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Sorry.
I didn't see the programme.
I thought that they were writtenby Carol.
Sue x
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Susan, those words are Jonathan Phang's I believe.
I too watched the programme and felt for him so much, as I used to be one of those who would organise get togethers and such too and like Carol I never imagined anything going so badly wrong as it did on that day on the river.
I hope now he has met up with some of the people he had lost touch with, and spoken to them about what happened, he will begin to feel a little less guilty. It was a dreadful thing to happen but not of his doing, and I suppose if your time comes, it comes no matter where you are. I felt sad for the man who had to let another person holding on to his legs, slip away as he fought to get to the surface and air, or he would have perished too.
May they all be resting in peace, to be reunited when it is the right time.
Lizx
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Hi Carol,
I hope that by writing this message it has helped you a little bit.
I can't think of any words that will help you but to let you know I will be thinking of you.
Sue xx
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I’ve made a television programme about this in order to explore it. A lot of us fell apart as friends because we judged each other about how we dealt with our grief. I felt judged; we were not just a bunch of yuppies who deserved to die.Talking to these people again has been therapeutic. Philpott explained that people didn’t dislike me because I was alive, it was because I wasn’t actively campaigning for justice with them. I didn’t know that. I gave evidence at the public inquiry and I’m grateful to the people who did campaign because a lot of positive changes came from their hard work, but I didn’t have the strength to be involved. I felt uncomfortable around bereft families. I’m trying to make amends for things I wish I’d done better or differently, and through this process I understand why I’ve got myself tied up in knots. I don’t think closure exists — the best you can hope for is acceptance.
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cont ...
The public reaction was cold and strange. Because there were some models on board, our party was perceived as aspirational and exclusive. The awful Hillsborough disaster, which happened earlier the same year, was seen to represent the working class. The truth was that Antonio was doing well in the City, but the rest of us were not particularly well paid or glamorous.
Yet, we were seen as Thatcher’s Yuppies. That’s another reason I’ve been private about it — I don’t know what reaction I’m going to get.
I used to sit there and think: “Why did I survive?” I felt such a huge responsibility to everyone and thought my role was to help. I was 23, my work as a photographers’ agent was about inspiring confidence, I was an organiser. My flat became like a drop-in centre. I opened my door perhaps too much, took on too much, and didn’t think about what I might need. My parents were there for me but I didn’t know how to ask for help. I was trying to be too many things to too many people, and because I was promising to deliver something I was incapable of, my confidence dived. As I wasn’t showing my emotion in an obvious way maybe people felt that I didn’t care. I couldn’t sleep and after a couple of months of that you don’t know what’s going on any more. So I had to knock myself out, get drunk or stoned. I was overeating. I put on seven stone, got into debt. I still have nightmares four or five times a year: my chest’s hurting and I’m floating down the river. How did I survive? I’ve got the gift of the gab, the way that I speak makes me sound fine, I look fine — people have that image of me. There were dark moments when I was self destructive but I’ve always felt a sense of obligation to the friends who died to keep going. I couldn’t have thrown myself off Southwark Bridge because I understand how painful it is to lose friends.
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contd. . .
I was irrationally calm at this point. I think it was because I knew the situation was beyond my control. Next thing I know, I’m trapped under water. Something was pressing hard on my chest, which was starting to become painful. I was holding my breath and I thought: “It’s going to be easier if I open my mouth, swallow and drown.” I could hear what I presume were motors and thought I could be mashed up in the Bowbelle’s propeller. Then whatever was trapping me moved off and I bobbed to the surface. Only then did I think that I should actually try to survive. I clutched on to a beer barrel. I was weak. Breathing was difficult. You couldn’t control what you were doing because the current was so strong. Eventually I was rescued by the Hurlingham, another party boat.
In the ambulance I was with a photographer, Iain Philpott. Nothing was really penetrating. We were hysterical, I suppose. He said: “Trust you to organise a party on a f***ing boat, Phang.” From that moment the guilt got bigger and bigger, and I thought everyone was holding me responsible. I wasn’t aware that so many people had died until I saw the television news in the afternoon. The sister of a girl who worked for me said that one of our colleagues had been found in Hammersmith. I said: “Terrific.” She didn’t tell me that she was dead. My entire staff passed away. When Antonio didn’t turn up I knew he hadn’t made it. Another close friend, Lino, died.
Of those we lost I knew 18 very well. My response was to keep my grief private, put on a mask and show people that I was all right. I thought therapy would have been a sign of weakness so I didn’t have any. When I went to funerals — there were two or three a day for several weeks — I would look at people and feel they blamed me for the death of their children. That’s where my paranoia started.
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I sat in silence watching this programme unable to speak, I felt so much for this man as I also like to organize things and don't know how I would be able to carry on if put in such as situation, it was a terrible accident and I don't think anyone other than himself would blame or think it was his fault.
Jonathan Phang, now a TV presenter and fashion agent, hosted a 26th birthday party on a Thames riverboat for his friend Antonio de Vasconcellos, a wealthy banker. Of the 138 people on board, 51 died that night after a collision with a dredger.
I am a perfectionist and I wanted the party to be just right because Antonio was my best friend. There was so much to do and I was feeling tense. I didn’t want to go on a Thames boat. I’d seen it before we booked it and it looked and smelt like a floating pub. But Antonio wanted to celebrate his birthday by doing something different that included everybody.
Before heading for the Thames there was a dinner party at his apartment for eight of us. Of that group, Antonio’s brother and I were the only two people who survived. On the way to the party I picked up 300 balloons, party poppers and canapés. We were waiting for the the Marchioness to turn up, holding all this stuff. People were arriving, and I was worried because I thought I wouldn’t have time to tart the boat up. But my role was as the host, so we just got on with it.
We set off at about 12.30am and after 15 minutes I still hadn’t had a drink. I got to the bar and a friend said: “Get to the side of the boat!” I turned around and saw the Bowbelle coming towards us. Two big jolts, and the boat started capsizing. It’s funny what crosses your mind. I remember thinking, “If I get through this, I don’t want anything to go wrong with my eyes”, so I threw my glasses into the waist-high water. The windows burst. I saw the caterer and a barman try to jump over the bar. Neither survived.
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