I pen thrillers: primarily historical mysteries. In September 2024, I was coming back from a literary festival in Italy, where I had discussed my newest book. It was a Ryanair flight, and as we were about to land at London Stansted, I heard shouting from the rear. I glanced back to see several people standing. Moments later, a large man – I would estimate he was 6ft 4in, and muscularly built – pushed past them. He rushed towards an emergency exit and lunged for the door handle, howling. Behind him, a shorter man was scrambling over the seats, yelling: “It’s not terrorism. It’s not terrorism. Mental health!”
Even though exit doors cannot be opened when a plane is at cruising altitude due to the excessive air pressure inside, that pressure decreases during descent, allowing them to be opened. I worried that if he managed to open the exit, the plane could become uncontrollable, and we might hit the ground around 300mph faster than intended.
A woman in the exit row was struggling with him, but she couldn’t stop him. I dashed down and slammed my shoulder into his chest, toppling him. As he fell, the shorter man grabbed his shoulder, and together we pulled him to the ground. The smaller man – who turned out to be his friend – was still shouting “It’s not terrorism” while everyone around us screamed.
With the help of a third man, we managed to pin the large guy down. His eyes were darting everywhere, and he was breathing as if he had just run a marathon. He was clearly experiencing a panic attack. I wasn’t concerned about his intentions: I believed that if he wanted to harm us all, he would have done so in a much more calculated manner. However, I did glance back toward the flight deck, just in case it was a distraction for someone to access the cockpit. The aisle remained unobstructed, though.
The man was resisting strongly, and it’s tough to restrain a large man. I ended up pinning him down with my shin against his groin. He quieted down after that, and after a moment, he politely requested that I move my leg. I complied slightly – I didn’t want him to spring back up.
Throughout this, his friend was threatening to kick his head in if he didn’t settle down. In hindsight, that probably didn’t help. During this ordeal, we felt the plane descending. A flight attendant was crying, speaking on an internal phone to the captain. She was utterly shaken and trying to convey what was occurring. When she managed to articulate the situation, the plane abruptly pulled up hard; it felt almost vertical. The captain had declared it wasn’t safe to land with so many people out of their seats, so the plane would have to circle and make another attempt. By then, the other passengers were silent: they were strapped into their seats, observing us.
Ten minutes later – it seemed like just 30 seconds to us – we attempted another landing, and the passengers around us clutched our shirts to steady themselves. It wasn’t truly necessary, because we weren’t actually crashing – but people naturally want to participate. The wheels touched the runway, and we landed safely. The large man was breathing more normally by that point. We held him until the authorities arrived.
People often inquire about my feelings during the incident. Honestly? I didn’t mind it at all. I’ve flown many times, and they’re typically quite monotonous. This certainly added excitement. Primarily, though, I felt empathy for a man experiencing a mental health crisis, even if he had the potential to endanger us all.
Strangely, after the incident, it felt oddly normal as I retrieved my bag from the overhead bin, joining the line of passengers to stroll down the aisle. Upon reaching the terminal, the ground crew informed us that the man had been arrested and would face a lifetime ban from flying. I went home. Afterwards, I mused that Ryanair might have expressed gratitude for our actions, considering we potentially saved the lives of 130 passengers and an £85m aircraft. I’m still awaiting that acknowledgment.
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Murder at Christmas: You Solve the Crime by GB Rubin is available now (Simon & Schuster, £16.99). To support the Guardian, purchase a copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery fees may apply.
