THERE were 30 on board the plane that crashed as it flew in to land at Heathrow.

Twenty-eight died. And one of the two who survived was my Dad.

It happened eight years before the Munich Disaster and I sometimes wonder what Dad must have thought that day when the news of the latter tragedy broke.

I was a small child in 1958 and only when I got older did I begin to grasp a little of the impact my Dad's earlier crash had on my family. I was aware of his headaches and the skin grafting on his hands. But not, for example, that he had spent months in hospital. Or that his friend had died sitting next to him.

He's never liked to talk about it and my Mum and Grandma tried to protect us children from what they had been through.

When I was older I read an account of the inquest in a yellowed copy of an old Mirror and came to appreciate a little of what my family had endured. The newspaper report told of a figure sitting at the back of the hearing, listening to the grim details of what had happened. My Dad.

He was a hero who had tried to get others out.

Even today, tears are welling in my eyes. And my Dad was a lucky one. A survivor.

Tonight, a minute's silence will be held before the England match at Wembley and another at Old Trafford on Sunday.

Should any so-called fan see fit to shout out something silly, ignore them. Don't waste your thoughts on them.

Think instead of those who lost their lives at Munich. And the pain suffered by their families that, even after 50 years, will not have disappeared.