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Aberfan
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Fiftieth anniversary of souls lost in Wales. I cannot imagine their terror.
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I was 11 and I remember that we were called in to a mid-morning assembly where we were informed of the tragedy by the headmaster. Our school, Holy Trinity, was 'attached' to the church over the road and the vicar, Mr Wilson, said a few prayers. I also recall watching the evening news when i got home and feeling a tremendous sadness.
Harrowing memory
In memory of my school friends who didn't make it out with me that day. Forever in my memory and my broken heart. Special thoughts and memories for my teacher, Mrs Hetty William's ( nee Taylor )who saved my life that day, now with my friends. God Bless you.
Friday 21st October 1966.
My Story.
Caps of mist on mountains high,
Dark grey clouds that scud the sky,
Raindrops fall, pitter patter,
Little children, chitter chatter.
A school bus, steamy and full,
On it's way to Pantglas School.
Excited talk, the school holiday,
Time for fun and time for play.
Off the bus, run up the hill,
Running off the Autumn chill.
Into school, class mates we see,
Running round, young and free.
Raincoats off in cloakroom hung,
Hall assembly, hymns are sung.
Back to class, an open book,
A drawing with a wintry look.
Rushing, roaring, rumbling noise,
Whimpers of frightened girls and boys.
Shaking ground and cracking walls,
Loads of bricks and masonry fall.
Plumes of dust gently blow,
Tonnes of slurry slowly flow.
Lights on long flexes dance and sway,
Outside the door is dark and grey.
Then SILENCE .....
Miss Taylor - teacher - kind and calm,
Her voice a gently, soothing balm.
'Get under your desks and safely stay',
Some children cry, some start to pray.
Our classroom door blocked by rubble,
With no escape, we fear trouble.
Then at the window, the caretakers face appears,
He sees the children, some are in tears.
'Are you alright ' he shouts,
Miss Taylor says 'Yes, but we cannot get out '
Some minutes pass by in worry and fear,
Then the doorway begins to clear.
There, the caretaker stands,
Having cleared the way with his bare hands.
Over debris we escape in an orderly line,
Into a day now dry and fine.
In the school yard, there's worry and fears,
Children run aimlessly, some are in tears.
Lorna is there, covered in dirt,
Missing a shoe and black on her skirt.
Her brother Tommy she is trying to find,
But, she still has the time to be kind.
'It's not safe here, go home now,
Run very fast, don't be slow'.
I take her advice, my little feet fly,
As I make my way home, I start to cry.
I think a plane has crashed out of the sky,
I've never really understood why.
I reach my front door and bang and shout,
'Mam, Mam, please go get them out ',
She opens the door to my pleading cries,
A look of concern and surprise.
She holds me to her, close and tight,
Reassuring me it will be alright.
She has no idea what the day will unfold,
The harrowing stories that will be told.
With other mothers off to the school she goes,
What they will find there no one knows.
They're gone all day and into the night,
All are heartbroken at the sight.
The tragic story has spread,
So many children are feared dead.
The radio brings the news filled with sorrow,
There will be no happiness tomorrow.
Fifty years on, my stories never been told,
And like other survivors I grow old.
Many have never spoken of that day,
The pain and sorrow that never goes away.
And so, I try to lighten my heart,
And these painful words impart.
As the saying goes ' A problem shared '
It helps to know you cared.
Ros Bastow
14th October 2016.
In memory of my school friends who didn't make it out with me that day. Forever in my memory and my broken heart. Special thoughts and memories for my teacher, Mrs Hetty William's ( nee Taylor )who saved my life that day, now with my friends. God Bless you.
Friday 21st October 1966.
My Story.
Caps of mist on mountains high,
Dark grey clouds that scud the sky,
Raindrops fall, pitter patter,
Little children, chitter chatter.
A school bus, steamy and full,
On it's way to Pantglas School.
Excited talk, the school holiday,
Time for fun and time for play.
Off the bus, run up the hill,
Running off the Autumn chill.
Into school, class mates we see,
Running round, young and free.
Raincoats off in cloakroom hung,
Hall assembly, hymns are sung.
Back to class, an open book,
A drawing with a wintry look.
Rushing, roaring, rumbling noise,
Whimpers of frightened girls and boys.
Shaking ground and cracking walls,
Loads of bricks and masonry fall.
Plumes of dust gently blow,
Tonnes of slurry slowly flow.
Lights on long flexes dance and sway,
Outside the door is dark and grey.
Then SILENCE .....
Miss Taylor - teacher - kind and calm,
Her voice a gently, soothing balm.
'Get under your desks and safely stay',
Some children cry, some start to pray.
Our classroom door blocked by rubble,
With no escape, we fear trouble.
Then at the window, the caretakers face appears,
He sees the children, some are in tears.
'Are you alright ' he shouts,
Miss Taylor says 'Yes, but we cannot get out '
Some minutes pass by in worry and fear,
Then the doorway begins to clear.
There, the caretaker stands,
Having cleared the way with his bare hands.
Over debris we escape in an orderly line,
Into a day now dry and fine.
In the school yard, there's worry and fears,
Children run aimlessly, some are in tears.
Lorna is there, covered in dirt,
Missing a shoe and black on her skirt.
Her brother Tommy she is trying to find,
But, she still has the time to be kind.
'It's not safe here, go home now,
Run very fast, don't be slow'.
I take her advice, my little feet fly,
As I make my way home, I start to cry.
I think a plane has crashed out of the sky,
I've never really understood why.
I reach my front door and bang and shout,
'Mam, Mam, please go get them out ',
She opens the door to my pleading cries,
A look of concern and surprise.
She holds me to her, close and tight,
Reassuring me it will be alright.
She has no idea what the day will unfold,
The harrowing stories that will be told.
With other mothers off to the school she goes,
What they will find there no one knows.
They're gone all day and into the night,
All are heartbroken at the sight.
The tragic story has spread,
So many children are feared dead.
The radio brings the news filled with sorrow,
There will be no happiness tomorrow.
Fifty years on, my stories never been told,
And like other survivors I grow old.
Many have never spoken of that day,
The pain and sorrow that never goes away.
And so, I try to lighten my heart,
And these painful words impart.
As the saying goes ' A problem shared '
It helps to know you cared.
Ros Bastow
14th October 2016.
1 to 18 of 18
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