Sunday 18 June 1972
My dad was quite literally first on the scene - as we were approximately 100 yards in front of the Trident when it landed in the field.
We were returning from a family Sunday walk back along the towpath from Staines Moor. It was a wet and cloudy day. My mother would have been pushing our double buggy back along the public footpath (which is still there) with my brother and I - the type of pushchair with coloured beads to amuse toddlers.
We had momentarily stopped whilst my mum scanned through some of the piles of rubble from part of the nearby linoleum factory that they were pulling down at the time. She was looking for any bits that might prove interesting for her art college she was attending at Twickenham, when this terrible incident unfolded.
My mother's initial intake of the phenomenon is quite bizarre; upon hearing the dull, muffled-like thud (this is the noise the Trident made when impacting with the wet ground), and not quite understanding what she was witnessing, started looking around the scene for TV crew/cameras.
Not being quite 4 years old, I have a 'JPEG snap' memory of my father squeezing through a gap in the fence, turning back towards us, probably shouting at my mum to take us home. I also think I recall my mother screaming at him not to go near the scene - but that might be a memory my mother told me about, at a later date...
My dad (whom I have pressed for information/details of what he saw, over the years) knew fairly quickly that there was nothing he could do. One lasting but lucid memory he has is of a businessman chap lying curled up with the wind gently blowing through his hair; he just looked like he was asleep - a briefcase lay close by him, flung open with coloured
slides scattered about.
Later that evening, two policemen turned up at our house to speak to my father. They wanted to know if he'd picked up a pistol. Apparently, there were also two plain-clothed 'sherriffs' travelling aboard BEA 548, but that they had only recovered one of these hand guns - my dad recalled that they were not interested in any other aspects of the crash.
I was 1 year old when we first moved to Staines and spent the best part of 30 years growing up/living there. As a kid, I used to play over Staines Moor, swim and canoe in the River Colne, always with the knowledge/fascination of this terrible accident never far from my consciousness. It seems that I'll be forever haunted by it.
Last edited by Trickster01; 9th Feb 2014 at 23:00.