I saw Aberfan as it happened.
Stood, that hot afternoon
In Pen-y-Wern,
Staring out across the deep, green bowl
Between us.
Tasted the black gold filling my throat,
While the sun beat down
And the Heads of the Valleys shimmered.

They said I imagined it -
But I did not.
I felt those small, dark-eyed children,
Just like me,
Meet their clawing, tarry deaths.
Heard their parents screaming
As they dug, and dug
Amongst the slimy black
That paid their wages and
Filled their children's mouths.

They said I imagined it -
It was morning and a
Steady rain falling.

Melinda Moore - Norwich - 2005

---

Melinda writes: "I was 6 when Aberfan occurred and, apparently like a number of children living in the Neath valley, (as I have since discovered whilst researching), had a 'vision' of what was happening that day, without knowing that the event had occurred, and despite the dismissive comments of the adults in the family, who were then shocked to hear the news on the radio.

"I am now a writer and poet, currently studying Creative Writing at Norwich School of Art & Design, and have been writing poems about Aberfan for many years. I thought you might be interested in my most recent poem on the subject - which met with an enormous response from other students, whether Welsh or not, and especially those far too young to have heard of the disaster - which still seems to have the power to affect all those who hear about it.

"I am now working on another poem dealing with the outrage that was the forced contribution from the Disaster Fund to the costs of removing the remaining slag heaps, and planning another on suggestions that the Aberfan Memorial be removed.

"I doubt that the 'memory' of this event will ever leave me, even though I now live a long way from Wales and can only visit sporadically. The dignity of the Welsh is encompassed as clearly in the events of Aberfan as it is in the works of Richard Llewellyn."