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Transcript

"October, 1957, I was 18 months old, sitting high up on my father's shoulders. We were making our way to the travelling fair in Caerau, about a mile from where we lived. It seemed that the whole of the top end of the village was there making its annual exodus.

We were getting close to the fair. I could see the coloured lights twinkling when everyone stopped and stared at the sky. I could see the heat of my father's breath rising into the night's blackness. We were all staring at a small silver object arcing across the sky. We followed its progress over the fair, over mynydd Caerau, until it disappeared from view somewhere in the direction of Cymer. I discovered sometime later that it was Sputnik.

I was a child of the 60s. Too young to be a fully fledged hippy, but old enough to be caught up in the fervour of the new frontier of space exploration. Every tin can thrown into orbit held a fascination for me. I was an avid viewer of Star Trek since its first episode and often tried to persuade my dad to go where no man had gone before, but I just got a series of discouraging grunts.

Move forward to 1969, the 21st of July, it's 2.30 in the morning, not too long to go. My brother and mother had long since gone to bed, but to my surprise my dad had stayed up with me. 2.55 we both stared at the flickering fuzzy black and white images on our goldfish bowl Redifusion TV set. A minute later, Neil Armstrong was standing in the dust. It was over. Excitedly, I turned to my dad asking his opinion on aliens, expecting a typical dismissive answer. But... his reply shocked and pleased me no end. I'll always remember it. He said, "There's got to be, try counting all those stars."