Extract from Failed to Return
 ...I was falling through cloud which was just like dense fog and the sensation of falling was exactly as one gets on the Big Dipper at a fairground, but of course it lasted longer! I was quite calm despite the peculiar feeling in my stomach and groin so I decided to count five instead of the recommended three before pulling the ripcord of my parachute. I made this decision because there was plenty of height to play with and the aircraft was descending rapidly. If the ripcord was pulled too soon there was the possibility of the parachute getting caught up on the tail-plane—a horrible thought. I counted a slow five and then quickly reached for the ripcord. I used both hands because there was only one cord fitted to the end of the parachute pack so, dependant on how it had been clipped on the spring-loaded hooks on the harness, it could be on the left of right-hand side of the pack. Both hands down to my waist level found harness only — no parachute. In a frenzy, my hands went down to my thighs, up to my shoulders, down and up, down and up; there was no parachute there!
I think that I blacked out briefly because of sheer terror because when my brain started to function again all sensation of falling had gone. Except for the rush of air that passed me, I could have been lying on the softest of feather beds. I was still in the cloud, which had the appearance of dirty grey cotton-wool with the full moon diffusing through it. I was bitterly cold: my face was stiff with frozen tears and I was praying monotonously. "Oh. God. Oh, God." With nothing to see, I could not orientate myself. Was I falling head first? Feet first? I had no idea but every muscle was tensed against the final impact…”
[From an account by F/Sgt Bill Booth, Navigator (No.10 Sqdn, Melbourne, Yorkshire), who baled out of his Halifax bomber in error on the night of 16/17 September, 1943]
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