The young sailor’s departure from the south coast of England was quite an event, drawing a crowd of well-wishers and the curious.
It was the 1970s and he was setting off on a single-handed trip on a yacht across the Channel, but within a few hours the trip had turned to disaster. He had to abandon ship, drifting in an orange life raft.
The Plymouth Rescue Coordination Centre (PRCC) mounted a full-scale search, helped by their French counterparts. A whole fleet of helicopters, fixed-wing aircraft and seacraft combed the area for days, as anxious relatives waited desperately for news. But as the days passed, one after the other, the grim reality started to sink in.
The chances of survival in the Channel in a life raft, after that length of time, were slim. The search, in accordance with PRCC guidelines, was called off.
The relatives were inconsolable, unable to accept that there was no more hope.
Bob was on duty at the centre one night towards the end of that week. After the constant tension of the previous week, things had once again slowed down to a boring, monotonous routine. He was in the control room, trying to keep awake with a mixture of cigarettes and coffee. He was almost relieved when the phone rang at around three in the morning.
“Excitement at last,” he muttered wryly to himself.
But the male voice at the other end of the line was quite business-like.
“You don’t know me, my name is Brown. I’m a clairvoyant,” he said.
Bob groaned inwardly. Not another nutter.
He took another sip of the now tepid coffee and grimaced.
But the man went on: “I’ve seen a vision.”
The man described seeing a young man in an orange boat.
Bob groaned even more, now convinced that the man was just wasting his time. Many people who watch intense media coverage in cases like this feel terribly helpless. Some of them want to feel that they are doing their bit and call the authorities with useless or even imagined information. But Bob went through the routine anyway.
“I see, sir. And where exactly was the boat?” he asked, fully expecting the man to say: “In the sea.”
So imagine his surprise when Brown gave him the exact coordinates: latitude, longitude, even the minutes.
There was one thought on everyone’s mind: even if the lad were found, would it be too late?
By now, Bob was definitely interested, although his natural scepticism still made him reluctant to pay too much attention to what Brown was saying. He took down the details, thanked Brown with what he describes as his “best PR manner” and hung up.
At first, he did not react. He lit another cigarette and carried on reading the evening paper. But then curiosity got the better of him and he pulled out the Channel charts.
At first glance, the coordinates certainly seemed logical. He pictured Brown tormented by this image through the night, eventually feeling that he had to do something about it and phoning the PRCC.
Bob made up his mind, pulling out tide-tables, meteorological charts for that week, checking winds, currents, cross-checking them with the areas that had already been searched...
His cigarette burned out, forgotten, in the ash tray. It was possible, it was just possible...
Bob spent the rest of the night working out a probability chart, thinking about Brown and the hope that he had just rekindled the faint glimmer of hope that the young man might still be found, perhaps alive.
By the time the Wing Commander came in that morning, Bob was barely able to stop himself from blurting out his discovery. He kept telling himself that he was still unconvinced by the clairvoyant but at the back of his mind nagged the vital question: what if...?
Bob told the Wing Commander about the strange phone call, trying to sound tongue-in-cheek to protect himself from ridicule but his experienced superior realised that the information had been accurate enough to merit at least some attention.
“What aircraft have we got in the area today?” he asked.
The centre’s staff snapped into action. They found that a French maritime patrol aircraft was scheduled to be near the area later that day. They requested that its route be slightly altered towards the east.
The tension at PRCC grew. There was one thought on everyone’s mind: even if the lad were found, would it be too late?
The French pilot took off, guided by the probability chart that Bob had worked on. Adjustments were made for the wind, tide and current changes since the early morning phone call. The radar screens hummed quietly, the only sound disturbing the intense concentration at the PRCC.
And then the radio came to life. The French pilot had spotted him. The orange life raft was still bobbing up and down in the swell. The young man was still alive inside it, waving weakly at the aircraft. A cheer went up on both sides of the Channel.
The French aircraft dispatched a ship to the area and within an hour, he was safe on board, being warmed up. The news soon spread, with relatives reluctant to believe that there was a happy ending after the disappointments of the previous week.
The young man had spent over a week exposed to the elements, surviving only on the food and water in the emergency kit, but he was alive.
After this incident, clairvoyants were used several times in search and rescue operations, not just at sea but also in suspected homicide cases.
This is the 43rd in a series of short stories The Sunday Times of Malta is running every Sunday. It is taken from The Unexplained Plus (Allied Publications) by Vanessa Macdonald. The first edition was published in 2001 and reprinted twice. It was republished, with added stories, as The Unexplained Plus. The Maltese version of the book, Ta’ Barra Minn Hawn (Klabb Kotba Maltin), is available from all leading bookstores and stationers and from www.bdlbooks.com.