On November 1, 1966, five men lost their lives and more were injured when Aberdeen University’s zoology building collapsed. Shirley Millar, who was 19 and working as a secretary, re-lives that horrific day.
“Dad danced me round the kitchen table. “Well done Toots,” he said, hugging me close, the metal clips of his dungarees biting into my cheek, mum laughing.
“We’re so proud of you,” she said wiping a wee tear from her eye. I was bursting with excitement. The letter I clutched in my hand told me that I was to begin work as the departmental secretary at the Botany Department of Aberdeen University the day before my 19th birthday. I couldn’t wait to get to college to share the news. In two more days we finished the Higher Secretarial Course which had led to my
job offer.
A week later I arrived at the Botany Department with some trepidation. I was made so welcome and it was easy to settle in quickly. Our professor had his own personal secretary and I worked primarily for the Reader in Botany with the other doctors simply placing their work in my in-tray with the intention that it was done in the order in which it had been received.
I can tell you that there was considerable cheating attempted, not to mention some strange bribes offered just to get their work to the top of the pile. The bribes were never accepted and life in the Botany Department was great fun.
I so loved that job and have many happy memories of my two years there, but there is one sad exception.
I arrived at work one bleak November morning when the rain came down in torrents and a gale was blowing. I stood watching the men at work through the staff room window. Geoff joined me, both of us early and eager for a quick coffee before we began work.
“What a day,” he said as we waited for the kettle to boil. “I feel so sorry for the guy in the crane,” I said. “It must be awful up there on a day like this.” We filled our cups, continuing to watch the scene across from us, the new zoology building which was now seven storeys high dwarfing the Botany Department’s three storeys.
Our attention turned to the workmen on the ground, muddy and slippery. “There are not as many workmen as usual,” murmured Geoff, “probably because of the weather”. I stood beside him looking across at the building, then I stepped back and screwed up my eyes, scrutinising the outline, moving my head from side to side, not sure if I was seeing what I thought.
“What’s up?” said Geoff. “What are you looking at so intently?” I told him I must be imagining things but I thought the building looked squint.
“Don’t be barmy,” Geoff said as he began to imitate my movements carefully scrutinising the building. “You know it’s looking at it through all this rain that’s making us think it’s squint!” And with that we both headed to work, Geoff to his lab and me to the departmental
office.
My in-tray was piled high and the morning passed very quickly. Just after 1pm I headed back up to the staff room for lunch. As the kettle boiled I stood by the window again. There seemed to be even fewer workmen around than there had been in the morning. Some of them would be off for lunch.
The rain still poured down and the wind gusted strongly. My eyes followed my thoughts once more to the guy in the crane. It must have been a long morning for him. I idly wondered how often he came all the way down to the ground for a break. Did he take his lunch up there with him? It looked so frightening to me on such a dreadful day, but then it would as I was terrified of heights.
Before I turned away I screwed up my eyes again and looked hard at the building. I chuckled to myself. Geoff was right, I was barmy, I could still have sworn that the building was squint but it must just be seeing it through all the rain.
I joined the other staff. I had been late arriving and most of them were just finishing lunch. A quick chat and they were gone. I quickly finished my sandwich and, thinking about my full in-tray, I washed my dishes up ready to head back to the office. As I laid the clean dishes back on the counter I checked my watch. 1.30pm.
I stood looking once more at the building in front of me and glanced up at the crane. That poor man was still up there. A movement beneath him drew my attention downward and terror filled my lungs and escaped in a scream as I watched the zoology building fold like a pack of cards, sliding down earthwards in an almighty cloud of dust.
I don’t know how many seconds I stood there frozen in horror before I made my way to the phone dialling 999 as my body went into shock and I began to shake. Thankfully someone more lucid had reached 999 before me, and the services were on their way.
Colleagues were crowding into the staff room, my screams and the terrible sound of the falling building drawing them to the room. Shock reverberated around the walls. There were cries of horror, tears of shock and despair as we watched helplessly the scene below us.
Fire engines, police cars and ambulances arrived and at first people were running everywhere, looking for injured workers and shouting loudly to attract attention. People were arriving willing to help, but the police quickly cordoned off the entrance, understandably afraid of more people being hurt or injured.
My eyes returned again and again to the crane driver. It appeared as if he had not moved since the building had fallen below him. He must be in deep shock and I felt so afraid for his safety. How on earth would he get down?
By 2.30pm the first body had been recovered and spirits in our staff room hit rock bottom. We had all hoped against hope that those in the building would only be injured and not killed. A short time later a huge cheer went up as a blood-covered workman emerged from the building supported by two of his fellow workers.
We heard later that they had returned from lunch just as the building collapsed. Knowing where their friend had been when they left, they hurried to reach him but couldn’t quite get to him. He was stunned and trapped, and fearing a further fall, they were desperate to get him out.
One dashed off and returned with an acetylene torch. Between them they managed to hoist it up to the injured worker and he was able to cut himself free. Ambulance workers rushed towards him as his legs gave way and he sank between his colleagues into the mud.
He was quickly wrapped in blankets and laid on to a stretcher from where he managed a ‘thumbs up’ sign before he was lifted into the waiting ambulance.
Spirits rose a little, but not for long, as another body was brought out of the wreckage. Again I looked up at the crane driver who still sat unmoving in his crane. Just then a police officer headed over to the crane and began to shout up to him.
There was no response from the shocked driver so the police officer, after shouting a further message, left, returning very quickly with a fireman. Again they shouted but to no avail.
The fireman nodded to the police officer and began to ascend the ladder. Still the driver did not move and we were not sure if he was even aware that someone was climbing towards him.
It seemed to take forever. The fireman bent into the wind, swaying on the ladder as the rain and wind continued to make a hazardous journey upward even more difficult. We were all holding our breath as he eventually hoisted himself into the cab.
There couldn’t have been much room but we saw his arm go around the driver who slowly turned his face to the fireman. The fireman pulled what looked like a flask from his pocket and poured something into the lid. He gently placed this against the driver’s lips, all the time rubbing his back and talking to him.
The driver began to move his head in the fireman’s direction and more tears trickled down my cheeks in relief that someone had at last reached him. It took a further 30 minutes before the driver was able to haltingly follow the fireman down the ladder to safety.
By this time huge arc lights had been put in place cutting through the full darkness of a miserable late November afternoon. A further two bodies had been removed and two more injured workers had been rushed to hospital.
Some of us had returned to our desks much earlier but concentration was impossible and I, and several others, had gone back up to the staff room to watch the rescue operation.
We unfortunately had a bird’s eye view of the doomed building and many other concerned university staff had looked in, often mainly to inquire if we were all ok as they were fully aware of our proximity to the accident.
Just after the first body had been recovered Geoff had returned from a meeting, having just heard the dreadful news. He bounded up the stairs. We all heard him coming. “Oh our kid,” he exploded as he ran across the room. “You weren’t being barmy at all,” he added.
He grasped me in a huge bear hug, and as more tears spilled down my cheeks he took me to a chair at the far side of the room and just let me cry. More tea was produced and we sat together quietly until the tears had subsided. Eventually he took my hands in his and said: “You must never ever believe that you are in any way at fault for what has happened here today.
There are people paid to inspect buildings and none of them could have anticipated this terrible tragedy or the site would have been cleared, now you put your earlier thoughts right out of your mind.”
I guess I knew that he was feeling exactly as I was and his words could not believe the truth – that had we reported what we thought we could have been seeing, perhaps this loss of life and injuries would never have happened.
One further dead worker was pulled from the wreckage in the early evening. The total of five dead and three injured was horrendous but it was only because of the dreadful weather that there were not many more men on the site that day.”
