When I was 20, I saved two lives. It was during the International Assemblies in 1973. I had volunteered as a night guard at Twickenham (west of London) so didn’t get to hear much of the sessions as I was half asleep. So, as was common in those days (still is for all I know), you went to a second assembly to sit back and ‘enjoy’ the fine spiritual food. I went to Dublin, which turned out to be ironic because you could hardly hear a thing at the RDS. They had strung up speakers to virtually every pillar in the place and it sounded like a large train station with a dozen tannoys, all slightly out of sinc with each other.
Anyway, I joined a tour to the Wicklow mountains and we stopped at some picturesque spot to view the scenery. The tour guide warned us to be careful when going down this slope to get a better view of the gorge as the gradient drops rapidly, and under no circumstance should you run as you wouldn’t be able to stop and would quickly loose control.
The area was quite wooded with a path heading downwards. I started down it and the edge of the precipice must have been about 50-60 yards away, so I started a little trot, which soon became a run and I soon realised I was losing control, I couldn’t stop, so I learnt backwards and skidded down the rapidly increasing gradient – dust and stones were flying everywhere. After about 20-30 feet I came to a halt and thought, ‘wow, that guy wasn’t kidding’.
I looked back to be faced with a young lad about 12-13, eyes bulging, a look of terror on his face, hurtling toward me and ready to topple. I braced myself, leaned forward and did a rugby tackle around his waist as he ploughed into me, and we slid another 20-30 feet down the slope in another cloud of dust and stones. No sooner had we stooped there was a second kid, travelling even faster, with the same look of terror, but who also happed to be much bigger than his mate. I did the same tackle and we must has slid about 40-50 feet this time. We probably finished about 10 yards or so from the precipice, and I am convinced that if I hadn’t stopped them neither would have survived – the drop must have been a couple of hundred feet onto rocks and boulders.
They never said thanks, and I never saw them again (they must have been on a different coach to me). I have often wondered what became of them. Did they have a good and fulfilled life? Did they ever tell anyone about it? I didn’t, not even at the time, and nobody else saw it. But I didn’t feel heroic or anything. I guess I felt a bit disappointed that I couldn’t boast about it, but I knew the lads knew, and I also knew Jehovah had seen it and would reward me somehow, especially if I kept humbly quiet. On reflection, it was probably my fault in the first place, for starting to run. I guess they were just following me.