21st October 1966
On 21st October 1966, the unimaginable happened. 116 children and 28 adults were killed following a landslide that brought tons of slag raging down the mountainside of Aberfan in South Wales and with it, tragedy on an unparalleled scale.
A terrible event in any country’s history. It happened in ours. In Wales. Tiny children who had simply gone to school, crushed by the might of tip number seven. The might of coal. The might of the Coal Board. Let down by the Labour government.
It’s important we keep this event forever ingrained in our hearts and minds, for before too long there will be no one left to tell their stories. No one left to remind us of the horror of that day.
Nothing like this should ever be allowed to happen again. But it will, until we stop putting greed and profit before humanity. Before the lives of our children.
I was three years old when the tragedy happened. I don’t remember the scenes of horror. The black and white grainy pictures on TV, as the world witnessed the unthinkable, but it is part of my life. It is part of the lives of all my family. For my family were also miners. My family dug in the pits of despair. Their wives like the wives of Aberfan miners, waited anxiously for their safe return. The children too. They too felt the oppressive presence of the coal slag. For tips were built high above Middleton. The village directly below.
It wasn’t however, until I spoke to my auntie about the disaster, that I realised the connection was real. In those first few words she told me about my uncle, who came home from work that day, after working in the mine and said he had stopped believing in God. And no amount of reasoning would ever change his mind. It was then that I came to understand how much I had at my fingertips, just waiting to be written.
And when I sat down to write a poem, to share this simple and powerful story of my uncle declaring he no longer believed in God, it was a lightbulb moment. In that moment, I was destined to keep on writing. To tell the story through fresh eyes and to do so with compassion.
Through my writing I will keep the story of Aberfan alive. I will stir the hearts and minds of those who may, over time, have allowed the story to lapse into the annals of history. A disaster like this should never be forgotten. I intend in some small way to make sure it isn’t. I plan to write a play. But…
I have no idea how to create one, so I’m going to find out. I have no idea how to become a director, so I’m going to investigate.
I have no idea what skills I need, but I’m going to acquire them. I have no idea who to talk to, so I’m just going to talk to anyone.
I have no idea how to build a story. Set the scene. Involve the actors. Involve the audience. So, I’m just going to learn.
I have no idea who to invite to the premiere. So, I’m going to invite everyone. I have no idea who will promote this. Someone will know.
I have no idea how long this will take. It doesn’t matter. For when courage calls, it calls to everyone. Everywhere. It’s all we need. Courage.
Along with commitment. A whole lot of passion.
A whole lot of hard work and above all else, a whole lot of love.
