Welsh village embraces bond with queen

Her brain said to stay. In 1966, Madgwick, 64, had been worried about crowds and confined spaces as mud, a mixture of coal mine debris and water, poured down the hillside above her village of Aberfan. One of the worst civilian disasters in contemporary British history, an avalanche destroyed a country school; killed 144 villagers, including 116 children; left Marchwick trapped under rubble, but alive.

Her heart says go. The Queen developed an exceptionally strong relationship with Aberfan, which began in the days following that disaster and continued through the Queen’s four visits to the village.

“She’s Aberfan’s guardian angel,” Marchwick said one afternoon last week. “It’s the friendship of a lifetime.”

For many Britons, Elizabeth’s death – the ever-present backdrop of a century of dramatic social change – felt like the rug snatched from under their feet, even if they had never seen or seen her.

People in Aberdeen lined the streets to pay their respects to the Queen as her coffin made its way through the Granite City. pic.twitter.com/iuZZz1EVgi

– Royal Family Channel (@RoyalFamilyITNP) September 11, 2022

Aberfan’s mood, a rare connection to the Queen, is a stark example of that feeling.

To be sure, the Queen’s death and the resulting pomp have also left some in Aberfan relatively indifferent, even frustrated, amid the rapidly rising cost of living. Like the rest of the UK, it was a shock, awakening some people’s sense of alienation from the monarchy. Dissatisfaction with central government in London; and a mild reassessment of national identity, in Wales, including calls for an independent Welsh state.

But the main mood of Aberfan – a village of grey roofs and sandstone walls in a narrow Welsh valley – is a peaceful loss. The Queen’s four visits is an almost unimaginable number for a village of about 3,500 inhabitants.

In the process, she made many villagers, hundreds of whom are still traumatized by the destruction in 1966, feel blessed and recognized by the land’s highest figures, even as they felt betrayed by the rest of the British government’s armed forces.

“She looked at us; she protected us; she had compassion; she had empathy,” Madwick said. “The Queen has never let us down.”

The last known photograph of children at Pantglas Primary School, from a memento collected by Gaynor Madgwick of the October 1966 slime avalanche that destroyed the school in Aberfan, Wales on September 12, 2022, killing 116 children and 28 adults died. (Mary Turner/The New York Times)

In October 1966, the Queen made her first visit to the village of Aberfan, which was largely built in the 19th century to serve the local coal mines. Her visit was later repeated in The Crown, a TV series inspired by the Queen’s life.

Eight days ago, years of mine waste dumped on the hilltop above the village suddenly slid off after a period of heavy rainfall. It was shortly before 9.15am on the last day before the midterm break of the school year, and students aged 6 to 11 had just arrived.

Macdwick was 8 years old at the time. When her class started math class, a wave of debris — almost 10 yards high in some places, roughly the size of 15 Olympic swimming pools — rumbled through the school and nearby homes, killing less than half of the day children.

Madgwick survived, her leg being broken by a dislodged radiator. Her older sister and younger brothers Marilyn and Carl died.

The scale of the disaster quickly became a moment of national introspection and trauma, and the Queen quickly decided to visit.

Gaynor Madgwick and her collection of papers related to the October 1966 mud avalanche that killed 116 children and 28 adults in Aberfan, Wales, September 12, 2022 people die. (Mary Turner/The New York Times)

A key aide later said one of her biggest regrets during her reign was that she didn’t go earlier, and some villagers said the eight-day delay angered the community at the time. But today, residents largely remember her arrival as a moving gesture of solidarity they never expected to see.

Villagers cited witnesses who said she cried briefly after receiving a bouquet of flowers from survivors – her immortal appearance in village folklore as a mortal.

“When I close my eyes, I can see her,” said Dennis Morgan, 67, who lost an older sister in the disaster and was among the crowd welcoming the queen.

“She didn’t come as a queen – she came as a mother,” Morgan said. “Losing and pain are just etched on her face.”

This alone is enough to guarantee the queen a place in the folklore of most villages. But she returned and opened a community center in 1973, planted a tree at the disaster site in 1997, and opened a new school in 2012.

Over the years, she also hosted wives, mothers and sisters of the victims at Buckingham Palace, listened to recitals by choirs led by male relatives of the victims, and awarded knighthoods to several villagers. The connection continued until the day before her death, when teachers at the new school opened a letter sent by courtiers to students on behalf of the Queen.

Changes in Aberfan’s economic and social fabric over the decades reflect broader changes across the country. Coal mines, once the heart of the community and the driver of the local economy, are closing along with hundreds of mines across the UK. This drives many to seek work outside the village, often in the service industry, thereby weakening community life. Due to the widespread decline in religious belief, some chapels and churches closed, as did the village’s tailor and hardware stores.

Dai Powell, 61, a former miner and childhood friend of several disaster victims, said the switch from a coal economy to a coal economy was “heartbreaking” for the community. “Right now we don’t need coal; it’s basically destroying the planet,” Powell added. “But it’s a livelihood, isn’t it?”

There are other fees. Nearly half of the survivors were found to suffer from PTSD, according to research published in the British Journal of Psychiatry.

Locals watch the coffin of Queen Elizabeth II arrive in London at a pub in Aberfan, Wales on September 13, 2022, after a slime avalanche in October 1966 killed 116 children and 28 adults The Queen has visited the community four times. (Mary Turner/The New York Times)

The rest of the British government has angered villages by refusing to prosecute any coal industry officials for negligence. Successive governments have also refused to cover the full cost of removing other dangerous mud tips near the village, forcing villagers to put in donations for survivors until they were finally paid back in full in 2007.

But the Queen’s concern for Aberfan meant she was seen as separate from the country’s indifference, despite being the nominal head.

Elsewhere in the UK, there has been debate over whether the Queen can truly transcend politics, given her interest in maintaining her role in the British political system. But in Aberfan, there are fewer doubts.

“There’s no political agenda there,” said Jeff Edwards, 64, the last child rescued from the rubble. “The Queen is above all else.”

At Aberfan, most people have sympathy for her family and respect for her sense of responsibility. But some, especially the younger generation, had more conflicted reactions to the Queen’s death.

For some, the accession of King Charles III – and the sudden appointment of his son William as his former Prince of Wales – is more problematic.

“I should be the Prince of Wales; I’m more Welsh than Charles or William,” said Darren Martin, a 47-year-old gardener in the village, with a smile. Speaking of the Queen, he said: “Don’t get me wrong; I admire this woman. But I do think it’s time for Wales to be ruled by our own people.”

The suddenness of the Queen’s death was a psychological shock, prompting some to rethink long-standing norms and doctrines.

“If things can change dramatically like that, why can’t things change here?” asked Jordan McCarthy, 21, another Aberfan gardener. “I want Wales to be independent.”

Of the monarchy, he added: “Only born and raised in Wales – that’s the only king or queen I would accept.”

Overall, though, Aberfan’s mood was one of quiet mourning and resignation. A condolence book was opened at the local library. The villagers gathered in the bar to watch the speeches and processions of the new king. Some left bouquets next to the tree the queen planted.

The men’s choir founded by grieving relatives half a century ago came together on Monday night for a fortnightly practice. Proud Welshmen as they prepare for their next performance – on the sidelines of the Welsh rugby team’s upcoming game, singing songs and hymns, some of them in Welsh.

But halfway through the song, choir president Steve Beasley stood up.

“We all know the Queen,” Beasley said. “Please stand up and observe a minute of silence.”

(Written by Patrick Kingsley)