At the time, I was a 21-year-old old student at Aston Univeristy in Birmingham.

I remember hearing a news report on the radio as I travelled to my parents home in Spencer Avenue, Bewdley.

We were in the pub that night when my friend Mervyn Cross, who had Welsh ancestors, suggested we go to Aberfan to see if we could help.

Some of our friends from the local Territorial Army has already gone, so four of us drove through the night in Merv's minivan, arriving in the early hours before we were stopped by police barriers.

But we managed to get a lift on the back of an open lorry into the town and were put to work digging drainage ditches behind the devastated school building.

All around us was utter chaos. I remember the smashed classrooms, shattered cars, long lines of people digging and everywhere thick, black mud, which had roared down from the coal tip above the stricken town.

"Every now and then a whistle would be blown, signifying that the rescuers had heard something.

"Everyone stopped digging, an eerie silence fell and we waited for news under the massive arc-lights.

"But we never saw anyone rescued alive. Only bodies were brought out.

"We worked all night, directed by men from the National Coal Board, and there were fears that another avalanche might follow. Luckily, it never came. Occasionally we left our posts and went to a canteen run by the WRVS for mugs of tea. Everyone's shock was tangible.

"I remember the dawn breaking at last and the mist rising up the valley to greet a perfect sunrise.

"We became rather emotional when everyone who wasn't employed by the Coal Board was asked to vacate the site, probably because no one could guarantee our safety.

"We headed for home, stopping at a roadside cafe for a pot of tea. I never got out of the van but lay in the back and drifted off into an exhausted sleep. When I awoke, I realised I'd left my father's shovel by the side of the trench we'd been digging. He never moaned about it."

l Hundreds of people are expected at a church memorial service today to mark the anniversary.

Villagers and others wishing to remember the disaster will attend a civic service at St Mary's RC Church, Merthyr Tydfil, tonight.

A private wreath-laying service for survivors and families affected by the tragedy was taking place at Aberfan's memorial garden this morning.

HISTORY OF THE ABERFAN DISASTER IN 1966

It was 9.15am on what appeared a normal wet autumn morning when disaster struck.

The children of Pantglas School were ready for the day's lessons when coal waste from the mountain above the village rushed down rumbling like a plane, say witnesses.

First it destroyed a cottage, and then engulfed the school and some houses in the village.

It took just five minutes to wipe out a generation of children with tons of rock, mud, coal and sludge.

At first the rescue was held up by fog, the same fog that delayed 50 children travelling to the Aberfan school by bus from the neighbouring village of Mount Pleasant.

But before long some 2,000 rescuers worked under floodlights in the hunt for survivors, despite the danger caused by the still shifting slag tip.

Some youngsters were still in the playground, others were filing in to classrooms ready for register.

In one classroom 14 bodies were found and distraught mothers struggled deep in mud, hoping to find their children.

The school's deputy head teacher, Mr Beynon, was among those who perished.

"He was clutching five children in his arms as if he had been protecting them," said a rescuer.

As rescuers arrived at the scene, they could hear the cries of those still trapped on the fringe of the coal waste. Many local miners shovelled to get the debris clear and worked non-stop for 10 hours. The cause was initially blamed as underground spring, with two days of heavy rain having loosened the waste.

However, an inquiry later blamed the National Coal Board, though no individual was ever prosecuted.

A mass funeral was held on October 25, and the children were buried on the hill overlooking the village.

Soon a disaster fund was launched, which collected £1m in the four months it was open.

As the National Coal Board refused to accept full financial responsibility for the disaster, money from the fund had to contribute towards the removal of the remaining tips overlooking the village. This money was not refunded until 1997.