Ready to die? When the question is suddenly personal

The picture tells part of the story. In the background, a glimpse of God's creation, and the clear highland air of Scottish glens and peaks. Nearer the camera, a badly smashed-up car.

A rescue vehicle, with cutting equipment. A discarded head-rest, soaked in blood. And still inside, before they could manoeuvre her out to the ambulance, is Helen, who describes here what happened before and after:

Around and beyond Glen Coe, the scenery is spectacular. That is why we have come; 700 miles on the clock so far, with lots more holiday still to enjoy. What would it be to like to live up here, we wonder? A bit lonely, perhaps, in what seems to me like the middle of nowhere. The other thought I remember from that Tuesday morning was, How many more days to go before term starts? And rather more pressing, Where are we going to get lunch?

The Tourist Information Centre on the A82 near Ballachulish has a grotty toilet, but they can direct us back half a mile to a good sandwich shop. The sun is high in a brilliant blue sky; it must be getting on for one o'clock. Back to the car, on with the seat belts, a short drive, and Peter is positioned for a right turn off the main road. From the passenger seat I don't notice the rear view mirror, and for a second I am puzzled at Peter's exclamation. He can see the smoking tyres of the car behind, its brakes full on but far too late. The impact is crunchingly awful, and anyone in the back of our small Peugeot would probably have been killed instantly.

'We've had an accident'

Five minutes later, they tell me, I opened my eyes. Why am I on my back with my legs at such a strange angle in front of me? The door beside me is all pushed in. Peter is cradling my head; 'We've had an accident,' he says. He had thought I was dead; for a moment, relief overwhelms him. But it was the second crash that knocked me out, and Peter has no memory of that one. The car behind had shunted us into the path of oncoming traffic, and we have been hit sideways on - my side.

It was a struggle to come out of unconsciousness. Blood was trickling from my mouth and oozing from the back of my head. After a moment's calm incomprehension, waves of panic engulfed me; my eyes were desperate to close, but I knew I had to keep them open as I felt I might die. And I didn't want to - not yet.

'I've got to face God alone!' I thought, and that was terrifying. Afterwards, I remembered Bible verses that matched that fear. Would I be acceptable to God? Yes, I know Jesus is my Saviour, but there was one burning issue which I hadn't resolved before him; would he be angry and not welcome me? All this raced through my mind in seconds.

Asking God

Peter was incredibly calm. He prayed with me, asking God to help us. The prayer seemed unfinished as the ambulance men moved in, talking, soothing, repeating my name. It was all so unreal; was I suddenly in some different time-zone? I was still frightened; 'Lord Jesus, sweet Jesus!' I kept calling. A hard board slid under me, my head taped to it with velcro strips, with a neck collar for support. A hacksaw was at work on the back seat to make a way out of the car. Our car! That was when Peter took the photo. He unloaded our holiday gear into the ambulance, and I was gently eased in. People were standing around to watch: some from the cafe, or other drivers who had slowed and then stopped.

Inside the ambulance I shook uncontrollably, first tearful, then calm, then hysterical. I had no idea how much noise I was making. I felt numb; my legs wouldn't move, but I could wiggle my toes. 'You have a small cut on your head,' they said, and I believed them. We didn't speed to Fort William; I was in no immediate danger, and not knowing what was broken they took no risks of bumping or swerving. When I shut my eyes, they made me open them. And the gaping split in my head throbbed against the hard plastic I was lying on. But I knew by now that I was going to live; I just wanted to be in control. Was that something to do with being a teacher?

'On with the holiday'?

The X-rays at Fort William took an age. As I moved on to my side it was excruciating, and they had to hold me in position. I was naively thinking: 'Let's get this over, and get on with our holiday!' At last the doctor diagnosed a broken pelvis, and I was wheeled into my little room for the night, with drip and catheter in situ, and hourly checks on my eyes, temperature, and blood-pressure. Peter had escaped with bad bruising and whiplash injuries; he booked into the hotel next door and spent a small fortune on the phone. People needed to know, and he needed to talk. All through, from crash to hospital, he attended to my bodily functions; how good, in such a plight, to have a real husband!

He even claims, with some surprise, that I never complained. It could be true; we easily grumble over our trivial hurts, but in a real crisis we see things in better proportion. Later on, it was a relief to know that no one else was badly injured, and that I was alive to tell the tale.

But what about God? There were issues in me that God has been concerned with for some time; was this his way of yelling at me? Before we had another crash which might be the last, I must put things straight. I know that may not be the reason; there doesn't even have to be a reason, or at least one that we understand. But I told Peter, 'This is what I want you to do', and with his help that problem was resolved, and the barrier removed.

Good to have a husband, and good to have a church. It sometimes seemed that the world was swarming with Christians! Even before the crash, in our B&Bs, then in hospital - and most remarkably, the older lady who fell and broke her hip that week, near Fort William. We were wondering how to get back to London when we heard about her; unlike us she was medically insured. Her trip to Uganda later that month was now off, but within 12 hours we were flying south in a chartered air ambulance as her guests, and by late afternoon I was in bed at Kings College Hospital near our South London home.

The love of Jesus

Then our fellowship, Christ Church came into its own, and other friends and family; people who noticed the Bible on my locker, the young Afro-Caribbean pharmacist who was so excited to find I was a Christian; the little lady visiting with tracts who may have seemed a century adrift but simply glowed with the love of Jesus. And the visitors and flowers and cards; it's humbling to find how precious you are to many people, and they to you.

I'm not keen to go again to where it all happened, and the West Highlands are not on our immediate list of places to revisit. I am surprised to feel no resentment towards the first driver, but relieved that the police have charged him and conveyed to us his remorse. I hope I have learned to put things right straight away, and not just put them off. Peter and I plan to take a first-aid course. And when we get another car, whatever the adverts say, the number one factor will be safety.

Most of the scary things in this life can be shared; you can say to someone, 'Come with me!' But I still know I shall have to face God on my own. I still don't want to die - not yet. But whenever and however death comes close again, I hope I will not be so frightened. For now I know more than ever that God loves me anyway; I am his child, and Christ is all my righteousness.

Ready to die? When the question is suddenly personal

Helen England describes how it feels to face death in the aftermath of a car crash

'We've had an accident'

Asking God

'On with the holiday'?

The love of Jesus

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