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Aberfan Wives
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had forgotten how tragic this was, although I remember it well as an 8 year old at the time..but to see it through the eyes of a much older person I am horror stricken and admit to a sob or two...
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For more on marking an answer as the "Best Answer", please visit our FAQ.I visited the site a few years ago, and I did have a cry - the site still stands in the shadow of old *** heaps, and the silence was overwhelming.
I college friend's dad - they are Welsh - reported on the disaster for the local radio station and was one of the first on the scene. My friend recalled how his dad's report was delivered through sobs of anguish.
I didn't watch the programme because I avoid anything that is likely to upset me if I can.
I college friend's dad - they are Welsh - reported on the disaster for the local radio station and was one of the first on the scene. My friend recalled how his dad's report was delivered through sobs of anguish.
I didn't watch the programme because I avoid anything that is likely to upset me if I can.
Bathsheba - //So what if it's denial, it's my way of coping //
I don't think it is denial.
I remember hearing a psychologist on Radio Four who was commenting on the rolling news coverage of 9/11 on the television, and he said that the constant re-playing of the images of the planes crashing into the towers was actually bad for people.
His view was that the images should be played sparingly, and dropped from the coverage as soon as possible - everyone knew what had happened, and verbal information was far less intrusive that the constant loop of the tragedy played over and over again.
I don't think it is denial.
I remember hearing a psychologist on Radio Four who was commenting on the rolling news coverage of 9/11 on the television, and he said that the constant re-playing of the images of the planes crashing into the towers was actually bad for people.
His view was that the images should be played sparingly, and dropped from the coverage as soon as possible - everyone knew what had happened, and verbal information was far less intrusive that the constant loop of the tragedy played over and over again.
It is 21st October 1966 and I am a 17 yr old lad travelling from Kent to my home village in South Wales for half term. We live 2 miles north of a village called Aberfan - a name no one has ever heard of. I leave around 8am and the journey to London on Southern region is uneventful although my large suitcase is a bugbear. The journey across the city to Paddington station is laborious but I am in good time to catch the 1pm to Cardiff General with a prepaid ticket in my wallet. Just as well because at Paddington WW3 has broken out. The station is packed with passengers, camera crews and reporters. I have heard no radio or seen no tv so am unaware what has happened. I board the train and find a seat on the floor in a corridor.
The train lumbers out of the station and makes slow and rolling progress towards God's country. Eventually we arrive at Cardiff. The place is buzzing. I find my parents who are meeting me and question what on earth is going on? They then fill me in. We drive up the Merthyr valley and pass miles of stationary tipper trucks waiting in file to enter the closed zone. We are stopped by police at a check point where my Dad had to prove we lived where we did otherwise further northbound travel is prohibited. We would normally have driven immediately below the tips to reach our house some 2 miles north of Aberfan but have to take the road opposite the scene rather than take the village road. It is now about 8pm and pitch black, no street lights, no moon. When we are level with the scene we look across the valley and see a sight I will never forget. The site of the school is illuminated by arc lamps and there are diggers, workers, Salvation Army helpers, residents, parents, children, police officers - it looks just like hell, Armageddon..........
I still have dreams about that sight usually when the disaster is on the tv such as this month. Believe me when I tell you that I will never forget that day and I lost no one.
The train lumbers out of the station and makes slow and rolling progress towards God's country. Eventually we arrive at Cardiff. The place is buzzing. I find my parents who are meeting me and question what on earth is going on? They then fill me in. We drive up the Merthyr valley and pass miles of stationary tipper trucks waiting in file to enter the closed zone. We are stopped by police at a check point where my Dad had to prove we lived where we did otherwise further northbound travel is prohibited. We would normally have driven immediately below the tips to reach our house some 2 miles north of Aberfan but have to take the road opposite the scene rather than take the village road. It is now about 8pm and pitch black, no street lights, no moon. When we are level with the scene we look across the valley and see a sight I will never forget. The site of the school is illuminated by arc lamps and there are diggers, workers, Salvation Army helpers, residents, parents, children, police officers - it looks just like hell, Armageddon..........
I still have dreams about that sight usually when the disaster is on the tv such as this month. Believe me when I tell you that I will never forget that day and I lost no one.
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