TRAGIC WALLY: LAST MOMENTS

WHEN the end came it was sudden. All day the rescue team - me included - had battled to save Wally. But all to no avail.

The roller-coaster day began shortly after 9.30am on Saturday morning when I joined the British Divers Marine Life Rescue party on standby at Vauxhall Bridge. Wally had been sighted down-stream, then disappeared from view before popping up again in the shadows of Battersea Bridge.

The Sunday Mirror's inflatable dinghy was one of two boats used by a team of police, BDMLR and ports authority chiefs to guide and coax Wally close to the shore for treatment.

We shepherded him into shallow water, where we would stand and hold him upright - keeping his blowhole clear and dousing his smooth grey skin in water as inflatable pontoons were slipped beneath him.

Just after 11am, we were in position and I waded in to do my bit. Like many of the rescue party, this was all new for me.

The forlorn whale had damage to its tail fin and was bleeding from its snout - one of the saddest sights you can imagine. But the team put him at ease, purring reassurance to the young giant that had fallen into their care, and stroking his thick skin.

I felt the quivering skin of the stricken three-ton whale beneath the palms of my hands. I was honoured to help, but the work was freezing, bone-aching and, at times, so emotional that I was close to tears.

Initially I was just one of five people in the water with Wally. Diving volunteer Faye Archell said: "Hold him firmly, we need to hold him up. He's relying on us not to let him roll over and have his blowhole immersed.

"Keep him wet, splash water over him and stroke him - we're keeping him calm and he needs to stay calm."

Later I stood with Adam Scott, a diver who was more direct in his guidance. "Don't just stand there - grab the cord and pull it up," he said. "Pull it up hard with me now so the cradle keeps him upright, but mind you don't damage his fin."

I had been in the water for more than an hour in my ill-fitting wetsuit. Teeth chattering, I was told by a diver: "You have hypothermia... out of the water, now! Go and get warm, mate."

Just after 1.45pm, vet Paul Jetson from the London Zoological Society gave the word that Wally was secure, calm and ready to be moved from Battersea. Slowly, he was towed out into the tidal flow between our boats. Thirty minutes later, under Albert Bridge, the painstaking task of getting Wally on to the barge began.

A square sling was lowered into the water and fastened around Wally, with his weight spread evenly so as not to put undue pressure on any part of the body. It was critical to make sure Wally's heart rate was kept steady and no vital organs damaged.

Inch by inch, he was winched up from the water on to the barge. His tail flapping from side to side, his huge body wrapped in padding, he was lowered on to an inflatable mat on deck.

I said goodbye as Wally's final journey was about to begin.

My adventure - and Wally's - had begun on Friday night.

It ended in tears at 7pm last night.

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