THE drill whirred away on a distant building site; brakes squeaked as a bus pulled in at a stop nearby.

But more than 1,000 people stood ram-rod straight in contemplation.

Blotting out normal life, they remained deep in their own thoughts. They simply remembered – just as Bradford has always remembered.

Centenary Square, bathed in sunshine and claret and amber, once more paid its respects to those who never came home from Valley Parade 30 years ago.

Yesterday's turn-out was the largest I can remember, more even than the 25th anniversary service conducted by the Archbishop of York.

The added national focus attracted by the milestone number may have significantly swelled the crowd. But the family and friends of those who perished, the injured and those just caught up in the maelstrom remained there at its core.

For all the extra publicity, the memorial service for the fire victims retained its low-key, private feel. The city once more paid its respects quietly and with great dignity.

My day had begun early with a call from the breakfast show of BBC Radio Wales. The presenter seemed genuinely surprised to hear that the memorial service took place annually – and was not just held on 'notable' anniversaries.

To the world beyond Bradford, maybe the Valley Parade disaster does not get the attention of others. But the city continues to mourn in its own way, as evidenced when the town hall clock struck 11am.

All the players were there in club tracksuits – proof that Phil Parkinson has drummed home the message about how the club will be forever entwined with its supporters because of the horrific events of 1985.

That has not always been the case. There have been years when the Bradford City contingent has been chiefly made up of the youth team while the senior players disappeared on their summer holidays.

Not any more. Since arriving in West Yorkshire, Parkinson has made sure that every signing understands exactly what it means to be part of a club that has had to deal with such tragedy.

The manager himself played an active part in the proceedings as the names of the deceased were read aloud.

He joined John Helm, the TV commentator who covered the fateful game, Football League and former City chief executive Shaun Harvey and Bantams skipper Stephen Darby in going down the list of the victims.

The bell from the town hall sounded with each name; the time it took to announce how many lives were claimed acting as a fresh reminder of the scale of the disaster.

It cannot have been easy for those four men to read out the roll call; it certainly can't have been in the job description for a football player or manager.

But they undertook the solemn task with a dignity fitting of the occasion. They understood what it means for Bradford City.

Standing at the back, out of the way, I couldn't see much of what was going on. Many others were the same, crowded behind the fire engines, the large media contingent, the shrubbery or on their own on the emptier paving sections further away from the main dias.

But still we stood, heads bowed, nothing being said as the ceremony went on.

The drill had been stopped out of respect for the reading of the names. Apart from the occasional traffic, the usual hubbub of Monday morning seemed to disappear.

An elderly couple by my side briefly touched hands as opera singer Victoria Sharp began the first verse of 'You'll Never Walk Alone', that poignant anthem that became a tribute in the immediate aftermath of the fire.

Another man, unable to find a hankie, dabbed his eyes with the end of his City scarf.

"The pain does not go away," said the Bishop of Bradford, Toby Howarth. "Thirty years on, the number of people here speaks for itself. We do not walk alone."

Bradford still remembers. Just as it will do next May 11 and every one after that.