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“'Pan-Am Flight 103 has exploded'… the unthinkable slowly expanded, filling not only our minds but every nerve and cell of our bodies… That’s Helga’s flight.”

For us Christmas 1988 has become the watershed which separates all the events and memories of our lives. The first emotion I remember as I turned on the TV at 9pm on 21 December was one of sympathy, for the passengers, crew, and the people of the small Scottish town of Lockerbie. My sixteen-year-old son, Marcus, sat on the sofa while Lisa, my wife, perched on the arm and I stood beside her. “The poor people!” I remember someone saying. Then they began to give details – “Pan-Am flight 103, flying from London to New York, has exploded above the Scottish border at about three minutes past seven.” “That’s Helga’s flight!” burst from Lisa’s lips.

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