Panic on the streets of London : how July 7 changed my world

Like many of the two million people who work in London, the tragic events of July 7 2005 had a massive bearing on my life. I’m one of the lucky ones only tangentially (but still deeply) affected by the Al Qaeda bombings that left 52 innocent people – and four guilty ones – dead and scores of others injured. On this first anniversary of that day, both the ‘official’ media – TV, newspapers, radio – and the ‘unofficial’ media – blogs such as this – are once again filled with reflections and accounts of that day. I don’t intend to add my story of that day to that mass public library, and instead want to focus on the impact that July 7 had upon me.

By July 7 2005, I was in my fourth year of working in London’s Square Mile. Working in London was something that I'd always hankered after, and like so many others – despite the international terrorist landscape that was developed after September 11 and the Madrid train bombings – innocently believed that I would never in a million years be affected personally by an event of the magnitude of something like July 7. This wasn’t from some aloof, cocky arrogance, but because no-one really wants to give any great credence to the notion that they would be involved in this kind of thing. I've read that, just like September 11 2001 did for America, July 7 2005 took away some of London’s innocence, despite those earlier years of enduring IRA bombings; and it’s certainly true that I lost some of my innocence too. After September 11, which was two weeks into me working in London, I'd reassured my wife that I would be vigilant; that I wouldn’t take risks. The tube bombings of July 7 took away that naïveté. Mere vigilance while travelling into and around London would not be enough in the face of such determination to wreak havoc. My life was sufficiently turned upside-down on July 7 without being in one of the three trains or on the number 30 bus to have made me intensely wary while working in the City, and it’s really only on the days that I work from home that I feel completely at ease. I know this kind of ‘white noise’ stress constantly sounding in the back of my mind is not at all healthy, and certainly unsustainable in the long-term. It’s no coincidence that I now have more grey hairs than I would otherwise have had as I approach thirty.

In four years, I'd become quietly confident about getting around London; in one day that confidence was wrecked. My journey from Milton Keynes to the City involved taking the Underground from Euston Square to Liverpool Street. All of a sudden this journey, which I'd taken countless numbers of times, and which was as far as I could see my only means of reaching the office, was suddenly for me completely out of the question. The thought of getting back on a tube again filled me with a gut-churning fear that I could see no way of overcoming. The bombing of the bus took that option away from me as well. Everyone in our office worked from home on Friday July 8, which gave me a comfortable distance away from the following Monday when I would next have to contemplate using the Underground again. As Monday got closer my fears became more pronounced. My wife was a rock of support, even though I knew she too was as worried as I was.

I decided to change my route into work to go from Luton directly into the City, which would avoid the need to use the tube completely. I reasoned that life is all about accepting the risk that you are most comfortable taking. For me I was more comfortable getting in the car early in the morning and driving down the M1 to Luton, despite the fact that the probability of getting hurt in a car accident far outweighs the risk of being hurt in an Underground bombing; this was just something I had to do to feel comfortable with going back to work, but it wasn’t by any means easy. When I first changed over my season ticket I felt a wave of immense relief wash over me. My fear was of being trapped in a tunnel, of being in a place I couldn’t escape from. I'd forgotten that the route from Luton to City Thameslink involved passing through a long tunnel between Kentish Town and Kings Cross Thameslink. Entering that tunnel on that Monday was frankly terrifying, and looking around the carriage that morning I wasn’t alone in feeling this way. I saw a girl bury her head in her hands all the way between those stations; I felt like screaming and felt my pulse race uncontrollably until I left the train at City Thameslink. In the aftermath of July 7 the Government, the Mayor and the media praised the commitment of people to pick up the pieces and get on with their lives; I wonder how many people there were just like me who had no choice but to soldier on but who were inwardly scared to death.

Altering my route was a good way of getting more comfortable with getting on with working in London, but it wasn’t financially sustainable, and so when my season ticket was up for renewal in August I switched back to travelling from Milton Keynes to Euston. I’d been forced to use the tube once between July 7 and renewing my ticket, but I still wasn’t comfortable with getting back on the Underground, and so I decided to walk into the City from Euston station each morning. It takes about 45 minutes, is exhausting and in the hot weather pretty unbearable. The walk takes me past BMA House, outside which the packed bus was destroyed last year, and the entrance to Russell Square Underground station. I still do it one year on, and have only caught the tube from Euston Square to Liverpool Street in the mornings when it’s been raining too heavily or if I've got to bring luggage with me for an overnight stay in London. The most ridiculous thing of all is that I’m almost completely comfortable with catching the tube in the evenings on my way home from work, just because the bombings of July 7 happened in the morning peak, and because they say Al Qaeda prefer to stage an attack at the start of a day. Not only that, but if I have to catch a tube really early in the morning, I also feel completely at ease. Perhaps that innocence and naïveté hasn’t disappeared completely.

July 7 had two other major impacts on my life. The first was that it intensified my love and pride for London. My wife and I had stayed in London for Live 8 the weekend before July 7, and we had both started to really get interested in our capital city. It was perhaps because we stayed in Canary Wharf, which has about the most exciting landscape of anywhere in London. I’d been through a bit of a negative period at work and was starting to doubt whether I should carry on working in London or seek employment closer to home; that trip to London, along with one in May, made me realise that I’d miss London too much. July 7 dented that love for London; I resented those four bombers for taking my London away from me, but London’s charms were soon to tempt me once more; since then my love for the capital has doubled and become much more pronounced.

The more surprising effect on me was with regard to my love of music. On July 7 I spent an hour trapped underground between Kings Cross and Farringdon, blissfully unaware of what was happening elsewhere so close to me, listening to Possessed by the Balanescu Quartet on my iPod. The guilt of innocently enjoying music while people nearby on other trains were dying created a guilt in me that prevented me from wanting to listen to music. For years music has been my major passion; to have it suddenly taken away from me was painful but I just couldn’t face it. It took several months before I was completely comfortable with listening to music while travelling again. Since then my appetite has come back, but I haven’t pursued this passion with anywhere near as much enthusiasm as I did previously.

Tragic though July 7 was, I honestly believe that if it wasn’t for that day we wouldn’t have conceived our baby. We had been trying for a baby for a couple of months with no sign of success. The events of July 7 made the bond between my wife and I much stronger, drew us much closer together. Just two weeks later by our calculations Seren was conceived, reaffirming my faith that truly great things can rise out of the most painful of events.