| Product: |
Terrorism |
| Date: |
21/08/08 (151 review reads) |
| Rating: |
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Advantages: Absolutely none whatsoever! How could there be?
Disadvantages: Sheer, utter, mindless cruelty
TERRORISM: A PERSONAL EXPERIENCE
7th July 2005 dawned pretty much like any other day, with me dragging myself out of bed at what felt like the crack of dawn, then getting myself ready to begin the daily grind of my commute to work in London.
The rail journey from Southend into London's Liverpool Street ran pretty much as usual, me with my nose stuck in a book and headphones pinned to my ears, trying to drown out the unholy racket that other commuters seem hell-bent on making.
At the end of the 50-minute journey, my train drearily chuntered into Liverpool Street Station, and like lemmings, all the commuters poured out of the sliding doors and made their way to the main concourse. Caught up in the general flow of the crowd, I weaved my way through the ditherers, gave those brandishing wheelie luggage as wide a berth as I could manage, and just about made it in one piece to the Metropolitan/Hammersmith & City/Circle Line westbound section of London Underground, to complete my journey to the office.
On the opposite eastbound platform, stood a Circle Line train. The sliding doors closed, and the train slowly moved out of the platform towards Aldgate. As the final carriage was disappearing down the tunnel, there was a huge popping sound, and a cloud of acrid, yellow smoke drifted alongside the train and onto the platform where I was standing. The train had ground to a halt and its lights had gone out. A few of us standing on the westbound platform remarked to one another that it sounded as though there was an electrical fault on the now stationery tube train; then, a very grave-sounding member of staff made an announcement over the station PA system for everybody to vacate the station immediately, and as quickly and calmly as possible.
With the other passengers, I wandered out into the street and planned to walk to Moorgate underground station to take the Northern Line to Euston, but I picked up on a conversational buzz circulating through the crowds of people milling around, that the whole of London Underground was now closed, due to a massive power surge which had rendered it inactive...so, I jumped into the nearest black cab, and asked the driver to take me to my office - the British Medical Association Building in Tavistock Square.
As my taxi pulled away from Liverpool Street Station, I became aware of what sounded like legions of 999 service vehicles hurtling up Bishopsgate towards the station, yet for some reason I didn't connect it with what had just happened underground.....after all, the virtually constant wail of 999 sirens is par for the course of everyday life in the centre of London.
My cab journey to Tavistock Square went smoothly and uneventfully, and I was dropped at the main door of The British Medical Association Building. I entered, and took the lift to the 2nd floor, walked into my offices and plonked my bag on my desk. I was just about to go and get some coffee, when an almighty BANG split through the air, followed by a noise of shattering glass, and a smell seeped through the open windows....I recognised this smell from back in the early 1980s when I was once very close to an IRA bomb...the acrid odour of Sentex! My colleagues and I just stood and looked at one another, then the fire alarm in the building sounded (one thing which really struck me after that huge bang followed by shattering glass, was the complete and utter silence).
In fire-drill style, all of the people in the building made their way out of their offices, and down the stairs, being guided towards the basement by security staff. Everybody was then ushered through the winding basement corridors, and up some stairs, then out through the back entrance into a little park area, well away from Tavistock Square.
At this point, though we knew an explosion of some kind had happened in the street outside our office window, my colleagues and I didn't really know exactly what was going on. The British Medical Association Building is huge, with several different companies using the premises for its offices, as well as the BMA staff, so there was a large crowd of people gathered in the small park area over the road from the back of the building. As we stood there, wondering what on earth had happened, various managers etc. did a roll-call of all their staff members. We were then told by police that all bus and underground services in London had been suspended, and they advised us to leave the area quickly, and make our way home as best as possible.
One of our employees who lived close by invited those of us who didn't immediately want to go home back to his flat. About ten of us trooped down towards the Kings Cross area where he lived (a short distance away from where another tube train bomb had exploded which at that point we were unaware of), and we huddled into his tiny living room, watching the newsreels on his TV. It was only then we became aware of the horrors of what had happened in London that terrible morning, and we were wide-eyed and shocked.
Everybody was frantically working at their mobile phones, trying to let their partners and families know they were safe, but the whole of the mobile and landline phone systems were out of order, due to a massive surge in use.
The minutes ticked by, and gradually people started to leave and try to make their way back home. A colleague of mine (who I shall here refer to as "G") and myself were the last to leave, as we lived the furthest away. Earlier we'd seen announced on TV that overland rail services out of both Liverpool Street and Fenchurch Street stations were severely restricted, but we decided to do our best and make our way somehow to one or other of those two stations, then see if the situation had improved by the time we got there. We thought we'd try Liverpool Street station first.
The walk from our colleague's flat to Liverpool Street Station was arduous, to say the least. What had been a rather chilly (for July) and grey morning, was turning into a hot, humid and sticky early afternoon. The sun came out and was beating down on us as we trudged through the little streets of Kings Cross and St Pancras, heading towards Farringdon Road. We were keeping our eyes peeled for a vacant taxi, but the few which we spotted were already taken.
"G" and I didn't speak much to one another as I think we were both feeling pretty spaced-out by the morning's events, and because of the arthritis in my knee joints, our progress was rather slow. "G" did make several offers for me to stop and rest along the way, but I didn't want to as if I stopped, I knew it would be very hard to get started again.
On and on we walked.....we passed a sleeping drunk in a shop doorway who was totally oblivious to all which had been going on around him during the morning, and there was very little traffic around. Everywhere, for London, was so very quiet...apart from the sound of police helicopters constantly circling overhead, all across the City and Central London.
The sun seemed to get hotter and hotter - both "G" and I were tired, hungry and thirsty, and there were no supermarkets or snack bars open. Eventually we reached Liverpool Street Station, and "G" left me there, and made his way to Fenchurch Street. I managed (luckily!) to get the one single train which was travelling back to Southend, and I even got a seat.
The journey home was strange, and I felt so relieved to be leaving London - all I wanted to do was get home and relax.
I didn't even feel like listening to my Sony Walkman on the train, so I just stared out of the window as we crawled through the shabby slums of East London. I just wanted the train to travel at the speed of light towards Southend, but it did pick up speed once we'd passed over the borderline into Essex. I was half-listening to conversations that some of the other passengers were having, and it sounded as though none of them had been close to any of the bombs, and I was dismayed to hear them laughing about it, as if everything which had happened that morning was one huge joke. I found that grossly insensitive - OK maybe they weren't totally aware of the severity of the bloodbath which had occurred, but my own feelings are that even one small bomb exploding anywhere in the world, is a major cause for serious concern; not fun and laughter!
Eventually I made it home, feeling the greatest sense of relief I ever have done in my whole life. My answering machine was flashing like mad, but I needed to relax in a bath first, then have something to eat and drink. When I got around to dealing with the messages on my answering machine, it involved spending the rest of the afternoon and virtually the whole evening phoning people and assuring them I was fine - shaken, but fine.
Later on that evening I had a phone call from my boss, saying she was doing the rounds telling all staff not to return to work until the following Tuesday, at the earliest. As it turned out, we ended up not returning until the Tuesday after that, because Tavistock Square was closed whilst police and forensic teams analysed the carnage of the bombed bus, then had it removed.
During that period off work, I just took time to relax. I found myself becoming rather emotional each time I almost obsessively watched all the news updates on the day of terror, but I think that was my way of dealing with it. I can remember going out shopping a few days later, and while walking past a house, a man was just putting his car away and he slammed his garage door shut, very hard - I almost jumped out of my skin and just for an instant, I was transported in my mind back to the office hearing the bus bomb explode.
I just was thankful that I'd been so very lucky. I had been just feet away from two of the terrorist bombs on that terrible morning of 7/7/05, and it occurred to me that had the taxi in the morning dropped me outside the British Medical Association Building where I worked just a couple of minutes later, I'd have been walking literally right next to the bus when the bomb exploded, and may not have lived to tell the tale.
It was very difficult going back to work at first, as I am sure it was for everybody in London. The sense of camaraderie was wonderful for a few days, but sadly it didn't last long. Returning to Tavistock Square was eerie, beyond belief. The road was still cordoned off to traffic and the police and forensic teams were still doing their inspections. I hadn't seen the front of the British Medical Association Building where I worked since the day of the bomb, and I was very surprised to see that the only damage was a slight indentation on the wooden panels of the main door, and the lamp-post right outside was a little bent...but, what was overwhelmingly powerful for quite some time, was the stench of dried blood. The foyer of the British Medical Association Building apparently had been used as a makeshift casualty centre for the bus bomb victims, while waiting for ambulances to arrive. Of course it had been cleaned up, but the smell remained, and was especially noticeable as we were in the middle of a spell of very hot and sticky weather.
As time elapsed, people got back to normal. The blood smell gradually faded to almost nothing, and a plaque was erected on the railings of the British Medical Association Building, commemorating those who had lost their lives in the terrorist attack on the bus outside. Once Tavistock Square had been opened to traffic, a service for those who had lost their lives and their grieving families was held in the gardens of the British Medical Association Building.
My greatest accolade has to be handed to the emergency services whose resources must have been stretched beyond the limit on that day, but in my own experience, they dealt with everything in a calm, sensitive and efficient manner. I realise that a few of the relatives of missing people felt not enough was being done to inform them of the safety or otherwise of their loved ones, and that's a natural feeling, but at the same time, when in situations like that and we are scared of the worst, we become very subjective in the way we view things. For instance, someone may have become impatient with the emergency services at, say, Russell Square - as the only thing on that person's mind would have been the safety of somebody close to them, but it has to be remembered that it wasn't a single tragedy, and the police, ambulance and fire crews were having to deal with five separate bombing incidents simultaneously.
As far as terrorism is concerned and my own feelings about such acts, of course I can in no way even begin to condone such tactics in order to further any cause a group of people anywhere in the world may have. I cannot comment on individual groups and their philosophies, or how they feel they are being treated by the rest of the world - suffice it to say that regardless of how bad they feel things are for them, terrorism is not the way forward or a solution....it is the ugliest, most evil and despicable act imaginable.
I just hope that the families of those tragically, cruelly and mindlessly killed on 7/7/05 have, even if only a little, been able to find some solace in their lives.
(NB: This is an adaptation of an article I have previously published on Helium)
Summary: Will it ever end?
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