Episode 10 Real Lives Reunited

Ordinary people who made history together.

You see those faces in front of you as if it was yesterday.

Strangers thrown together by disaster, never to see each other again.

You just wonder how anyone managed to get out alive that day.

Everyday heroes who risked everything.

In our own small way, it helped them to do the job that they do so well.

People are nice, people are good, people's humanity shone through.

Brought together by fate, separated by life,

real lives reunited.

Today, these civilians who found themselves in the middle

of a war zone.

I prayed really hard.

I do remember that, you know, face down on the deck.

I thought, "Someone is trying to kill me."

And the military band who played on throughout the deadly combat.

Somebody said to me, "What did you get out of the Falklands?"

and I said, "Appreciation of what I'd got back home."

Ten years after she was pulled from the rubble of a factory explosion,

a woman gets the chance to meet the fireman who saved her.

I can't find the words to express how grateful I am

to him for what he did.

And plucked from the rooftops,

survivors of some of the country's worst ever floods

thank their helicopter heroes.

It is a bit special when you're meeting someone

that's rescued your wife and one of your best friends.

In the early '80s, Britain was a country at war with itself.

High unemployment, rampant inflation and an unpopular government

were a combustible mix.

But on April 2nd 1982,

a national emergency changed everything.

Argentina has invaded the Falklands.

2,000 men are reported to have gone ashore this morning

and taken full control. The Government are expected to confirm

the invasion soon. Senior ministers are meeting now at Number Ten.

A British Naval taskforce was despatched with orders

to retake the islands

if diplomatic attempts to find a solution failed.

Among the boats that set a course for the South Atlantic,

a requisitioned commercial cruise ship, the Canberra,

and some of its young civilian crew,

who had no idea what they were about to sail into.

I haven't been to the Falklands before. That could be interesting.

I think when you're young, you don't think about danger in the same way.

The Canberra sailed from Southampton on Good Friday 1982,

with more than 2,500 Royal Marines and Paratroopers on board,

as well as a volunteer civilian crew of more than 400,

including a group of women known as the "fearless fifteen".

Among them, ship's doctor Susie West and nurse Angela Devine.

I never dreamt that I would have that sort of opportunity.

Medically and professionally, it was going to be a challenge.

Also on board, assistant pursers Fiona Lund

and Sally Westman Goodman,

who'd just joined the company.

I had a phone call from the personnel department who said,

"As it's your first trip to sea, you won't be going,"

and then the next day they phoned up and said, "We haven't got as many

"volunteers as we thought, would you like to go after all?" I said yes.

I was young, I as foolish, I was adventurous

and I just thought it might be...well, interesting.

The civilian crew carried out their normal duties

while also supporting their military passengers.

It was hoped that international diplomacy would solve the situation.

After all, Britain hadn't been to war in decades.

I didn't even pack cold-weather clothing because I just assumed

that we'd go down round the Isle of Wight,

go back again and then continue with Mediterranean cruising.

But diplomacy failed

and on May 2nd, an Argentine light cruiser was sunk

with the loss of 323 lives.

When we heard the Belgrano was hit,

we realised how serious the whole situation was becoming.

And then when the Sheffield went down,

we knew that this wasn't just an exercise any more.

Three weeks later, on 21st May, the Canberra anchored

in San Carlos Water, also known as Bomb Alley.

When we arrived, it was a beautiful day,

beautiful clear skies, which was not good from our point of view.

We were going to be very visible.

And then the air attack came.

It was the noise.

The noise.

It was horrendous.

Very, very frightening.

The Canberra came under sustained attack by Argentine aircraft.

For inexperienced civilians, it was a terrifying ordeal.

I prayed really hard, I did.

I do remember that, you know, face down on the deck.

I thought, "Someone is trying to kill me

"and my life could end, just like that."

It was a feeling that I'll never forget.

For the fearless fifteen,

the realities of war were becoming all too apparent.

We survived that horrendous Bomb Alley,

but some people didn't.

22 lives were lost when HMS Ardent was sunk on 22nd May,

and it was the Canberra that took on the shell-shocked survivors.

I can still remember the faces of the Ardent crew coming on board.

I think that will always stay with me.

The fact that it was a jolly went out of the window.

I couldn't understand, "Why do we have wars?

"Why did this have to happen? Why did people have to get killed?"

But then, on June 14th,

the crew on board the Canberra received

the news they'd been longing for.

We had an announcement from the bridge

that there were white flags at Port Stanley,

and everybody just cheered.

It was joyous, absolutely joyous.

It was wonderful.

But for many, the joy was short lived

as the stress of intense combat took its toll on soldiers returning home.

Some of those conversations were horrendous.

A lot of those men had seen some pretty awful things, really.

We were able to listen without commenting...

um...I hope helped.

The women on board now found themselves working as counsellors

and confidantes.

Everybody had their own war,

and I never fully understood that expression

until it happened.

Everyone had their own personal war.

Almost 1,000 people were killed in the Falklands Conflict,

but on 11 July 1982, the Canberra arrived back in Southampton

to a rapturous reception.

The crew had been at sea for 94 days,

74 of them at war.

It was quite misty as we came up the Solent and, literally,

we came through the mist and all of a sudden,

you could see all these boats that had come out to meet us.

We kind of realised this was a big occasion

and nothing prepared us for the sight everybody on the quayside.

We had no idea we would get any sort of reception like that.

I don't think anyone did. Prince Charles arrived in a red helicopter.

He was real. One of the best days of my life, definitely.

After surviving the horror of a war zone together,

the group drifted apart.

Now, over three decades later,

four of the fearless 15 are about to be reunited.

I thought I heard a Sally laugh. Hi, Fiona. Good to see you.

I heard you laughing.

Both Fiona and Sally celebrated their birthdays during the voyage.

Birthdays. Both of us had our birthdays. Well, mine is coming.

Yours has been and gone. Yes. 31 years. I know.

It's unbelievable where that time's gone to, isn't it?

You look pretty good, actually, Sally, I have to say.

We obviously went through a very significant period together and

that has forged a bond which not many people have that sort of experience.

Sharing that experience

were medical team Susie West and Angela Devine.

Hello. Hello. Susie West. Susie! I was trying to remember you.

Oh, wow.

'I think all of us have a special place in our hearts'

for the Canberra and the campaign.

We all had an opportunity to learn how to fire a gun.

I don't know what they thought.

You know, that I would be able to shoot down an entire...

If they were a bit short of staff, they could get you to get involved.

'I go to remembrance services and I do actually think my family'

could have been standing there remembering me.

I think it's only people that were there

that you can really share it with.

'It makes me feel very, very lucky that we came back'

and we've had the last 30 years

to live our lives.

Later, the military band who kept up the moral on-board

are reunited after more than 30 years apart,

as they relive one of their greatest moments with an old acquaintance.

# That were members of 42 supporters club

ALL: # We're members of 42 supporters club! #

CHEERING

In the face of war and disaster,

ordinary people are forced to find hidden reserves.

But for those paid to deal with catastrophe, it is

the all-essential training that gets them through.

In the aftermath of 9/11,

US emergency crews became world leaders in urban rescue and in

2003, Scottish fireman Kevin Smyth travelled there to learn from them.

Some of his colleagues were sceptical.

Few believed such specialist skills

would be needed in peacetime Britain. But they were wrong.

You just wonder how anyone...

managed to get out of it alive that day.

I hadn't seen anything like it before.

It was certainly the biggest incident I'd ever attended.

A major operation is under way to rescue 14 people

still trapped in rubble.

As darkness falls tonight, there is no letup in the rescue

effort at what is left of the plastics factory.

The search for survivors goes on but so far today

they have found only death.

At midday on the 11th of May 2004, a massive explosion destroyed

a plastics factory in Maryhill, Glasgow.

Inside, 60 workers, halfway through their shift.

HR manager Linda Kinnon was in a meeting with her boss

when the blast happened.

There was a really loud bang

and the next thing I remember was falling down...

..like into a big, black void, into a black hole.

The four-storey building was devastated

and Linda was trapped deep under the rubble.

It was absolutely pitch black except for this one tiny

pinprick of light, which was right up above my head.

The explosion prompted one of the biggest inner-city rescue

efforts of modern times.

RAF helicopters, sniffer dogs

and 300 firefighters were brought in from across the country.

Among them were Andy Scott and urban rescue specialist Kevin Smyth.

Part of the building had collapsed and part of it was still standing.

It reminded me of 9/11.

The floors of the building had effectively vanished

and the roof was now just 18 feet off the ground.

There was crying going on and there was people aghast and shocked.

The looks on people's faces said it all.

When we made contact with people,

what we wanted to do was keep talking to them,

let them know that we were

going to do our best to try and get them out of there.

The building was highly unstable.

There was a real risk the weight of the roof could come

crashing down on the rescue effort at any moment.

I could hear a woman crying and saying, "Help me."

About another 15 feet away, I could see the back of a woman's ear

and the top part of her neck and she was crying.

I was quite relieved that, you know, that he'd found me.

I shouted to him, "I'm down here," and I thought all he had to do

was to, you know, if I reached up and he reached down, I would be out.

But getting to Linda through 18 feet of rubble was going to be dangerous.

Kevin's newly acquired skills were about to be stretched to the limit.

I thought to myself, "How are we going to get her out of here?"

Because what was pinning her down was what was holding

the rest of the rubble up.

To avoid the building collapsing on them,

they tunnelled towards Linda from the side -

a painstakingly slow business.

We had to pick the building apart, piece by piece,

a little bit at a time.

With every passing minute, Linda's chances of survival were reduced.

She had a badly broken leg, her ankle was smashed

and she was also losing blood.

I never thought that anyone could suffer as much pain

and still actually be alive.

The longer the rescue was taking,

the less chance there was that she would survive.

At one point, I told Kevin Smyth just to leave me alone.

Just... That was it.... I'd had enough. Just let me go.

I did say to her, "Come on, we're not having any of that.

We need to keep this going and we'll get you out eventually."

Kevin's training helped him reach Linda

but it had taken four and a half hours

and when he got to her, his heart sank.

She was impaled on a piece of wood. Her leg was crushed.

To look at her, she didn't look as if she was going to survive.

To release her, Kevin had to

saw through the piece of wood quickly and carefully.

Whilst he was sawing, the blade broke on his saw first of all

and he used an expletive.

And I told him off.

I said, "There's no need for that kind of language,

"no matter the situation."

And I thought, "If this woman has still got the

"energy to tell me off for swearing then she's got a good chance."

And the firefighters had cleared space up above me by this time

and I could see a line of them, saying, "You tell...

"You just him, Linda. You tell him."

And they said, "His name's Kevin Smyth."

Linda was now bleeding so badly,

Kevin feared she wouldn't survive much longer.

He quickly replaced the saw and finally,

after a six-hour rescue mission, Linda was freed.

They had to just literally pull me out

with the rope that was tied round me.

It was very important that we took Linda out in a controlled manner.

We could have caused further injury by taking her out too quickly.

I just member seeing his face.

And then the next thing, it was all...

I could see all the firefighters

who were way above me, clapping and cheering.

But, by this point, Linda had been trapped for seven hours

and was in a very bad state.

Having been through so much together,

Kevin now feared Linda's life was slipping away.

We carried her up the rubble pile to the ambulance personnel.

At that point, I thought,

"That's the last time I'll see that woman alive."

But somehow, despite life-threatening injuries,

Linda did survive.

After ten weeks in hospital, she returned home and now,

ten years after the explosion that nearly cost Linda her life,

she's about to be reunited with the firefighter who saved her.

I can't find the words to express how grateful I am to him for what he did.

On November 19th, 2009, unprecedented levels of rainfall in Cumbria

brought utter chaos and put lives in danger.

I cannot stress how serious this situation is.

In the market town of Cockermouth, rivers surged through flood

defences and more than 200 people were evacuated.

But for 63-year-old June Goldstein,

alone except for two border terriers, Pepper and Jonty,

it was a terrifying experience.

The water was coming over the old flood defences.

It was starting to sort of creep into the kitchen.

400 miles away on business, husband Adrian desperately sought help

from friend Terry, asking him to get to the house as quickly as possible.

This is where I jumped over

and I jumped down to about four foot of water

and just went across the drive.

I didn't realise how much water was going past.

I came downstairs, managed to open the door for him.

By this time what would have been in the house, just above...knee.

With the emergency services stretched to breaking point,

June's house had somehow been missed

and, as the rain continued to fall, the situation became desperate.

We were on the landing, looking down the stairs, thinking,

"When is it going to stop? Hopefully that's it."

And if you looked at the window here,

it was...almost appeared as if it was just below the window sill.

As day turned to night, rising water levels all over Cockermouth

showed no sign of relenting.

Adrian's car that was parked in front

just all of a sudden just lifted and just went.

There was no way we'd have got out. There was too much water.

Because their house was built in 18th-century,

they had no proper foundations

and so it was extremely vulnerable to the surging floodwaters.

And then about half past two in the morning,

there was an almighty bang and the house just shook.

Scared to death.

The sheer force of the water had destroyed a nearby bridge,

which smashed into the house. Around the same time,

Adrian's desperation reached breaking point and he dialled 999.

My wife and a friend of mine

are stuck in a house in Cockermouth, which is right up on the...

Realising the situation was critical,

the RAF search and rescue helicopter was scrambled.

I got a phone call saying the helicopter was coming for us.

And I said, "Yeah, we're getting off. We're going."

But there was a problem.

Or, to be more accurate, two problems.

I wasn't going to leave my dogs. I didn't want to leave the dogs.

With the helicopter approaching, Terry suggested putting Pepper

and Jonty into suitcases.

In minutes, he and June, along with their precious cargo,

were on the roof, waiting to be rescued.

The daring operation, led by RAF winchman Glenn Holmes,

was captured by a news crew.

Obviously, there is a certain amount of risk,

because we were right in

the middle of town, on a house -

there isn't a great place to go if anything goes terribly wrong.

He swung down onto the roof.

When he'd eye contact with me, I went over to him.

He said, "Watch what I'm saying." He said, "Lift your arms."

I lifted my arms. He put the harness on. He said,

"Keep your arms by your side. Now, just relax and just go with it."

After 24 hours fretting for their lives,

the pair were finally rescued.

It hadn't occurred to me until I was in the helicopter that

I'd gone up on my own, with the dog in the case.

And I felt a little bit sort of...

The adrenaline was high. I was trembling.

June, Terry, Pepper and Jonty were taken to safety.

Dry land. That was the nice feeling.

Come in. Thank you.

And now, for the first time since their incredible rescue,

the pair are going to be reunited with Glenn Holmes,

the RAF man who winched them to safety.

How are you? Nice to see you. And you.

Hello, Terry. Nice to see you.

It makes a nice change coming in the front door rather than the roof.

A nice novelty.

And some other fortunate rescues want to meet Glenn, too.

Say hello.

There you go. Hello. Hello. Oh, lots of licks.

That's a thank you, by the way, in case you don't know.

I'll accept that. But only from the dogs.

Adrian can't wait to take advantage of the dry weather

and get a snap of the four lucky evacuees and their saviour.

'It's lovely to have met Glenn finally to be able to say thank you.'

Smile.

It is a bit special, isn't it, when you're meeting someone that's

rescued your wife and one of your best friends from catastrophe?

In the aftermath of the disaster,

?4.4 million was spent on improving Cockermouth's flood defence

system in the hope of preventing such a catastrophe in the future.

In May 2004, when the plastics factory in Glasgow where

she worked exploded, Linda Kinnon's life changed forever.

Incredibly, she survived, but she has struggled to come to terms

with the loss of nine friends and colleagues.

You feel guilty that you survived and other people died.

And I know they've got the term for it, survivor's guilt,

but it doesn't help.

'And you wonder why you survived and that other person died.'

I find that one of the hardest things to cope with.

The Scottish firefighter who said Linda from deep beneath the

rubble, Kevin Smyth, was astonished to discover that she lived.

When I heard that she had survived,

it was a great feeling. It was a feeling that,

in all my years in the fire service, it's

possibly one of the most rewarding rescues that I've taken part in.

Almost a decade on and Linda's about to meet Kevin

and another member of the rescue team, Andy Scott.

Great to see you again, Linda.

I can't find the words to express how grateful I am to him for what he did.

Linda has never watched footage of her rescue.

Unbelievable.

This part here is where we're trying to tunnel in to get you.

You're buried round about here. That's you being removed there.

On a stretcher.

So, you can see why we didn't think YOU would survive. Yeah.

I think Linda, she's certainly an inspiration to keep going

when you're in that situation and the drive to survive,

if you like, and the drive to live. She's certainly an inspection to me.

I don't know how I would cope if I was in that situation.

I look at that and see all the rubble and everything. I don't know what...

My guardian angel must have been on duty.

To put your own life at risk for someone - words aren't enough.

I'll always appreciate it. OK. And never forget you. Thank you.

For the first time since that fateful day,

she's returned to the scene of the blast.

The people who were in my rescue team,

they did put their lives at risk.

I'm only grateful that none of them...

..had any form of accident.

Linda went to work that day.

She didn't expect to find herself in any danger whatsoever

and she found herself trapped underneath the building.

She is a remarkable woman, you know, that had the drive to keep going.

I had to accept the fact that I didn't die in the accident

and I owe it to them to get on with my life as best as I possibly can.

She has been given a second chance and she's determined she's

going to take every opportunity to maximise that.

It's been really nice meeting up with him again nearly ten years on.

It has been really, really nice.

I'm so glad I've had the opportunity to meet up with them.

A Government enquiry revealed a corroded gas pipe had leaked

and caused the explosion.

It recommended improvements be made to underground pipework.

But for Linda's nine colleagues who died that day,

the changes came too late.

On Good Friday 1982, a requisitioned cruise liner, the Canberra,

sailed for the Falklands as part of a task force to recapture

the islands from Argentine invaders.

Among the troops and volunteer civilians was a Royal Marines band.

The band of the Royal Marines Commando Forces,

we were on board the Canberra for the whole of the Falklands War,

from when it left to when it went back to Southampton.

We had a multitude of rolls on board the ship and music was perhaps

the most important one of them because of the morale.

As the Canberra neared the South Atlantic, band drummer

Brian Short decided something extra was needed to ease the tension.

Martin Dale, the saxophone player, and George Tate, Bruno Brown

and myself, we formed a jazz quartet so we could go and play

in the smaller messes around the ship and keep the troops entertained.

One night, we did a concert

and all the lads were on their feet cheering and stomping

and their colonel in charge said,

"I wish we did let them ashore tonight

"because it would all be over."

But, when the troops finally did see action, not all of them came back.

It was a tough time for soldiers and band members alike.

The burials at sea were very sad and emotive.

Some of the people we were burying were people we knew on the way down,

Royal Marines.

Somebody said to me, "What did you get out of the Falklands?"

And I said, "Appreciation of what I'd got back home."

When the 74 days of conflict ended, the Canberra headed for home.

Many of those on board believe the long return trip was

an essential part of coming to terms with the trauma of war.

And the band was a huge part of that.

I think the music helped bring people back together and bring them slowly

down from a combat environment to something akin to socialising again.

It's quite reassuring when they come up and they tell you how much

they appreciated what you did, you know, for them.

We just thought it was making music.

Today, 30 years on, the band has been brought together again.

Good to see you. George. Bruno.

We knew there was one missing.

Are you not wearing the wig today then? No.

As the Canberra neared home,

TV cameras captured just how important the band had become.

There's something you that you might be interested in.

Do you remember this? Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. There's Martin.

That's me on clarinet.

# Oh, when the saints go marching in. #

We were the pop stars of 1982. That's what people won't realise.

For years afterwards, there was a much stronger bond, having given them

all that morale, the Royal Marine commandos appreciated us a lot more.

We got a lot more support from them.

And it was to be a commando with his own musical ambitions

who helped forge that bond.

Good afternoon, gents. Nice to see you again. Hello. Oh, my God.

During the journey home, Eric Barber was asked to perform

a song he'd composed about the Canberra's voyage.

Captured on TV, it was to become Royal Marine folklore.

# Now, here's to you A bit overdue

# To all the men of Commando 42

# Blow them, blast them We'll outlast them

# Shoot them, gun them We'll outrun them... #

They were the real main backbone of keeping the morale

up for 42 Commando and the rest of the mark 40s.

# God save the Queen and have a tot of rum... #

In our own small way, you know, it helped them

to do the job that they do so well.

# Finished, over and done... #

It's a great feeling when

you can improve someone's well-being by music.

# We'll all be proud, as we should

# That we're members of 42 supporters club

ALL: # We're members of 42 supporters club! #

CHEERING

On board the Canberra, the Royal Marine band enforced

the importance of music to combat troops, and that legacy lives on.

Today, wherever British troops are sent into harm's way,

a band goes with them.

IT ROARS

The Doctor needs us - you more than anyone.

Bring the carriage! NOW!

The question is...

have there been any similar murders?

The Doctor - what's he doing here?

There is trouble.

HORSE WHINNIES