How a BBC journalist saved a woman who walked into the sea

Yahoo

09-03-2025

A BBC Scotland journalist has received a Police Scotland bravery award after rescuing a woman from the sea in Orkney.
Linda Sinclair, who has also been recognised by the Royal Humane Society, recalls how the dramatic day unfolded after she went for a beach swim with her sister.
I knew something wasn't right when the woman walking down the middle of the road refused to move aside, despite the noise of my car engine approaching.
By her demeanour, I also instinctively sensed that a polite toot of the horn was not the appropriate response.
At the time I was driving to Inganess Beach on the outskirts of Kirkwall.
I had discovered the bay early on in my three-month stint working at BBC Radio Orkney.
It was just a five-minute drive from my house and is a truly beautiful spot.
The wreck of a World War Two ship famously rests in its deeper waters where the Arctic Terns swoop for fish.
The sight of planes landing and taking off from the nearby Kirkwall Airport adds to the charm of this picture postcard location.
I would swim early in the morning when the water was still or late at night as the sun set, casting stunning ambers and pinks streaks through the sky.
Braving the chilly water in a swimsuit became a daily ritual.
On the evening of 16 July 2023 there was initially nothing out of the ordinary as I drove down with my sister, Gail.
It was overcast and grey and not particularly warm for a summer's night, in stark contrast to the blue skies and sunshine of the previous day.
When we spotted the lone woman she was initially oblivious to us.
As we approached she continued walking in the middle of the narrow road and reduced my car to a crawl, before stepping aside onto the beach.
Up ahead, Inganess was quiet apart from the odd dog walker and a child playing on the rocks as a couple looked on.
As we made the short walk from the car to the beach, I couldn't help but notice the woman again. She was kneeling in the damp sand, crying and on her mobile phone.
The situation didn't look good and I kept an eye on her as we made our way into the sea.
My concerns were realised as a few moments later she followed us in to the water, fully clothed apart from her shoes.
Gail and I acted quickly and, without saying a word to each other, took an arm each.
My sister took the lead and spoke to the distressed woman - who appeared to be in her late 40s - to try and persuade her to come ashore.
She was taller and stronger than us and it took all our collective strength to guide her back out of the chilly water.
But just seconds after we got her out of the water she turned around and walked back in.
I knew then we couldn't deal with this situation alone and decided to raise the alarm.
Dripping wet, I ran up to the road, flagged down a car and asked the driver to call 999.
I cursed myself as it was one of the few times I had left home without my phone.
Less than 15 minutes later a police sergeant and a friend of the woman arrived on the scene.
They both desperately called her name and urged her to return to the shoreline but their pleas were ignored.
By now the people scattered across the beach had started to gather.
Another onlooker called the woman's name again to no avail.
The turning point for me was a man who started chatting to me and appeared oblivious to the enormity of the situation.
Mid-conversation I turned my back on him and headed towards the police officer.
I did not care if it was rude.
I feared time was against us and I had to act.
So I asked the sergeant if he would stop me going into the water.
To my surprise he said he would not.
However he did ask if I was a strong swimmer and warned if I got too close to the woman he would shout my name.
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I learned to swim as a child and in 2022 my sister introduced me to open water swimming.
I joined a group called the Dell Dippers in my home town of Pitlochry, Perthshire, and swam with the Orkney Polar Bears during my time on the island.
But for all my experience I had never tried to save someone before.
I waded in and swam out to the woman, who was about parallel to the shipwreck in the deeper waters.
From the shore, about 100m away, I heard the sergeant shout: "Linda, that's close enough."
I treaded water as I asked the lady her name and what she was doing.
She told me she had nothing to live for and added: "Everything is bad."
I reassured her this was not the case and rapidly tried to build a bond as we bobbed up and down a few metres apart.
I asked her about her life and questions such as who she lived with.
She told me she looked after her mum and dad.
I said to her that they would be sad if she left them alone.
My main message was that they needed her. She was important. Her life was important.
I pleaded with her to return to shore and, after a few desperate minutes, she agreed.
The relief was overwhelming as we silently swam side-by-side, a few metres apart, back to the beach.
When we finally waded out of the sea, she threw her arms around me and gripped me tight to show her gratitude.
She held me for a few moments, and it felt like our shared experience in the sea had created a bond.
Seconds later she was whisked away by paramedics into the waiting ambulance.
The crew asked me how I was. I felt fine but suddenly became aware of how cold I was.
I started to shiver, either from the temperature, or adrenaline or both.
The sergeant shook my hand, a paramedic removed my awkward neoprene boots and I rushed to my car to get some welcome heat.
A few days later the officer told me he had nominated me for a bravery award.
Last September I was recognised by the Royal Humane Society.
And in February I was humbled to receive a separate award from Police Scotland Chief Constable Jo Farrell.
People tell me I am brave but I genuinely do not think I am. I acted on instinct.
To me it was the only thing to do. I could not have stood by on the shore and watched someone drown.
It has played through my mind since that the loss of a close family member to suicide may have been the catalyst for my actions.
I cannot be sure.
But the pain of my personal loss certainly enabled me to connect with the woman and convince her not to take her own life.
More than 18 months on I sincerely hope she is doing well.
One thing is certain, that day on the beach will never leave me.
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