War-hardened reporter faces fears to try the Wicker Man wooden rollercoaster at Alton Towers

IT was the long, heatwave summer of 1976, disco ruled the airwaves and my crippling fear of rollercoasters began.

My eight-year-old self had felt alone and out of control as the theme park ride twisted, lurched and jerked, leaving my stomach churning with fear and nausea.

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It left me projectile-vomiting Cornish pasty and Cherryade and streaming tears.

I vowed that day to never again board such a ghastly contraption.

In the four decades since I’ve visited some of the world’s most dangerous troublespots for The Sun.

I’ve come under Taliban fire flying low over the Helmand badlands of Afghanistan and been shelled by Mad Dog Gaddafi’s troops in Libya.

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I’ve also joined peshmerga forces fighting IS in Iraq, as well as reporting incognito from inside Iran — once labelled part of the “Axis of Evil” by former US President George W Bush.

In 2006 I interviewed a Taliban leader in the lawless Swat Valley in Pakistan, I’ve hovered over Amazonian cocaine fields with Colombian Special Forces, dived the depths of the ocean in a Royal Navy nuclear sub and landed on dirt airstrips in pirate-infested Somalia.

But I’ve never, ever, had the guts to get back on a rollercoaster.

Ronan Keating might have thought that life is a rollercoaster but I’ve always had severe doubts.

Fearful memories.

Just thinking about getting back on one has always induced stomach-turning fear.

Then my boss came up with wheeze of sending me to test Alton Towers’ new Wicker Man ride.

The theme park has built the first new wooden rollercoaster in 21 years.

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Its centrepiece is a 58ft bonfire topped with a ram’s head breathing flames and smoke— which all sounds terrifying.

I was dispatched to hypnotherapist and life coach Stephen Rigby, who has treated some 30 people for “coasterphobia”.

And he asked me to regress back to the 1970s and replace my fearful memories with something more soothing.

The 63-year-old, from Guildford, Surrey, told me: “Take control of what is happening when you get on the Wicker Man.

Oliver Dixon

“Before you get on, visualize yourself as an eagle, imagine yourself swooping on another bird, twisting and turning. Then, when you get on the ride, and you are flying that ride, you are in far more control of it.

“As it starts to climb, stay relaxed but get ready to scream — because as it goes over the top and it drops that’s when you scream, that’s the best bit.”

After two days practicing my eagle swoops I was off to take on the Wicker Man before its grand opening to the public tomorrow.

The Staffordshire theme park team were quick to soothe my residual fears. So what about the Wicker Man flames and fire?

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Bradley Wynne, the creative genius behind the ride, says: “We’ve had a lot of comments about that but Wicker Man isn’t flammable. Any fire near the track is fake, created with special effects.”

Nor is the ride based on the brilliant ’70s British horror flick of the same name starring Christopher Lee and Edward Woodward.

So any dads hoping the attraction might include shots of Britt Ekland’s saucy naked dance from the movie will be sadly disappointed.

My personal tour of the £16million ride began with a psychedelic mix of tribal chanting and rhythmic drumming into a cave-like area.

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The Beornen, a secret community living in the woods, had lured me into their spooky Dark Ages fiefdom.

Bradley says: “The story is that the Beornen want to present the Wicker Man with a gift — and that gift is your screams of enjoyment.”

Then I’m ushered to the ’coaster taking the deep breathes Stephen had taught me and flashing through the skies as my imaginary eagle.

I grip the rollbar as it’s clicked into place, with the whites of my knuckles stark against the black sleeves of my jacket.

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Then we’re off into the dark mysterious world of the Wicker Man.

Soon we are slowly climbing higher and higher, and as the rain teems down, my mind drifts back to my ’coaster back in 1976 but this time I’m relaxed enough to spin around and give a jaunty wave.

Reaching the 57ft-high summit we cascade down the other side at 44mph, my face contorting with the screams that Stephen was insistent I should release. Hurtling over the clickity-clack wooden structure like a giant bobsleigh, my adrenaline turns any lingering fear into excitement.

We plunge down three sheer drops, loop abruptly around bends and surge through two tunnels.

I offer up my screams as we pass through the burning effigy of the ram’s head three times, the fire and smoke seemingly more intense on each occasion.

We eat up the 2,000ft track in just over two and a half minutes of muscle-tensing exhilaration.

Had I conquered my phobia? The Alton Towers staff asked me if I would like another go.

Moments later I was screaming with delight, my eagle swooping on the fiery Wicker Man once more.

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