Looking back on the 7/7 Bombings - 20 Years on

 

Like so many other Londoners, all with differing memories of the event, I have never forgotten the 7/7 bombings of almost exactly 20 years ago. While I cannot believe how quickly the time has gone, I can still piece together how I, and my colleagues, learned of the attack. The first memory I have is of our headteacher advising us to go straight home after school, as there appeared to have been an attack on the Tube system that morning. At lunchtime, I had to phone my mother up in Southport to get a clearer idea what was going on. Anyway, I can't recall any problems getting home that day, and the extensive TV coverage explained everything.

Next morning, I left the house as usual and began walking to Hounslow East tube station. As I walked, I began sulkily to wonder if the Tube system was disrupted and, oh blimey! - how long would it take to get to work? Well, I've told this story before, but I shall tell it again:

 Almost immediately, I felt a wave of self-reproach sweep over me. I scolded myself for selfishly wondering about how long my journey would take when so many fellow Tube travellers were lying injured in hospital, or at home - 770 of them, according to the BBC now. And, of course, for 52 victims, there would be no more tube journeys ever again. All of them, I realised, would have loved to change places with me. Having thus chastened myself, I caught the Tube to Acton Town, and from there journeyed to Alperton Station, seen above. To my surprise, the journey was as normal, except for one thing. Both trains were almost empty, and there was an atmosphere of being in a city at war.

Well, I arrived safely at Alperton, feeling somewhat shamefaced. I had faced no danger, nor had I been delayed. Over the next few days, the idea for a poem to remember the victims came to me. I have posted it before, and post it here again. To me, it remains fresh. It carries something of my self-reproach and, hopefully, still serves as a tribute to all the victims, those who have gone, and those who live on with their injuries and memories.

ON ALPERTON STATION

(July 8^th, 2005)

 

I stood on Alperton Station,

“Uncertain and afraid”***

Of sudden, unseen terror –

My train was undelayed.

 

I left the silent platform

To start my working day,

When, on the darkened staircase,

A young girl barred my way.

 

She shimmered like the summer dawn.

“Please stay, my friend”, she said.

Her face was bright with metal shards

That garlanded her head.

 

“For you still have the working day,

The breakfast and the train,

The coffee break, the journey home

That I won’t make again.

 

My laughter lit the London skies;

I loved, and I was loved.

I filled a hole in many hearts

Till Hate had me removed.

 

If you’re in town at Christmas –

A time that I won’t see –

Please find my favourite wine bar

And raise one glass for me”.

 

Before I spoke – she vanished.

I slumped against a wall,

Shivered like a windblown leaf

And hoped I’d dreamed it all.

 

I walked from Alperton Station

And wondered what was real –

So glad for hands that trembled,

So glad for nerves that feel.

 ***Line taken from “September, 1939”, by W.H.Auden.