I heard the news on the radio: my parents and sister had died in a helicopter crash. How would I survive their sudden loss?

I was 16 when the course of my life changed, and for years I was unable to speak about about what had happened

I

am lying in bed listening to the radio at my boarding school as my roommate is getting dressed. As she walks out of the door she says, “See you at breakfast – don’t be late.” I’m about to get up when the early morning news comes on the radio, and I hear the announcer saying my parents’ names.

By the time my roommate arrives at breakfast, everyone has heard. My friends run to be with me. The housemaster and his wife stand in the corridor outside my bedroom, not allowing anyone in. All they can hear are my screams and the smashing of furniture. It is beyond comprehension, but then everything from now on is beyond comprehension.

On this sunny May bank holiday in 1978, my mother, father and sister had flown to Le Touquet in France for lunch, a journey my father had made many times, piloting his helicopter. On their return, air traffic control lost contact with them over the Channel. They never arrived back in UK airspace and were all presumed dead.