Friday 28 February 1975 was the day that changed my life. At half past eight that morning, I was sitting down to write a newspaper feature. At 9.35am, I was standing in the press enclosure outside Moorgate station.
I was 25 years young, a freelance journalist who covered occasional news stories for a Fleet Street agency, but I had never been sent to report on one quite like the Moorgate train disaster. My brief was simple: find out what, who, when and how. We knew the “where”, and when I arrived there were just 10 journalists cordoned off next to the underground station entrance. Half an hour later came the first of the day’s many press conferences. I had my shorthand notebook at the ready.
