After the trial, April’s remains had been taken to Aberystwyth Police Station, as they couldn’t be released to us for a funeral until the coroner’s report had been concluded. The hearing was scheduled for 16 September 2013, meaning we’d have to wait almost four months before we could lay our daughter to rest.
However, we decided to begin planning for April’s final farewell towards the end of August. We wanted it to be a perfect celebration of her short life and we knew it would take a lot of organisation. We wanted the service to be held in St Peter’s Church in Machynlleth. Although we weren’t religious as a family, the church and its vicar, Kath Rodgers, had shown us such kindness and support in the months since April was taken, that it seemed the most appropriate place to have the funeral.
We’d agreed that the press could attend the church but decided on a private burial at the local graveyard to which only close friends and family would be invited. It was important that we kept some of the day for ourselves. We then planned to invite around 120 guests to a wake at the Celtica Visitor Centre. It seemed apt, as this was where so many people had congregated in the terrible first days of the search, desperate to help us find April. We extended this invitation to the police officers and mountain rescue teams as a gesture of gratitude for everything they’d done for us.
We arranged a meeting with a local undertaker, Dilwyn Rees. Dave came along with us, as it was important for the police to be represented. We knew to expect hundreds of mourners, not to mention the nation’s press, and officers would have to close the roads surrounding the church in order to accommodate them.
Dilwyn was a kind man who told us he’d do everything in his power to make things perfect for us but the meeting was a tough one. We’d had eleven months to prepare ourselves for making these arrangements, but planning a funeral for our five-year-old child seemed unnatural and wrong. Coral was fairly quiet throughout and went straight to bed when we returned home. It was the middle of the afternoon, but she slept for almost six hours. Just after 10 p.m., I took her some coffee and a bowl of cereal and tentatively coaxed her to eat.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, sadly. ‘Today just knocked the stuffing out of me.’
It wasn’t long before Coral had drifted off again and I found myself reaching for my diary. It was the first time in a while I’d put pen to paper but the funeral was throwing up lots of new emotions for me.
‘Talking about April’s funeral was difficult and emotional for me,’ I wrote. ‘It’s the thought of organising it. How do you manage a funeral for your daughter, just five and a half years old? We have so little of her – just some dust and a few bits of bone. There isn’t much to put to rest. We don’t have much to show for our sweet and beautiful girl. It’s hard, so damn hard. Some days you just get so beat up and stressed and tired.
‘But I’ve had eleven months to prepare myself for this. Talking to my counsellors helps me a lot but Coral has only just started to talk and face up to the fact that April is dead and there will be a funeral. I only hope talking with the counsellors will help her like it has helped me. It doesn’t make the pain go away, though – it’s always there, that dull ache. A deep sadness washes over me every now and then and I feel like I’m back where we started and it’s October 2012 all over again.
‘I love you, April. Dad xxx.’
A few days later, we decided on a date: Thursday 26 September, just five days shy of the first anniversary of April’s disappearance. Coincidentally this was also my mum’s birthday. We’d originally wanted to hold the service two days later, on the Saturday, but Kath was unavailable and it was important to us that she was there to conduct it. Dave and Hayley also advised us that a Saturday funeral would present more problems for the police from a logistical point of view.
A year before April had died, Coral had taken the children to Blackpool to celebrate Jazmin’s sixteenth birthday, where they’d all had a ride in a horse and cart. April had loved it so much that Coral had promised to take her back the following year. Sadly she was taken by Bridger before they got the chance to make the trip.
‘I want her to say her bye-byes in a horse and cart,’ Coral said, firmly.
We’d received a donation from the Victim Support charity, which enabled us to plan a much more elaborate service than we’d ever have been able to afford ourselves. Knowing how much it would have meant to April, organising a horse and cart was the first thing we wanted to do, and we decided April’s coffin would be carried in a white cart, drawn by two white horses wearing pink feathers. We would follow in a black car. Naturally we’d ask all of the mourners to wear pink.
Choosing April’s coffin was a fresh agony in itself. At first, we thought about a pink coffin but, as we wanted pink flowers, we decided on white. We had so little of our daughter that we only needed a small casket, but seeing all the tiny boxes did nothing but remind us of how a parent should never have to bury their child. It was all so cruel.
Two days before the coroner’s hearing, we met with Andy John and Hayley at the police station in Aberystwyth. We asked if it would be possible for some of the police officers who’d worked on the case to be pallbearers, but unfortunately Andy told us this wouldn’t be possible due to police regulations.
On 16 September, which was a Monday, Dave picked us up at 8.30 a.m. Coral decided to wear pink trousers as a tribute to April. The hearing was an hour’s drive away in Welshpool, so we picked up Hayley on the way. The proceedings were over almost as soon as they had begun. Andy spoke briefly about April’s death, saying that, on the balance of probabilities, she had most likely died what he described as a ‘violent death’ in Mount Pleasant on 1 October 2012. It was merely a formality, and didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know.
The coroner, Louise Hunt, was a nice lady who offered us her condolences on the loss of April. She explained to the court that she’d had to apply for special permission to hold an inquest in the absence of a body. Unfortunately the hearing would have to conclude without a verdict as to what caused April’s death. The coroner told us that, without a body, she couldn’t provide us with any information about how our daughter had died – at least nothing which hadn’t been revealed during Bridger’s trial. But perhaps, most importantly, she confirmed she could release April’s remains to us and issue a death certificate.
A few days later, Coral and my mum went to the florists to sort out flowers for the service. Sunflowers were April’s favourite, so they were an obvious choice. They let the florist decide the rest.
After they returned, we went with my mum to see the spot where April would be laid to rest, in the cemetery on the edge of Bryn-y-Gog. As it was an old graveyard, there were very few plots left and we were lucky to find a space for April there. We were relieved that one was available. It was comforting to know our little girl would be buried so close to the home where she’d been so happy.
‘It was a sad and sombre moment,’ I wrote in my diary that night. ‘As the funeral grows close I just feel so low and down. I’m tearful all the time. It’s so difficult. You get to the point where you just can’t be bothered to do anything apart from mope and cry.’
The next day, the urn with April’s remains was due to arrive at our house. We didn’t have much of our daughter to bury, but we wanted her home one last time before she went on her final journey.
Coral recalls:
April’s remains were due to arrive home on the Friday before the funeral, but the day got off to a bad start. I got up early to do some housework, as I thought the chores might distract me, but when I was clearing out the cupboards I found a little track-suit I’d bought for April. We’d intended to give it to her for Christmas the year before, just a few months after she was taken, and she’d never had the chance to wear it. On this day of all days, it was too much to bear. I dissolved into tears and went straight back to bed.
Kath, the vicar, arrived at 3 p.m. with an urn containing the tiny pieces of ash and bone. It was all we had to show for our beautiful, vibrant little girl. Paul placed it tenderly on the mantelpiece and I didn’t want to make a scene, so I waited until Kath had left before I removed it. Clutching it in my arms, I went straight back to bed. Tears rolled down my face as I lay there, cuddling all that was left of my little girl in my arms. I was barely aware of time passing and, before I knew it, I’d been lying in the same position for three hours. Later that evening, my friend Lesley came over to comfort me, but I was beyond consolation.
On the Saturday, I felt even worse. The post arrived and many people had sent us lovely cards and gifts ahead of the funeral. I was touched, but everything seemed to set me off. Just a quick glance at a picture of April would leave me sobbing uncontrollably and gasping for air.
I knew it was hard for Paul. All he could do was watch as I fell apart over and over again and I don’t think the gravity of the situation had hit him yet. He seemed lost and numb. But for me, everything anyone did or said seemed to evoke another memory of the precious little girl we’d lost. As the funeral edged closer, it was all becoming so final.
In the afternoon, we had another visit from Kath. I couldn’t even attempt to hold it together and I cried the whole way through it. She was very sympathetic, but she knew nothing she did could ease the pain that was slowly eating me up.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, between sobs. ‘I’m just so angry and I don’t know how to make it stop.’
‘The only thing I can say, Coral, is that it’s better out than in,’ Kath soothed.
‘But she’s gone,’ I wept. ‘She’s gone and all I’ve got is a few bits of bone while he’s alive in jail. Why did this happen to us?’
That evening, Jazz was very tearful, too. She usually kept her emotions to herself, so it always broke my heart to see her upset. We hugged and cried on the sofa for a long time and, when I woke up the next day, I felt slightly better.
On the Sunday, a few neighbours agreed to help us tend to April’s Garden and that gave me something to focus on. The work was often too physical for me, although I was able to help with a bit of weeding and pruning. However, I still had a knot of dread in the pit of my stomach. Harley had been away for the weekend with a friend’s family and we’d still to tell him that the funeral was to be the following Thursday. We’d wanted to get everything in place before we broke the news to him.
He arrived home around 4.30 p.m. and we spent a few hours together, cuddled up on my bed watching television. It was so nice to spend some quality time with my son and the last thing I wanted to do was upset him, but I couldn’t risk him hearing about the funeral at school or through a neighbour.
‘Harley,’ I said, with a deep breath. ‘I’ve got something I need to talk to you about.’
‘OK, Mum,’ he replied. ‘What is it?’
‘On Thursday, we’re going to be having a funeral for April,’ I told him. I didn’t think I had any tears left but soon we were both crying again. I tried to explain to Harley what would happen at the funeral, but I think he was too upset to take anything in. It just made everything so real. None of us were ready to say goodbye to April. We never would be.
Eventually, I calmed Harley down and we both went back downstairs but, as Paul tried to comfort me, I began to sob again. It wasn’t long before I’d climbed back into bed, my arms wrapped tightly around the urn which I’d kept close to me ever since it had arrived two days previously. The undertaker had only wanted to give us a few days with April’s remains but I flatly refused. I told him he had no choice but to let me keep them for as long as possible. Eventually it was agreed they’d be taken away on the Wednesday morning, the day before the funeral.
Having the remains in the house was strangely comforting and they helped me feel close to April, as I drifted off to sleep each night. On the Monday, Paul remarked that my mood had improved and admitted that over the weekend he’d been scared I wouldn’t get to Thursday.
That day, Dave and Hayley took us to the undertakers, where we met with Dilwyn and Kath to discuss final arrangements. Dave said the police would take care of closing the roads and controlling the crowd. He also offered to help with any last-minute preparations as he had a day off on the Wednesday, which was very kind of him.
On the Tuesday afternoon, the tears returned as it dawned on me that this was the last day I’d spend at home with April. It was rare for Paul and me to break down at the same time, but now we were both very emotional. I could see it slowly dawning on Paul what was about to happen. His calm facade had finally slipped. Desperate to spend as much time with April as possible, I took myself off to bed for a few hours in the afternoon, holding the urn tightly to me as ever.
Neither of us slept well that night. Dilwyn’s secretary was due to call round just before 9 a.m. the next morning to collect the remains and we had to decide what items we wanted to place in April’s coffin. In the end, we settled on a family photograph from our wedding, a sunflower made out of cloth, a teddy she’d had when she was young and one of her little scarves. Jazz had also bought matching necklaces, each with half a heart. One had the words ‘little sister’ inscribed on it and the other ‘big sister’. With tears in her eyes, she placed one half with the rest of the items and fastened the other round her neck.
My friend Ceri knew how tough I would find Wednesday morning, so she arrived just before Dilwyn’s secretary, as she wanted to support me. As we handed over the urn and the things we’d chosen for the coffin, I could barely stay upright. Ceri held me in her arms as I sobbed and sobbed.
‘April,’ I wailed. ‘Why did he have to do this to you?’
Ceri was trying to keep her cool for my sake, but the tears were running down her cheeks as she tried to comfort me. Paul was crying too. Autumn was eerily silent and Storm was whimpering slightly. April had loved our dogs so much that they often slept in her bed. We found it adorable when she called them her ‘darlings’. Sometimes, it seems animals have a sixth sense and it was like they knew what was happening. I wondered in that moment how we’d ever get through the next day.
Everything hit me like a ton of bricks when April’s remains were taken back to the undertaker. While Ceri consoled Coral in the living room, I took myself off to the kitchen so I could cry alone. Coral had found these last few days extremely tough, perhaps even more trying than the court case. For that reason, I was trying my hardest to cry my own tears behind closed doors. I knew how much my wife needed me and I wanted so much to be strong for her.
After we’d all composed ourselves, Ceri suggested that she and Coral go into town to do a little shopping. I couldn’t bear being in the house alone, so I took the dogs out for a long walk around Machynlleth. On the way back to the house, I stopped just a few yards from the cemetery and caught sight of the gravediggers working on the plot that had been earmarked for April. I suddenly felt sick and dizzy and I leaned against a tree to maintain my balance. It was a sight I hadn’t been supposed to see.
The television cameras which had first congregated on the estate in the days after April vanished were beginning to reappear, one by one. I was almost oblivious. Shortly after I arrived home, it was time for Coral and me to visit April’s coffin at the chapel of rest in the undertakers’ offices.
Coral burst into tears immediately at the sight of April’s coffin. Kath, who had taken us there, wrapped a supportive arm around her and comforted her before telling us that she’d leave us alone for a few minutes. As soon as she left, I saw a flash of anger in Coral’s eyes and she began to scream.
‘How could he do this?’ she shrieked. ‘Paul, how could he do this? How could he?’ She spent a few minutes shouting and cursing Bridger before the anger subsided and she fell into my arms. Her sobs became quieter and quieter until they faded to a whimper. We sat there for around ten minutes, holding each other in silence, before we summoned the strength to leave.
Thursday 26 September dawned a grey and uninspiring day. Both Coral and I awoke before 7 a.m. I took the dogs for a walk and, as I passed the church, I noticed photographers and camera crews had already started to gather. Incredibly, no one noticed me. As I passed the White Lion pub, where Jazmin worked, I bumped into Coral’s cousin, Frank, who had been staying there. He asked if he could join me on my walk. The service wasn’t until noon, so we had a few hours to spare. I took him up the hill on the south side of the town where I’d spent many hours in reflection since April’s death. The fresh air did us both good and I was home by 9 a.m.
By that point, friends and family were already gathered in the house. We’d decided that Dai, Fil, and Coral’s dad, Tony, would carry April’s coffin. I’d chosen not to be a pallbearer so I could walk behind the cortège with Coral, Jazmin and Harley as it left the church. One of Coral’s other relatives was due to be the fourth pallbearer but he had fallen ill at the last minute and was unable to make the long journey to Machynlleth. Instinctively I asked Tracey to step in. She had already arrived at the house to support us, her pink bow pinned tenderly to her black dress. She’d been such a great friend to us over the past year that she seemed an obvious choice. Of course she agreed, but both Coral and I could tell she was nervous.
Friends, neighbours and family members slowly filed solemnly into the living room and I estimated that there must have been at least fifty people in the house. Our home hadn’t been so full since that dreadful night almost a year beforehand, but it was touching to see many of the same faces. Our community was rallying round us yet again.
With a heavy heart, I popped upstairs and put on the clothes I’d picked for the occasion – a pink shirt and smart grey trousers. As ever, I fixed a pink bow onto my shirt above my top pocket. Coral was already dressed in a black and pink-striped top, black trousers and a bracelet with April’s name on it. She was almost oblivious to our guests and was getting steadily more upset as the morning wore on. At one point, I thought I’d never be able to calm her down or stop her from shaking and crying. Eventually time got the better of us and Dilwyn arrived at the door. I was touched when I noticed he’d forsaken his usual black tie for a pink one, as had all of his staff.
A huge crowd of people had gathered on Bryn-y-Gog to see April’s little white coffin and its horse-drawn carriage arrive outside our house. Most were dressed in pink and some were clutching single red roses. Silence fell among our neighbours as Coral, Harley and I slowly emerged. Some bowed their heads or dabbed their eyes. The only noise was the soft sound of the horses’ feet on the ground. There were a few flashes, as some of the photographers who had congregated on the street tried to get a shot of us, but we barely noticed.
The coffin was inside a beautiful white glass hearse and beside it lay a pink wreath spelling out April’s name. We walked slowly to the car and climbed in. Jazmin wanted to lead the mourners, who’d decided to go to the church on foot. She walked just behind our car, resplendent in a pink top, and our friends and neighbours began to follow respectfully behind.
When the door of the limousine closed, Coral really began to break down. Her sobs were breathless and she was verging on hysteria. Harley looked lost, but reached to hug his mum and kept his arms around her for the duration of the short journey. My own tears had begun to flow thick and fast as we edged closer to the church.
We got out of the car and there were cameras everywhere. Flashes were going off in every direction but I was crying so much I could barely see a thing. I couldn’t believe how many mourners had gathered to pay their respects. The church was full to bursting and there were hundreds of people gathered outside, all wearing splashes of pink. As well as the police and mountain rescue teams, there were lots of civilian volunteers who’d assisted with the search in the first few days. I later discovered that one of the jurors from Bridger’s trial had even come along to pay his respects. The service would be broadcast on speakers in the courtyard for those who couldn’t gain entry to the church.
Kath came out to greet us and laid a supportive arm on Coral’s shoulder. My wife’s sobs had become quieter, but she was still visibly distressed.
The pallbearers carefully lifted April’s coffin from the carriage and carried it into the church. Jazmin joined us at the entrance and her face was stained with tears. We followed slowly behind, my arm in Coral’s and Jazmin’s in Harley’s.
As we walked to the front of the church behind the coffin, a montage of family pictures that Jazmin had made as part of a college project was playing on a large screen at the front of the church. It had been a real labour of love for our older daughter and she’d spent many painstaking hours making sure it looked perfect. It was a bittersweet moment. We looked so happy, blissfully unaware of the horrible fate that awaited us. Now, we’d never be a family of five again.
Jazmin had chosen the Emeli Sandé song, ‘Read All About It Part Two’ to play alongside the images. It was a song both she and April had liked. It played in the background as we made our way down the aisle. I heard several people in the congregation burst into tears as we passed and took our seats in the front row.
‘There is nothing to express the grief, the shock, the pain, the emptiness, the anger, the despair which overwhelms us,’ Kath began.
Coral’s hand was still clasped to her face as she shook with silent sobs. I put my arm around her and tried to blink away my own tears.
‘We honestly come before you asking for strength in time of darkness,’ Kath went on. ‘We have come together to remember April in the presence of God. We have come to celebrate her short life and grieve together, to say goodbye.
‘Our hopes and dreams have changed because April has been taken from us. But we come also with a sense of thanksgiving for the many ways that April touched our lives and those with whom she came into contact.
‘For a five-year-old she touched a great many lives. For Paul, Coral, Jazmin and Harley, April was and is extra special. But she touched us all and we think and feel differently because of the difference she made to us.
‘Today, here in this place, she is linking us all together in grief. Yet, grief goes hand in hand with love. In whatever way we express our grief, it shows our love for April. And surely that is the most important thing for any human being of whatever age – simply to be loved.’
One of the parishioners, a local man named Jim Marshall, had written two poems about April in the week following her disappearance. We were so touched that he’d put so much time and effort into paying tribute to our little girl that we decided to have the poems as readings at the service. As April had adored school so much, we thought it was only fitting that they should be read by her teachers. The first, simply entitled ‘April’, was read by a class teacher called Sian Calban. The second, ‘An Autumn Night’, was read by the headteacher, Gwenfair Glyn.
We’d also chosen some hymns – ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’, ‘Oh Father On Your Love We Call’ and ‘Blessed Are The Pure In Heart’. We sang the last hymn in Welsh. I barely remembered anything about the service, apart from how beautiful the poems were. Before April’s coffin was carried back out to the hearse, Kath said a few words of thanks on our behalf.
‘We give thanks to God for all those who helped Paul and Coral in those darkest of days,’ she said. ‘The police, the search and rescue teams, the hundreds of volunteers, the people of this town and beyond.’
Both Coral and I were determined that something good should come of April’s awful death and, a few days before the funeral, Coral decided that she’d like to sponsor a child in Africa in our daughter’s name. With Kath’s help, we did this through the charity World Vision and we held a collection at the back of the church as the mourners made their way out. Once again, the people of Machynlleth surpassed themselves and we raised £1250. The money was sent to the family of a five-year-old girl in Uganda. For a child living in one of the poorest countries in the world, this amount of money was truly life-changing. We later found out the donations enabled her parents to buy some land and a small shack, as well as a cow to give them a livelihood they could only have dreamed of before. In life, April was so loving and giving. It seemed appropriate that, in death, our daughter had granted another child the bright future she herself had been so cruelly deprived of.
It was only when we got outside that I really noticed how gorgeous the white horses were, with their pink feathers. I’d been so consumed by my tears as we left for the church that I hadn’t taken a proper look at them.
The journey from the church to the graveyard was a fairly short one, so we walked behind the cortège in virtual silence, painfully aware that we were about to say our last goodbye. We were all very emotional when we arrived. The sobs of our friends and family were audible, as April’s little casket was lowered into the ground. Then, Harley and Jazmin each let off a pink balloon before we all threw a single red rose on top of the coffin. We said a little prayer and held each other for a few moments in silence as, inwardly, we all said our final farewells. None of us wanted to leave. It felt so wrong leaving April there all alone.
After we’d composed ourselves, we made our way to the Celtica Visitor Centre. We mingled with all of our guests and it was lovely to see so many of the police officers who’d worked on the case.
‘We’ll never forget everything you’ve done for us,’ I told Dave and Hayley, my voice choked with emotion.
By the time we arrived home at 3.30 p.m., Coral was wiped out. She lay on the sofa and fell asleep almost instantly, while I pottered around the house. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself so, when darkness fell, I went for a short walk to the graveyard with the dogs.
As April was buried so close to our house, I knew the temptation would be to visit her grave as often as I could. I had already decided that it wouldn’t be healthy to spend every waking hour there, but I couldn’t help visiting it that evening.
It was strangely comforting. Underneath the starlit sky, the graveyard was so quiet and peaceful and I felt a sense of calm come over me. It was lovely reading all the tributes to our little girl that had been laid there. One had a beautiful laminated picture of April and was signed simply from the ‘Community of Carmarthenshire’.
‘To the family of April,’ it read. ‘You will always be in our hearts and thoughts.’
I wiped a tear away and spent a few minutes kneeling quietly by the graveside before I managed to tear myself away. When I returned home, Coral was still in bed, so I reached for my diary.
‘It’s been so emotional today,’ I wrote. ‘I feel so tired and drained. This funeral has been hanging over us for so long. We weren’t sure if we could have one. Coral and I desperately wanted one, so we could have a grave where we could visit April. It’s a relief to now have a place where we can go to see her and I hope it puts Coral’s mind at ease. It was hard to leave the graveyard when we did. I had to tear myself away, but I don’t want to camp there.
‘It was a sad but beautiful day for our April. Everyone was crying but they were all there for April and I find it helps me to know how many people have been touched by her. The kindness of people makes me cry sometimes. Jazz has picked up some of the local papers and from what they have written it seems like they have given April a lovely farewell.
‘I’m OK – for me, April will always be with me in my memories and in my heart. I loved that girl and I miss her so much. I can’t do anything for April but I can do something for Coral, Jazz and Harley by being there for them.
‘I love you, April. Dad xxx.’