tell you what a picture it was.

Screams from the car could be heard above the machinery

I remember at one point sitting in the driving seat of the patrol car, whilst on the radio, watching a fire fighter with a nine–inch angle–grinder attempt to cut through the crash barrier. Even with my doors and windows closed, and above the noise of the generators and other engines running, I could here the screams of at least one of the occupants of the Sierra, as the vibration was transmitted along the barrier into his torn body.

I don’t know if some form of anaesthetic was administered, but a few minutes later it was tried again, but this time there were no cries.

I was horrified as I saw the showers of sparks streaming from the spinning disc of the grinder spraying all over the area of the fuel filler of the car from where the filler cap was missing! I jumped out, ran across and tapped the guy on the shoulder so as to stop him from using the machine. The tap turned to a thump when he did not initially react, but it stopped the nightmare from becoming worse. Eventually the task was completed in safety.

At one point I looked closely at the drivers door of that car and was amazed, as I still am, how the end of that barrier had penetrated the metal so cleanly. The panel was not even dented or distorted. As I said earlier, it really was as if someone had pushed it into a block of butter.

For over two–hours the emergency crews worked to free those two people

Relentlessly trying to get the two men free the surgeons even performed surgical operations through the windows of the stricken vehicle. I took my turn, as many others did, standing with my arms in the air suspending a saline solution and plasma bags that were giving the two men a slightly extended chance of survival.

To try and keep everyone out the rain we had rigged up a polythene sheet on four poles over the car, and over the medical staff. This did provide a slightly better working environment for them, but conditions were still very difficult.

A cheer went up as two people were lifted clear of the wreckage

Eventually the two men were freed and a cheer went up as each man was lifted by stretcher into a waiting ambulance, before being whisked away to hospital. With the casualties gone everyone just seemed to stand there looking stunned, I suppose trying to take in what had just taken place as they had not given the time to consider it whilst it was actually happening.

Slowly at first the clear–up task began, packing away equipment, tidying up packaging that once contained various items of surgical equipment and searching the car for any items of value for later return to the injured parties, or perhaps their bereaved relatives.

Once everyone had gone an eerie silence befell the scene

I was left alone to await the recovery vehicle that would take the Sierra away. Tariq had been driven to the hospital by a colleague so as to commence the task of finding out who these two men were and to set about the task of having their families informed.

When I later caught up with him I found it almost impossible to believe what had happened. Apparently, the two men were Jehovah’s witnesses and somehow, by the time the casualties had arrived at the hospital, there was a reception committee of others from the faith, and who proceeded to stand guard over the two men everywhere they went to make sure that no one administered blood to them.

The unbelievable part of this
was how these other people knew what had happened

The two men in the car did not have mobile phones, there were no other occupants in the vehicle at the time of the crash and it was not travelling in convoy with any other. I never did get to the bottom of that one, and I guess I never will, but it had been suggested to me later that perhaps one of the emergency services team migh have also been a Jehovah’s and so put the call out.

Miraculously, one of the two men survived, but both had lost both legs. Tariq and I went to see the surviving occupant of that car at the hospital a few weeks later and during the conversation I managed to speak with the man about his faith.

Whilst I somehow admired the conviction he had given to his religion I couldn’t help feel angry. All those people who had given everything they could give to try and save the two lives and yet the two lives would not do what they really needed to do to help save themselves. However, as a police officer you have to remain professional and impartial, and that is what I did – on the outside anyway.

It transpired later the cause of the crash was aquaplaning

It transpired that I was right. The Sierra had been travelling very fast along the road, hit some surface water and had aquaplaned. The vehicle had veered out of control and driven nose first across the hardshoulder into the near–side crash barrier.

As the car had been travelling up the carriageway when things started to go wrong, even though its orientation changed, the forward momentum still took it in the original direction of travel. With the vehicle gyrating anti–clockwise it went through the barrier with the leading side, as in the drivers’ side, becoming impaled on the steel, skewering itself on this large rigid prong.

This was another bazaar feature of this incident, as the two sections of barrier parted by the Sierra should have been, but were not, affixed to each other and so should not have given way. When the highways authority carried out a meticulous examination of all the barrier sections along that road, the survey being inspired as a result of this particular incident, it was found that in many hundreds of barrier miles, this was the only joint that had not been secured.

So many unanswered questions

This discovery begged the question of how was it that two people could be in a car, lose control and crash in a place at the one and only barrier joint on the whole motorway that had not been welded? How did those other Jehovah’s witnesses, and so many of them, know to go to the hospital to ‘protect’ one of their own kind?

If you try to analyse this too much it could be bad for your health, and your mind could begin to imagine all sorts of fantastic scenarios. Those unanswered questions are perhaps best left alone.

I said at the beginning of this article, I would describe a road traffic collision that had the greatest effect upon me, and this was it. I have chosen it because it was an incident that contained so many factors that should not have been. This should have been a case of finding an embarrassed driver walking back from the SOS motorway telephone, with their car stuck in the mud, but undamaged, halfway up an embankment – just like so many before and so many after that night.

A few feet more would have had made all the difference

Had that Ford Sierra travelled another ten feet it would have cleared the end of the barrier altogether and would have made this exactly the type of incident it was supposed to have been. It was the way in which this one was disguised that made it so remarkable and why it iwll be the one out of all that I shall remember the longest.

First Published February 2000

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A Very Bad Motorway Crash