Saturday Morning With Jack Tame

I flew to Greymouth the morning after Pike River first blew.   I was there, in and out, for several weeks. I keenly remember those first few days of waiting. Of hope. Checking our phones. Checking our phones. Checking our phones.  It’s a cliche, I know. But time moves so slowly when you’re watching a clock. I remember the calculations. How much air? Water? Food? I remember the international media pouring into Greymouth. I remember the despair on the Wednesday afternoon when the families were called in for an update. The mine had blown again. The men were all dead.   One of the great privileges of being a journalist is that you get to meet lots of interesting people and experience lots of different things. I’ve certainly had more than my share of pinch-myself moments over the years. But for all the elections and Olympics and Donald Trump rallies I’ve been lucky to attend one the most memorable afternoons of my life was the afternoon of the Pike River memorial.  You might recall it. It was l