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MARY Anne Iredale spoke to her son David on the morning before he died during a bushwalk in the Blue Mountains. The Sydney Grammar student had called her from his mobile to say he had no water.
In a statement tendered to the Coroner, Mrs Iredale said she asked her son: `Are you OK?’ He replied, `yes, we’re fine’.”
David said he was heading for a river to get water for himself and his friends.
“He said, `Have you got any of the mango ice-cream that you made?”‘ Mrs Iredale’s statement says. “I said, `Yes, I’ll leave you some’. He said, `I could do with some right now’.”
They didn’t speak again. David, 17, was soon lost, dehydrated and becoming confused in the pounding December heat.
He did exactly as he had long ago been taught to do. He called 000 from his mobile, in the hope — and, probably, in the belief — that somebody would help him. They didn’t. In fact, as the Coroner’s Court has heard this week, David got a mouthful of sarcasm. “You just wandered off into the middle of nowhere did you?” one operator said, when the disoriented boy tried to explain that he didn’t know exactly where he was.
As he was staggering about in the heat and the dust, trying hard to make the perilousness of his situation understood, to get his voice heard over a line that kept breaking up, another said: “There’s no need to yell.”
On that day, December 11, 2006, David died, having been unable to convince operators that he was in desperate need of help.
It was as shocking a case as Australia has seen of the futility of calling 000, if you don’t know where you are. If you call from a mobile, they don’t know where you are, not if you can’t tell them.
Serious questions about David’s bushwalk are being raised at the inquest into his death: was the bushwalk sanctioned by Sydney Grammar and, if so, was it properly supervised, as part of the Silver Duke of Edinburgh’s Award. Did they discuss the trek with the program’s co-ordinator at Sydney Grammar, Jim Forbes?
One of David’s two companions, Phillip Chan, told the inquest yesterday he had asked a teacher to recommend equipment for the trip. He also said David had arranged with the teacher to borrow a GPS device “just in case we got lost”.
But the biggest question, really, is: why, in 21st century Australia, where 90 per cent of adults have a mobile telephone, and 60 per cent of calls made to 000 come from mobile telephones, was it not possible for operators to pinpoint David’s location? Such tracking technology has been available since 1995. Australia doesn’t use it. A person who calls 000 from a mobile phone might be at the scene of an accident, lost at sea, or disoriented, but operators depend upon them to give a street name, or else the computer won’t let the call proceed. The ramifications of such outmoded technology are obvious: during the Victorian bushfires in February, people called on their mobiles from cars on smoky roads, driving blind, and the operators heard them dying, and couldn’t do anything because they didn’t know where the calls were coming from.
Something similar happened in NSW five years ago, when a 19-year-old called 000 to report the Waterfall train disaster and was dismissed as a hoax caller.
Last April, a man had to cling to a bucket in rough seas near Forster, on the NSW north coast because he couldn’t get the 000 operator to understand that he was offshore, and therefore, he couldn’t give her a street address.
The Australian Communications and Media Authority’s Wayne Debemarkdi said of the mobile phone tracking technology: “We don’t have it, and it’s a problem. You can use your mobile anywhere, and people do tend to use a mobile when there is a serious emergency, but the operator doesn’t know where they are.
“With the old system, the landlines, we could see straight away.”
NSW ambulance spokesman John Wilson said: “Sometimes they can tell us roughly which area the mobile telephone tower is in, and that could be miles away from where the person is. The technology is there, but we don’t have access to it.
“The federal Government would have to bring in legislation, to say, yes, we need this, because it would make it a lot easier for everyone if we had it.”
ACMA said there were “various technologies” that would allow 000 to identify a location but there were “advantages and disadvantages to each of these”. There were problems with “performance, reliability, costs, accuracy and complexity”.
The other question that needs to be answered is why the operators didn’t move heaven and earth to save the boy, even if they couldn’t be entirely sure exactly where he was. In part, it may be because of a culture that has been allowed to develop among operators, where many calls are a hoax, a hang-up, or a prank. Data from Telstra shows that 11 million calls — or more than 30,000 a day — are made to 000 every year. Of these, fewer than half actually need police, ambulance or the fire brigade. Sometimes, it’s people wanting to know how to turn off the oven. The calls peak during school holidays, when kids think it’s hilarious to ring up and make mischief.
The last words of David Iredale to triple-0 operators
David: “I’m stuck. I can’t walk far at all. I don’t have a map.”
Operator: “Where’s the nearest street?”
David: “I’m in the bush, I am lost, I don’t know.”
Operator: “Well I have to know the street so I know where to send the ambulance.”
David: “I’m about to faint.”
Finally
David: “I’m on a rock … can you send a helicopter?”
Credit: Caroline Overington, John Stapleton