Jamie Hull - Life on a Thread: My story

Motivational speaker, adventurer, former police officer and Special Forces Reservist, Jamie Hull was thirty-two when his life changed forever. Jamie was training to be a pilot in the US when his plane engine caught fire on a solo flight. Blow-torched by the flames, he suffered 63% 3rd and 4th degree burns, and was given a 5% chance of survival. He has undergone more than 60 operations under general anaesthetic, and has since fought to rebuild his life with extraordinary determination and courage. He is now a Help for Heroes ambassador, working with ex-servicemen and women in their recovery. This is his first book. He lives in London.

This story is dedicated to Renee, my American nurse you undoubtedly saved my life!

Plate section images:

Adam Smith-Connor

Orlando Regional Health Centre, Florida, USA

Dr Paul M. Smith, Cardiff Metropolitan University

Dr Sandy Saunders, for and on behalf of all the Guinea Pig Club members

Flight examiner Brian George Jones OBE

Sue Foulds

Niall Edworthy

Joanne Mildenhall

With thanks to Blesma, The Limbless Veterans for permission to use their photograph on the front cover.

Blesma, The Limbless Veterans was formed in the years following the First World War and became a national charity in 1932. Blesma is dedicated to assisting serving and ex-Service men and women who have experienced loss of limb, use of limbs, hearing, sight or speech, either during or after service. We support these men and women and their families in their communities throughout the UK and overseas.

Groundhog Day, number 19. I pulled back the curtains and there was the bright blue sky, a few puffballs of white cloud, the evergreen treetops completely still. Simpsons weather, the aviators call it, and thats what you get day after day out there. The rain will sweep through in the afternoon, water the plants, clear the air, then head on inland and hand back the blue sky. But this is how it starts every morning. Leighton Buzzard, it is not.

Its why I had chosen to get my pilots licence in Florida. Back home, you could spend a whole month in flight school waiting for the rain to lift. And I only had a month to play with, kill some time usefully. Then the serious business was to begin. At last, a chance to do my bit for Queen and Country. Seven years with the military, all that technical training, all that lung-bursting effort, and I had made it into one of the best military units in the world. Now, it was time for the real thing and I was gunning to repay some of the investment in me. I hadnt stopped thinking about it from the moment the rumour of deployment raced around the regiment. Thered been a little extra adrenaline in the blood every day, all day.

I looked again at Trigs text from last night. Its on. Official. Were deploying. Get yourself back to UK soon.

Now that I knew I wouldnt be waking him in the middle of the night, I replied: They told me. Brilliant. Finally. All good here. Just a few more hours solo to go. See you in a couple of days.

Then back into the clockwork daily routine out of the shower, a shave and into the khaki cargo shorts, side pockets for wallet and phone, a fresh black cotton T-shirt, suede hiking trainers, wraparound military-style anti-glare shades, beige baseball cap, basic rubber digital watch. It would be the same tomorrow, and the day after and then something a bit warmer for the flight home and the grey skies of Leighton Buzzard. I laid out the running kit at the foot of the bed for later, once I was done flying and the air had cooled.

I like routine, order, method, punctuality, clarity. Its one of the reasons I had taken to military life so eagerly. I dont like mess, chaos, bad timekeeping, confusion, vagueness. Im not OCD, just tidy. Maybe its to do with the drive to sort myself out after the shambles of my teenage years. I am restless. I like a change of scene. I need it. But in between the changes, when Im in the new place, I like Groundhog Day, to know where Im at, know what each days going to bring.

I sent Mum a text, apologising for not calling last night but would do so before my ten-miler and before she had settled down for Songs of Praise.

Down in the communal kitchen, it was Scene 2 from Groundhog Day: bowl of porridge and honey, banana, mug of tea, milky, no sugar. A few of the other flight-school students were milling about and we exchanged the usual pleasantries and mild banter. I was going to miss these guys, this downtime. Compared to SAS training, P Company with the Paras and the Cambrian Patrols, learning to fly was a breeze, especially in the Sunshine State. Wed had a great few weeks and, united in the same experience, we had formed a bit of a bond.

During the day we had the buzz of flying and some hard study, and in the evenings it was barbecues, cards, movies, occasionally a trip to the beach or out to a bar and, best of all so far, to Cape Canaveral to see the Shuttle launch. Wed had fun, and that was exactly what I needed after a couple of years living in swamps, jungles, desert and frozen mountains, lying filthy in foxholes and shitting into plastic bags. And it was exactly what I needed before deploying to the deadliest theatre of war on the planet.

This part of Florida is like an advert for the American Dream quiet closes with large, timber-clad family homes, manicured gardens, SUVs in the drive, basketball hoops over the garage. I slid on my shades, tugged down my baseball cap and pulled the door to. It was already simmering hot, just like it was every morning at that time, and moms and dads were piling their children into cars for a day out, probably to the beach. Theres a lot of beach here, on and on in both directions as far as I could see from a thousand feet up. I exchanged the customary Good Mornings and nods. Groundhog Day. I probably had two, maybe three more Groundhog Days to go. I was going to miss the pleasant routine of it all.

Through the thick band of pines and evergreen oaks, I could hear the thwack of clubs on golf balls followed by Groundhog Day the whoops of approval and groans of despair. It was only a ten-minute stroll alongside the golf course, but I was sweating hard by the time I ducked into the short path through the woods past the clubhouse. Rico the barman was out the back having his crafty smoke.

Hey man, how you doing? You dropping in for your club sandwich later?

Why not? I might just do that for a change. See how I am set after flying.

You must be almost done with your lessons, yeah?

Yep, almost there now. Im going to miss your place.

Were going to miss you too, man. Take it easy, English guy.

Yeah, you too.

I walked through the club car park, straight into Hangar Way and past the peeling driftwood sign, all the aircraft lined up on the big apron outside their hangars, neat as houses, one taxiing in, one taxiing out. Overhead, a few in the pattern, circling and circling, getting their hours in.