EMBERS (Summerland Fire Commemoration)
2nd August 2023 marked the 50th anniversary of the Summerland Fire on the Isle of Man, which claimed fifty lives and left many others with life-changing injuries or grieving for loved ones. As a survivor of the disaster, I was honoured to compose a poem to read at the on-site commemoration which reflects on Summerland and other disasters in the following followed, which could, with more thought for safety, have been avoided.
Embers
A headline story breaks,
the world looks on.
The public holds its breath,
stunned by loss and death,
lives swept away as by a conflagration
that shakes the peace and comfort of a nation.
Widespread grief is genuine,
expressing heartfelt horror at the scenes
with fear and danger fraught,
asking why this came about,
and not without
a myriad of answers to be sought,
some future, calmer day,
on reflection, when the embers die away.
But do those embers die?
The world moves on;
to those closest, they’re not fading,
the memories never gone.
Lives forever changed,
each story told
a witness to what robbed
both young and old;
each epitaph
a testament
to someone loved and known;
each name upon a stone
a father, mother, sibling,
child or friend,
evoking cherished memories
that will transcend
the findings of all formal inquisitions
and verdicts reached, but yet,
the names of those who perished
we must never dare forget.
What of the embers now?
Things cannot be reversed,
the past undone;
in stopping to reflect,
there is but one
compelling question:
How did none foresee
endangerment
that did not have to be,
or warn of safety
compromised,
neglected;
destruction in its path,
lives unprotected?
And how now might we learn,
what lesson take
to shape each new decision
that we make?
As, if we fail in this,
most certainly
we will be left with embers
of a fresh catastrophe.
When all is said
and scrutinized,
each statement read
and analysed,
we must those tragic lessons bind
forever in the heart and mind
and learn from them,
as learn we must,
before the embers turn to dust
for, only if they are embraced
in future years,
our children and their children
may be spared such tears.
© Robert E. Wilson, 2023.
Dedicated to all those whose lives were lost or forever changed by the Summerland Disaster.
Embers
A headline story breaks,
the world looks on.
The public holds its breath,
stunned by loss and death,
lives swept away as by a conflagration
that shakes the peace and comfort of a nation.
Widespread grief is genuine,
expressing heartfelt horror at the scenes
with fear and danger fraught,
asking why this came about,
and not without
a myriad of answers to be sought,
some future, calmer day,
on reflection, when the embers die away.
But do those embers die?
The world moves on;
to those closest, they’re not fading,
the memories never gone.
Lives forever changed,
each story told
a witness to what robbed
both young and old;
each epitaph
a testament
to someone loved and known;
each name upon a stone
a father, mother, sibling,
child or friend,
evoking cherished memories
that will transcend
the findings of all formal inquisitions
and verdicts reached, but yet,
the names of those who perished
we must never dare forget.
What of the embers now?
Things cannot be reversed,
the past undone;
in stopping to reflect,
there is but one
compelling question:
How did none foresee
endangerment
that did not have to be,
or warn of safety
compromised,
neglected;
destruction in its path,
lives unprotected?
And how now might we learn,
what lesson take
to shape each new decision
that we make?
As, if we fail in this,
most certainly
we will be left with embers
of a fresh catastrophe.
When all is said
and scrutinized,
each statement read
and analysed,
we must those tragic lessons bind
forever in the heart and mind
and learn from them,
as learn we must,
before the embers turn to dust
for, only if they are embraced
in future years,
our children and their children
may be spared such tears.
© Robert E. Wilson, 2023.
Dedicated to all those whose lives were lost or forever changed by the Summerland Disaster.