I was only 11, but the phrase “Piper Alpha” brings up such strong memories. The images of a bright orange fireball, reflecting in the North Sea darkness. The mangled wreckage smoking in the cold, hard, daylight. The sense of shock in the local community. The slow realisation that if things had been different, my brother would probably be amongst the 167 dead.

Twenty years ago today, just before 10pm, a gas leak, fire and a series of explosions on board the Piper Alpha oil rig, ruptured a gas pipeline from another platform, practically destroying the rig. It all took just 22 minutes and is the worst offshore disaster ever – yet.

The 248 workers had to pick which way to die – whether to stay on board or leap into the darkness. 167 died, some from the jump. 61 of those that jumped, survived, many with horrific burns.

I grew up 90odd miles away from Aberdeen, the Scottish (or should that be UK?) hub of the North Sea oil business, but the shockwaves emanated out to us. Many of our neighbours worked offshore – as had my dad and as does my eldest brother. The atmosphere in town in the days after, I remember clearly – although I was young and naive enough not to appreciate it fully.

At the time, my brother and a colleague both did the same job, and were sent out and about turn and turn about. That week, for that job on Piper Alpha, it was my brother’s colleague’s turn. The colleague with the wife and two young kids, rather than my young, free and single brother. There, as with so many, the tragedy at Piper Alpha spread far beyond those, like my brother’s colleague, who died. To the families, to the friends, to my brother’s boss who felt he had sent a man to his death, to my brother who wondered why he had been so lucky.

I remember being in the kitchen with my mum and my brother, and they were talking, as adults to, with me in the room but without me in the conversation. He mentioned his colleague’s name, and I went to look it up in page 2 of the regional paper, the Northern Scot, that we had. “That’s funny,” I said, matter-of-factly, “he’s not there.” And I motioned to my brother to look. And it wasn’t. The Northern Scot had regional editions – there were too many names to list them all in the way that they wanted, so they’d missed some off. I can vividly picture my brother’s face as he looked at the page of names. In doing so, I wince at my then lack of tact.

The discovery of North Sea Oil and gas transformed the north east of Scotland – turning a relatively backwater fishing area into a high-income, high-population bustling area of the UK. It’s kept the UK rich and provided employment for thousands; it provides the gas that cooked my dinner, the transport that brought my belongings to me, the plastic that I use so freely. But those 167 people paid a terrible price for it.

They are, of course, not alone. All throughout history, progress has been paid for in people, as well as pounds. From space research to pharmaceuticals, transport to textiles, all have had intentional or unintentional human sacrifices. And they will in future. There are people whose jobs it is to decide how many, how risky. I don’t envy them.

For me then, the anniversary of Piper Alpha isn’t just a reminder of a childhood incident, but a reminder that we should be mindful of the price of our activities. Where it is accidental, lessons should be learnt. And we should question its necessity and validity – whether it be a cotton tshirt, disposable carrier bag or new pharmaceutical.