One written in pencil said: “Master Frank has probably died but in our hearts
he is still living. It is not fair this happened to you. Just one thing you
should know: we send you all our love. You are the best – from your friend
Tim.”
“He was just one of those special teachers,” said Sanne Meeus, 25, who
attended St Lambertus and was taught by Mr Kerkchove when he joined 13 years
ago. “He was everybody’s favourite, he was funny.”
Sanne and her friend Amy Bialen, who still live at the town and work as a
teacher and nurse respectively, went on the same skiing trip in their last
year at the school.
“But we went on a train,” said Amy, without wishing to question further the
wisdom of a long-distance coach journey.
Lien Verbeke, 15, approached the front of the school in a knot of hesitant
teenagers in jeans and unlaced trainers. Her 11-year-old brother Aart,
injured his arm in the crash.
“I know he is okay but I don’t know much more. It was his first trip out of
the country. He was so excited,” she said.
Her mother was driving all the way to the scene, while her father had taken
the plane provided by the Belgian military.
A relatively prosperous town with a university and a large brewery, Leuven and
the neighbourhood of Heverlee where the school is located was struggling to
come to terms with their unwanted distinction.
“It is a good place, people may not be super close like a village but people
know each other through the school and the weekend market at the church. We
are all just shocked,” said one woman, who excused herself as her toddler
disappeared down the pavement on a tricycle.
Isabel Spinoy, whose children attend a school less than a mile away, said:
“These things always seem far away but now it seems so nearby. We are just
here because it is all we can do for the families, and we felt we needed to
come for our kids, they are asking a lot of questions,” she said as her
seven-year-old and five-year-old wrapped themselves round a leg each.
Earlier in the day a father of one of the eight unaccounted-for children,
spoke of his “terrible, terrible” grief. Asking not to be named, he said his
wife left for Switzerland first thing while he looked after their other
child. “At the moment, we simply do not know if our son is alive or dead.
The uncertainty is unbearable, quite unbearable,” he said.
Dirk de Gendt, a priest at St Lambertus church across the road from the school
and a member of the board of governors, said: “We don’t have words, only
deep grief. They were supposed to be back by now.
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