It was gusty. Really gusty. Belting it down with rain, cross, tail, headwinds, you name it. I’m surprised to this day that they didn’t divert, but can only guess they were on bingo fuel, as we’d been battling a headwind from London.

I’m flying unaccompanied minor, so there’s an attendant in a jump seat sat directly across from me. I’ve flown a lot by this point, and this is by far the worst turbulence I’ve ever experienced, and even since - and we were on final approach.

I’m looking out of the window, keeping one eye on her, and I kid you not, she gets out her rosary beads and starts praying.

As it happened, her response was apt. As we flared, a cross-tailwind caught us hard and we slammed into the runway at an alarming angle - the wingtip grazes the turf, the plane starts to wheel, skids, they’re thrusting like crazy to get us out of a severe crab, the attendant has her eyes shut and her face locked in a mask of terror, passengers are screaming, and somehow, somehow, they get it under control, before getting onto a taxiway and calmly informing us that the flight will end here, because “that landing was a little difficult and the aircraft took some damage”.

As we deplaned, I look back - the starboard wingtip is crumpled metal, and the tires on the starboard aft gear are just gone.

Years later I trained as a pilot, and came to deeply respect the abilities of the Lufthansa flight crew to rescue that, as I later came to realise, near disaster.