Shoreham Airshow Tragedy

It took me a long time to decide where I wanted to live and set down roots. I viewed houses and flats for over a year, but it was always Shoreham By Sea that felt right. When I was a teenager and an Air Cadet we helped at the annual Airshow here. Marshalling in the car park and also talking to young kids in an effort to get new recruits and bolster our numbers. We enjoyed the occasion as we were all so passionate about aviation and the RAF. At 19 I took flying lessons in a Cessna and landing her after a night flight was an incredible experience for me at that age. 

To the casual visitor Shoreham may appear a sleepy looking fishing village on the outskirts of Brighton. But there is very much a sense of energy that resonates from the Airport and the classic planes that sore over our gardens in the summer months. You feel that energy as you walk past the high street cafes on a sunny day. When you see the chaotic elegance of the yachts as they gather at the dock and the emphatic church bells that wake us far too early on a Sunday morning. But it has been very quiet here this week.

The growing number of flower & messages. (Photo: BBC website)

My experiences of the Air Show over the years stand out because of the people I have shared them with and enjoying their reaction to everything. I remember sitting with friends at the Bridge Inn and seeing the Typhoon thunder down the river. Watching the Vulcan bomber at a street BBQ with my school pal Lee and his family a while back. This year however I went to work on Saturday in Dolphin Way and was undecided if I would get a ticket for the Sunday, to see the Vulcan one last time.

I did not witness the tragedy that occurred a week ago, a number of texts and calls came into myself and my Mum to see if I was ok. But I was fine of course. My Uncle who was on his way back from Worthing came to a stop at a red light just a few hundred yards away, as the Hawker Hunter stalled while making a loop and crashed into the dual carriage way. In total shock my Uncle needed to ask a Policeman if what he had just witnessed was real.

We understand it will be a long time before we have some idea of what happened that day. The names of those who tragically died in the accident have not all been announced yet. I know one of the names as the father of a girl in my class at school. The girl who taught me and my friends Lindy Hop at a dance class we attended a couple of years back. She loved Jazz because her Dad introduced her to it. Everything I read online and its locality makes it feel so real.

Hundreds gather on Saturday to pay respect and a charity walk to
Worthing Utds football ground is organised (Photo BBC website)

But I was not there, I have not lost anyone close to me. So it feels wrong to think or write about what I am feeling at the moment. Like all friends, residents and those who were present we want to share our support and find some way of showing our condolences are sincere and heartfelt. Tonight I decided to walk to the Footbridge where a Memorial has been created. At night I thought I can pay my respects without feeling that I need to explain why I am there. Just another shadow in the night, among a few people who are more comfortable reconciling their emotions this way.

At first there is the familiar graces of a walk along the river at this time of the evening. The strong smell of mud as the water runs low and a firm August breeze that does not feel as cold as it should. I see a gentle warmth of candles emanating from the bridge and I notice the figures of people walking slowly across. It brings a sense of welcoming that it is ok for me to be here.

As I step onto it the most apparent sound is plastic crackling in the wind. It is testament to the hundreds of flowers that line the entire length of the footbridge. I see people reading notes, letters and poems using torches or mobile phones to light their way. A couple holding onto one another and the sound of tears. There are photographs and colourful shirts tied to the railings, affectionate tributes for the young footballers who were lost that day. Personal messages set upon the ground for loved ones who could not make it home.

But there is something else. A group of friends gather at the centre of the bridge, they light two Chinese lanterns and let them go into a clouded sky. I hear wisps of stories the guys and girls are telling. They drink a toast from the cans they have bought and there is even a few laughs though understandably quite subdued. As I stand and watch the lanterns head downstream it becomes difficult not to fixate on an abrasive white light from Shoreham beach. It reflects weakly onto the river. At first it looks as though the light on the water is just drifting away, but as the moment passes it is still there. Glistening and moving on the tide.

Candles lit on another bridge in Shoreham By Sea - The Adur Ferry Bridge. (Photo shared on Facebook)

As I start to walk home and leave the footpath I am met with the eye watering glow from street lamps and the two pubs across the street. People are talking inside but I cannot hear them at all, there is however a lot of traffic and it enters my mind that we all move at such a pace these days; pausing and taking stock of things can sometimes be difficult.

A life is more than just stories and memories. It is more than emotions and that sense of mutual dependency and thoughtfulness we share. The initial numbness of losing somebody can take longer than we think to subside and that empty spot may never truly go away. But I have always remembered one small thing over the years and I have tried to make it real

What is gone is not as important as what was there. A person can change so prominently the way we approach life, they teach us by the enthusiasm and kindness they bring to the table. The best things we learn from those who have left us, always seem to remain.