needs to know, that when the darkness comes, how black it is.
How a town like Aberfan, so small, so modest,
with its peaceful tumbledown streets could
be struck by
such an ghastly, catastrophic tragedy.
soft and lovely name, serene in the black of a coal hewn valley, in a coal hewn
their lives in the shadow of the great hill of spoiled land,
and went to Chapel and believed in what they had.
and loved their neighbours from habit and
of a known tomorrow. They were content.
were the treasure of that place. Nurtured in a hard
but lovely family that spanned the town from
end to end.
shadow of the filthy tip placed by skilled and knowledgeable men.
They trusted and cared for one another, a
village of togetherness
bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small.
they believed. Tomorrow was to be half term,
what sweetness in the coming day;
at home, no
school, just a chance to play.
with the Devil, riding down the hill, the blackness came.
surge of filthy slurry.
village children, teachers and carers too
gone, slaughtered in a trice.
This was not
a war. It was much worse, it was the sin of carelessness.
arrogance of an ignorant establishment.
it was a sin of omission,
a sin of ‘we
don’t care’; until it will always be too late.
alive! Buried alive in that black filth!
that’s worse than death for those who mourn.
Now we care.
We weep, but we cannot take the pain away.
have passed, and still the guilty live
because they live, because they didn’t lose,
they couldn’t cry
because they didn’t die.
to find their dead,
blankets in the Chapel morgues.
unreal in its magnitude
heart beat for one another.
heaven has descended into hell.
future is no more.
and drowned into foul oblivion.
sepulchre of love now sits high on the hill
parents join their loves at last.
sweet cannot, and never will,
wipe out the
blackness of that dreadful day.