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The rescue We are so used to
having coal tipped near the school and this noise sounded just like
coal being tipped only much more noise than usual;
it was a
heavy sound. … I was going towards the school, and I suddenly realised
the sound was coming nearer all the time, and the feeling it was the
tip came to my mind straight away; so I ran back to the house; my little
girl was in bed, so I got her and the wife outside and I went back to
the school. Then the next thing
I remember was seeing a mass of men coming up from the colliery still
with their lamp lights on. That was really moving because
they were black, they’d just come off the shift and they’d
been sent straight up. And they had their lights on. And after that they
just took over from us. I went down to work,
changed, went down the pit and I hadn’t been
down the pit ten minutes when they sent for everybody to come up, that
the tip had slide. Well we came up, I couldn’t fathom it out; I’d
never seen anything like it. The front of the school was there but there
was no back. We went there and we dug and dug all day. We had to break
the front windows and then climb in. … We had no
tools – we used our bare hands and anything we could find. But there
was nothing anyone could do, between the slurry and the water coming down.
That was the worst, not being able to do anything. There’s nothing
as bad as that. The women were already
there, like stone they were, clawing at the filth – it
was like a black river – some had no skin left on their hands. Miners
are a tough breed, we don’t show our feelings, but some of the lads
broke down. I have been asked to inform that there has been a landslide at Pantglas.
The tip has come down on the school. We didn’t know
what to expect. I had no idea of the scale of the thing. It was a great
shock. There was absolute chaos and somehow
I had
to organise that chaos. I left by car for
the scene of the incident. … and I arrived at Moy
Road … at about 10 o’clock. That was near the infants’ school.
With the co-operation of the chief inspector I set up an incident post
at a police car on the colliery side of the incident to maintain communications
with police headquarters by radio telephone. … I then made a reconnaissance
of the whole area above the school, and I managed to get round to the
streets to the other side, the north side of the incident at the Mackintosh
hotel.
This reconnaissance revealed that not only was the Pantglas junior school
buried under approximately 20 to 30 ft. of debris, but a large number
of houses in Moy Road and Pantglas had been demolished and submerged
under
a pile of debris and liquid mud. They [The vehicle
and rescue workers] had to retire a little to avoid being swamped by
the new rush of water and slurry. … It certainly
hindered the rescuers from the end that I was working and had that water
not come
quite a number of properties would have been saved. As I was in the shop there was dirty black water coming down the hill,
and as I was waiting my turn to be served I shouted out that we were
going to be flooded. As I dashed back to the house with my little baby
Alan,
who was just one, in my arms, I fell over the milk bottles. As I was being carried
out I realised I had lost my jumper. It was a mustard-coloured one
that my mother had knitted. There were five children
in our family
and you couldn’t afford to lose a jumper, so I tried to go back
and look for it because I thought I would get into trouble. I was taken
straight
to hospital and my parents did not come to see me until evening. They
must have spent the whole day not knowing where I was, not knowing if
I was
alive or dead. But we never talked about it. I could hear men’s voices but I didn’t
know what they were doing or where they were. I heard someone crying
and then this voice
was asking me if I could see daylight and I could put my finger through
it
and then I was dug out. At that time I’d bought felt pens and they were rather
a new thing. They cost 2 and 6 at the time. And I had these three felt
pens, a red one,
a blue one and a mauve one. And I was more interested in getting these
felt pens out. And the fire officer said to me, ‘Forget those bloody
felt pens and let's get you out. Men, women and children
were tearing away the debris in an effort to reach the trapped children.
As the men shovelled debris from spade to
spade,
children’s books appeared. An odd cap was seen. A broken doll. Nobody told me what
had happened at the time. I asked somebody next to me, it must have
been a couple of hours later, he said "What is this
stuff?"; I did not know myself what it was, and I was under the impression
it was an explosion of gas. I did not think the tip had slipped; I did
not realise anything about the tip. It must have been a good two hours
when somebody said "it’s the tip that has slipped." I
did not know; I was just knocked for six; I did not realise that it was
that. It’s like a blitz – as
though a bomb had been dropped on the whole school. You only have to
mention what you want it and it comes. We’ve had
no trouble at all to get anything. The really incredible
thing was that you couldn’t walk five yards
without a member of the WVRS or the Salvation Army or the Red Cross putting
a cup of soup, a cup of coffee or a cup of chocolate into your hand. ‘ We cut up
cotton sheets for bandages, and gave blankets and pillows for the children
as they were brought out on stretchers’
I reached the tragic village of Aberfan on Saturday morning. The
initial panic and hysteria had died and now there was a well-ordered
rescue
operation under-way. But it was still a grim sight. There was a greyness
everywhere.
Faces from the tiredness and anguish, houses and roads from the oozing
slurry of the tips.
I was eighteen and at home in Wales when an urgent plea for help was broadcast on the radio. That very morning a mountain of coal dust, slag and slurry had collapsed and engulfed a primary school in the tiny community of Aberfan.All able-bodied Welshmen were urged to make their way to the village. Clutching spades, my father, brothers and myself unhesitatingly set off too, all of us eager to shoulder our clear responsibility to help our neighbours. |
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