In the moments after Panglas junior school was engulfed in a black avalanche of slurry, coal waste and tailings, the abiding memory of those first at the scene was of the silence.

Exactly half a century on, the village of Aberfan, and communities the length and breadth of Wales, once more fell silent as thoughts turned to the 144 people – 116 of them children – who died on 21 October 1966.

A cemetery on the hillside above Aberfan, where the children’s bright white headstones stood out in the bright autumn sunshine, and a beautifully manicured memorial garden designed to echo the footprint of the lost school, were the public focal point of the commemorations.

The sun rises over the valley as people arrive for a memorial service at Aberfan cemetery. Photograph: Christopher Furlong/Getty Images

Prince Charles and government ministers were among the dignitaries paying their respects. But it was the survivors, the still-grieving families, and the rescuers – one of whom brought a clock recovered from the debris, forever frozen at the time the disaster hit – who were centre stage.

People such as Gerald Kirwaun, who as an eight-year-old was pulled out of the rubble of Pantglas, which means green hollow. He recalled walking to school via the canal bank that day, cheerful at the thought of the half-term holiday just hours away.



It stopped at precisely 9:13. This clock was recovered by one of the rescuers #Aberfan pic.twitter.com/hV3OvETjC8 — Rupert Evelyn (@rupertevelyn) October 21, 2016

After singing All Things Bright and Beautiful in assembly, the class was settling down to their final lessons before half term. Kirwaun’s usual classroom neighbour was off school, so another friend slipped into the desk next to him. Then came the roaring sound.

“It was like a jet airplane coming,” said Kirwaun. “And then I must have been knocked out or something. When I woke I hadn’t a clue what had happened. I thought maybe it was an earthquake.” He asked his friend if he was OK. “His head was on my shoulder and he had blood coming from his mouth.” The friend did not make it. Had he not moved desk he may have done.

Kirwaun went to work as a mining engineer – coal was still king here back then – and had spoken little of his memories until now. “But I think the 50th anniversary is a good time to talk. We must make sure future generations will remember.”

Susan Robertson, who was carried out of the rubble by a policeman – an image that was beamed around the globe – laid a wreath at the cemetery with her 10-year-old grandson Mackenzie.

“It felt so right that he should come with me to the cemetery to lay a wreath because no-one should ever forget what happened that day,” she said. “I’m overwhelmed at the way Mackenzie has taken such an interest in what happened and so proud of him.”

Many still cannot talk about what happened. Some stay at home behind closed curtains when the anniversary comes around; others time their holidays so they are away for the duration.

The Aberfan memorial garden. Photograph: Rebecca Naden/Reuters

At first light one middle-aged man man stood silently in a corner of the memorial garden, slipping away before the official programme of events began. Later in the day other men and women quietly placed bouquets on the precise spots where their loved ones had died.

But the consensus seemed to be there was still a story that needed to be told. People had to be reminded how the National Coal Board (NCB) tried to avoid blame for the tragedy and how, disgracefully, the people of Aberfan had to pay £150,000 from the disaster fund to have the remaining tips from around the village removed.

It was fitting that among those at the ceremonies was Iain McLean, an academic whose acute analysis of the papers that emerged under the 30-years rule helped expose the failings of the NCB and led to the £150,000 being paid back.

But there were some absentees on Friday. The prime minister, Theresa May, did not visit. The UK government was represented by the Welsh secretary, Alun Cairns. The Queen is said to regret waiting eight days before she visited Aberfan in 1966. For this anniversary, her son was here in her place.

Rescuers at Pantglas school in Aberfan. Photograph: AP

The chatter in the Megabytes cafe on Aberfan Road was of the regret that there had not been more of an effort to promote the minute’s silence around the UK. It felt like a Welsh silence rather than a UK-wide one.

Once Charles had gone and the media began packing up, the playground where the press had been corralled was once again the domain of children rather than reporters.

The 50th anniversary ceremonials were over but, of course, they do not draw a line under anything.

Another survivor, Gaynor Madgwick, who lost two siblings in the disaster, said the media interest had made this year’s anniversary more intense, visits to the cemetery and memorial garden more charged. But she said: “We were here for the 49th anniversary and will be here for the 51st. I’ll be coming here until the day I die.”



