The poem was created, following the death of my father-in-law, in late-2016. He had been inextricably involved with the disaster, having driven a huge caterpillar for several days in an attempt to stem the flow of slurry. He had never spoken of the role he had played in alleviating the disaster; I only found out following his death. Hence the poem, written partly in Aberfan, partly in Llandudno, and written for my wife, Christine.

I consider the poem to be a disciplined piece of writing, since there are strictly only four words per line, with two of these, in each line, used up in conveying the 'black', 'cold', 'wet' atmosphere of the piece.

Describing a tradegy in essentially two words per line did require imagination. There are six stanzas, each commenting on an aspect of the disaster (including my father-in-law's role in the aftermath).

My personal connection with Aberfan is two-fold: I was almost 7-years-old when the disaster occurred, in 1966. I remember the TV news footage; I remember images from the South Wales Echo; I remember the strange, shocked silence hanging over the Valleys.

At the time, my school had a tip just across the road from the gates to our playground. I rremember sitting in class looking out at "our" tip with some trepidation. After the ripples of pain and grief had spread out from Aberfan, I remember having trouble getting off to sleep. I'd often think of the disaster - and "see" my fellow children - then fall asleep into the darkness of my bedroom.

Years later, in 1995, when cycling along the Taff Trail with Christine, we made a pit stop in Aberfan and called in to the Aberfan Inn. We noticed they ran a pub quiz and, during the following weeks, we attended it, making several friends in the process. For many years since, we have visited our friends and often stayed in both Nixonville and Aberfan.

Last year I attended a play about the Aberfan disaster, in a church - St Elvans - in Aberdare. The play had been constructed in collaboration with the Aberfan community. It was a very moving piece of work - that part of me that had fallen asleep into the fearful darkness, as a small boy, woke up. I realised it was perhaps time to share my poem and thoughts.