- Philippa Marshall, 67, from Brisbane, Qld, was living her dream retirement sailing around Europe when the unthinkable happened.
- After throwing the rope around a bollard to bring the boat to a halt, Philippa realised she was standing in the middle of the coiled rope.
- Tightening around her calf, the rope tore through her muscles and tendons until her leg separated from her body.
Here Philippa tells her story in her own words.
Leaning against the boat’s rail as the coastline of France came into view, I smiled happily.
‘I can’t believe we’re here,’ I beamed.
It was September 2025 and my partner, Stephen, then 67, and I were living out our semi-retirement dreams cruising around Europe.
Since 2017, we’d worked hard for nine months of the year – me as an executive assistant and Steve as an operations manager – so we could enjoy three months of blissful travel.
This time, we’d packed our bags and jumped on a plane to Athens in July, sharing our adventures on our Facebook page ‘Cruising Rusalka’ named after our boat.
‘I can’t believe we’re here.’
After spending eight weeks exploring the Greek islands and the Italian coast, we’d sailed to southern France.
Now, at the helm, Stephen gently guided us into La Grande Motte marina, near Montpellier, while I took it all in.
As we neared our spot, it was my job to throw a rope around one of the bollards to stop us from hitting the jetty and to help bring the boat to a halt.
A tricky mooring manoeuvre in a marina we’d never visited, Stephen tried to reverse in, but the wind kept pushing the boat away from the dock.
Turning the boat around, he carefully motored in frontwards.
The dock was quiet as I threw the thick rope, looping it cleanly around the bollard.
Just then, I felt something grasp my left calf tightly.
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Looking down, I realised I was standing in the middle of the coiled rope on deck – the other end tied to the bollard as 13 tonnes of boat kept moving at five knots.
As the rope unravelled at breakneck speed, it knocked me clean off my feet, tightening around my leg in a vice-like grip and dragging me like a ragdoll to the boat’s edge.
Clawing my hands along the deck, I tried desperately to save myself from going overboard.
The rope was so tight, biting deeper into my leg, and tearing through my muscles and tendons as I let out a gut-wrenching scream.
‘Help! Stop the boat! Get the rope off me,’ I screamed to Stephen as he rushed to my side.
‘Stay with me, baby.’
But there was nothing he could do as the rope – now stretched taut – ripped my butchered leg clean off my body.
It had all happened in a split second.
Lying motionless in a pool of my blood, I didn’t have much fight left in me.
‘Let me go,’ I said gently to Stephen, convinced I was going to die.
‘Stay with me, baby,’ Stephen begged as he tied a smaller rope around my leg, creating a tourniquet to stem the blood.
As he yelled for help, strangers began appearing at my side and called emergency services.
‘Keep fighting,’ the marina manager said in broken English, squeezing my hand as we waited for help to arrive.
Drifting in and out of consciousness, I was aware of lights and sirens as the ambulance arrived.
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Then everything went black…
The next thing I remember, I was waking up in recovery.
‘I thought I’d lost you,’ Stephen said through tears.
I listened in devastation as he explained how, after I was airlifted to hospital around 40 minutes away, a team of surgeons whisked me into theatre to amputate what remained of my leg above the knee.
To save my life, I’d received multiple blood transfusions.
‘Doctors weren’t sure you were going to survive the night,’ Stephen said gently, explaining he’d had to make countless calls to our worried children.
‘Doctors weren’t sure you were going to survive the night.’
I couldn’t believe my leg had been ripped off while we were parking our boat.
The next morning, physiotherapists had me up and moving on crutches, then I quickly adapted to a walking frame. After a week in intensive care, I was transferred to the general ward.
Desperate to return to Oz, after two and a half weeks in hospital I got the all clear to fly home on a passenger plane, my stump bandaged up.
Back home, navigating life without my leg took some getting used to.
Living in a one-storey home has made moving around a lot easier while I master going from wheelchair to walker.
My rock, Steve has made the adjustment that much easier, taking the role of house husband in his stride, and by my side at every appointment.
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It’s been tough. The overseas medical costs have left us in about $90,000 worth of debt, even after I cleaned out $55,000 of my super.
We were supposed to be looking forward to retirement – now we’re wondering how we’ll make ends meet.
So instead of focusing solely on my recovery, we’ve both had to go back to work part-time. But we’re not bringing in enough to cover all my medical bills.
Now four months on, I’m still on pain meds and we’ve made the heartbreaking decision to hang up our sailing shoes – for now. I hope one day we’ll be able to get back out to sea.
Once my amputation site has healed, I’ll be fitted for my prosthetic and start my uphill battle of learning how to walk again.
In December, Steve got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.
‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, Philly,’ he said through tears.
Of course I said yes!
We’re planning to tie the knot in a small ceremony in the near future.
Our dream trip ended in disaster, but the best adventures are yet to come!
To support Philippa search ‘Keeping the dream alive’ on gofundme.com
