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A generation of children.
It’s a cold and grey Tuesday morning and I have a client meeting in South Wales and I’m driving past the Celtic Manor at the entrance to Newport and it looks like a great big fucking hotel and it is dominated by a huge Welsh flag which is far to big – it’s almost like 2 fingers up to the English visitors.
But I’m 2 hours early for me visit and I find myself driving up the A470 to Aberfan. And I know that this Friday 21st October will mark the 50th anniversary. And within 40 minutes I am walking down what could be Aberfan High Street and it is difficult to imagine what this village was like 50 years ago – over the past 50 years, as well as the disaster, Aberfan has also had to take all the other body blows inflicted upon the South Wales Valleys by the late 20th century – the miners’ strike and closure of the pits, Thatcherism, unemployment, poverty, alienation, then Osbourne’s austerity.
And I find myself walking up the hillside to the neat and well kept cemetery which is visible from the other side of the village and I start to feel sick when I see the beautiful white arches marking each and every grave, some with pictures of beautiful children and names and ages – 10 to 13 years old – with touching and pitiful scriptures ‘We loved him, oh no tongue can tell how much we loved him’. And I want to be sick and I think about my own beautiful son and I think about being in church right now to prey and meditate.
And it’s Tuesday night and I am back in Mansfield and I cannot shake off that feeling of death and the vision of the truly beautiful memorial garden. And I want to get this out of my head. And I find myself picking up the phone and calling Riley and I ask whether she is free around 7ish and she says she will get back to me – and I am just coming out of Tesco when I get a text message saying free now. And the next thing I am parking on her drive and walking around the back yard and she is at the door – but I can’t remember what she is wearing only that she looks awesome and she is smoking a cigarette and the next thing I am naked and stood at the door and Riley is sucking me off and she is knelt outside and I am stood on the door step and it is a bit chilly, but I don’t really feel it and she is spitting and gobbing saliva all over my cock and I am feeling really weird as for once I don’t want poppers and then we are in the bedroom and I am eating out her arse and pussy with proper enthusiasm and Riley is telling me about how her and Lucy are going to completely drain my bank account and how I am a desperate punter.
And whilst Riley is sucking on my cock again I get the idea that it would be nice to fuck her for once and I suggest that we do it outside in the back yard for her neighbours to see and she takes kindly to this suggestion and next thing we are outside right on the back yard and she has her face and hands pushed up against the dirty wall and I can feel the dirt and soil beneath my bare feet and this adds to the excitement and she has her arse pushed out and forcing it back against me and she is panting and gasping as I am fucking her cunt – and whilst I am doing this I cannot take the thought of the graves and the whole generation of children out of my head and I think about how they will never get to experience the beauty of love, closeness and sex and friendship and growing old and grandchildren and parenthood and I want to cry and I come loudly and happily. And Riley turns around and kisses me and it feels nice and now I feel cold and want to go inside and put on my clothes.
And now it is Friday 21st Oct and I am waiting for 9:15 to observe the 1 minutes silence and I will spend this in quiet prayer and meditation. And I think about Tuesday and the cemetery and despite the fervent efforts to cultivate it, the grass which grows over the site of the tips is a different colour, a course, sickly yellow, as if nature itself refuses to give up the ghost and forgive the disaster.
The white-arched graves and the tainted grass above them will serve as an indelible reminder for those who knows how many generations to come of their part in a defining moment in our history.
And I still feel sick, and I think about the children singing ‘all things bright and beautiful’ in assembly, I think about the teacher telling the children that the deafening noise was only thunder, I think about the miner’s and rescue workers digging with their bare hands, looking for survivors, I think about the mothers and fathers waiting to hear that their child will not be returning home. I think about hrte joy and relief of seeing dirty eyes blink – knowing that a survivor has been found.
And I think about Riley and how wonderful it must be to be young and have your whole life unhindered in front of you.
And I feel a lump in my throat and I put on ‘My Immortal’ by Evanescence……..
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