I just found the following quote on another thread and wondered if it was worthy of starting a new one. I'll go first. Over the years I seem to have had a close personal interest in many disasters. Starting in 1947 (there was an intervening brother still to be born before me). My mother and eldest brother flew to South America to join my father who had spent the war down a mine and nearly lost his arm in an argument with a conveyor belt so he changed career to become ... a gold mine engineer. Mum flew to Colombia in a converted Lancaster with the nascent British South American Airways. Of the inaugural flights, every other one crashed without trace and my mother's flight broke the sequence (luckily for me). Google has lots of interesting information about this sequence. In the early 70s, two 747s collided on the runway at Teneriffe with enormous casualties. A married couple of my mother's teacher friends were due to fly back that day. Not their flight. Reporting to my training unit in 1975 (I cannot now remember whether it was the abortive RMPTC Chichester or RACTR Catterick), somewhere behind us on the way from Sutton Coldfield to Euston there was a massive goods train crash near Watford Gap. I was on the Northern Line to Barnet (from RMPTC to a friend's house for a party) the night of the Moorgate disaster. A week after I eventually flew from Gib (ex adventure training to Gatwick) in 1980 delayed due to strong crosswinds closing Gib airfield as anyone who has ever experienced will know, the same British Caledonian flight disappeared mid-Atlantic en-route from the Canaries (or Madeira?). Posted to 12 Armd Wksp, Mercer Barracks Osnabruck in late 1982, we travelled via Felixstowe. A week or two later a freight ferry collided and sank off Harwich, taking to the bottom all the MFO belonging to 1 Green Howards, contemporaneously posted to the same barracks. I travelled Zeebrugge - Felixstoxe / Dover numerous times, often on the Herald of Free Enterprise. On Teletext the next day I saw the name of a clerk from 12 Armd Wksp that I'd left a few months earlier describing his experience. (Working by this time in Manning Division of the RAPC Computer Centre, I had access to the Manning Database and there was only one D*** G****y from Coventry on the list.) The Lockerbie flight must have exploded somewhere over my mother's deathbed at my brother's house on the border: wreckage was scattered in a 15-mile arc centred thereabouts. Clapham Junction. The guy from the next desk in the Computer Centre completed his four-year time bar and like most went straight to civvy street and a London commute (as did I a couple of years later). Badly injured. The instructor on my Transfer-In-Soldier course in 1982 was on the British Midlands flight to Belfast that crashed at East Midlands Airport. Killed. I think that covers it for me. The floor is open.