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Thursday, July 28, 2005
Police Presence
I can certainly vouch for this story as hurled about in the news all day today. This morning, there were two shiny faced infant policemen standing outside the train station. I noticed them particularly today (1) because of their extreme youth (they couldn’t have been more than 21) and (2) because one of them seemed to be extremely hungover and was clutching a can of red bull to himself like his life depended on it. I enjoyed the fact that my life depended on him being alert enough to spot a man walking on a train with a giant rucksack emblazoned with the word “BOMB” across it, because I’m not sure he was capable this morning. When I got to Liverpool Street there seemed to be three times as many police around as usual, and there’s been quite a few in the station ever since the 7th. I was checking the back of their jackets, because I assumed at least half of them would be pretend policemen, or “community officers” as they’re labelled, but each and every one of the pairs of luminous patrollers were your actual police man. There’s even policemen patrolling the station platform in each of the tube stations. It doesn’t provide me with any kind of feeling of comfort. Our driver today on the Central line was one of those who insist on making an announcement in each and every station. I’m not sure if this is policy any more, since not all drivers do this, but this fella was determined to have his say. On the official Underground announcements, what happened in London three weeks ago today are “the events of 7th July”. On the official notices asking for donations to the charity, they are “the London Bombings”. According to our driver this morning they were variously “the suicide attacks”, “the suicide bombings” and “the explosions”. I’m glad I only had three stops to go, I think he was about to wax lyrical with details of the nail bombs as sprawled all over the tawdry papers this morning. My paranoia, I’m ashamed to say, reached some new depths when I changed where I was standing, just to move away from a man who would match a certain description, but I blame all the newspapers around me screaming the fact that everyone expects the bombers to strike again. Last night I got the bus back to Liverpool Street, rather than the tube. I don’t know why, I just made that decision. The bus was full when it pulled up, so I was surprised that it stopped to let us on. The driver was shouting at everyone standing in the aisle to go upstairs. Most of the people standing in the aisle were ignoring him, but me and some other brave souls went upstairs. To reiterate – downstairs it was heaving. More people were crowded on to that bus than the tube at rush hour. Upstairs, there were about three other people. I looked around, wondering what had spooked everyone in to staying downstairs, but I couldn’t see it. No young man of a certain description. No big rucksack. No suspect packages. Nothing. Did they all know something I didn’t? I stayed sitting upstairs and buried my head in Harry Potter, but was so relieved when we got to Liverpool Street and I could get off the Top Deck Of Death.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Some of us ARE afraid
One week later, and everything seems to be going back to whatever passes as normal in London. We've all finally stopped staring at each other on the tubes, returning to studying our feet and rustling our newspapers, but new behaviour is beginning to creep through. There seems to be an understanding that the people who are left to crowd in the doorways and at the ends of the carriages carry the responsibility to "vet" everyone who gets on and off the train, watching bags and studying faces for religious rapture. I would suspect that the underground are experiencing a severe drop in the number of commuters at the moment too, since I keep having the strange of experience of sitting down while travelling. This morning, in fact, the carriage was half empty. Which is unnerving during rush hour, like you've missed an announcement that everyone else heard. Otherwise, life trundles on as usual, although I have started to take extra care not to rush goodbyes, and to answer text messages and emails as much as possible. The idea that four young men were willing to strap explosives to themselves and look directly at the faces of strangers they were about to murder is one that I can't seem to shake, particularly when I'm going through the rituals of getting on the tube. Everything I do, I can't help but reflect that they did exactly the same. They bought travel cards. They put them through the machines. They went down the escalators, possibly standing to the right to let other commuters pass them by. They stood on the platform. They chose their carriage. They boarded the train. They stood in the gangway, holding on to the rails. They knew that they, and many of the people around them, were about to die in an incredibly horrific manner. These are my thoughts. This is what I'm dwelling on. And I'm getting increasingly irritated by the continued insistence in the press that we're not afraid and we're all defiant and we're all carrying on as usual. Patronising rubbish like werenotafraid.com can go swing, as far as I'm concerned. I am afraid, and I don't mind admitting it. I refuse to be pressurised to laugh in the face of danger. I'd rather avoid danger if at all possible, please, and if it's not possible, I'd like to be allowed the indulgence of feeling the fear that these four men have inspired in me. What's wrong with admitting to being afraid? It won't make them more powerful. It won't mean I'm going to lock myself in the house and never go out again. It doesn't mean anything's changed, for the better or the worse. I would just like to say for the record, here and now, that they've frightened me and I do still feel scared. My response is not inappropriate. My response is not un-defiant. My response is not giving in to the terrorists. My response, I feel, is one shared by so many people here and everywhere else.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Defiance
I hate the fact that the front of every single one of today's newspapers is proclaiming the London is returning to normal because we're all so bravely showing defiance in the face of the bombers and defiantly protecting our way of life, and defiantly getting back to our routine by getting on the tubes and buses. As if any of us have any choice in the matter. In the same manner of "defiance" I got the tube my three stops to work today. It wasn't easy being defiant though. That's because along with being defiant, and metaphorically sticking two fingers up at Mr Bomber(s), I was also terrified of being blown up into tiny bits and scattered around a tube carriage. As I commented to He Who Only… on Thursday night, I refuse to die in London, and I particularly refuse to die underground. My defiance found me taking my usual route to Liverpool Street tube station this morning, fighting against the hordes coming up the stairs at me. I was feeling particularly defiant, as well as incredibly nervous and slightly nauseous, as I approached the ticket barriers, only to be stopped by underground staff. I defiantly and with great trepidation, took off my walkman headphones to hear why we were being stopped, ready at a moment's notice to run screaming towards the exit. They were only holding back the queue slightly so that the station platform wouldn't get too crowded. I defiantly lost my nerve and went back upstairs to the main station. I took a deep breath. I turned around. I went back down again. I joined the queue and waited for three minutes or so, all of the time watching bags and rucksacks and people coming and going. For a good thirty seconds a Tescos carrier bag was left unattended underneath an Evening Standard advert which had rolling news scrolling across it about casualty figures, the fact that the bombers were both unidentified and still at large, the danger of more attacks. I watched the bag until I was ready to spontaneously combust and then someone came and picked it up. Then we were let through the barriers. Once I was defiantly on the escalator on the way down, I realised there wasn't really any going back, and so I defiantly switched my brain off and pretended it was just a normal day and nothing unusual was happening or about to happen. I kept my walkman off, all the better to listen to the new, special, unnerving and defiant announcements from station staff. Passengers are continually reminded to keep all belongings with them at all times. Passengers are asked to be extra vigilant. Passengers are asked to move down the carriage, use all the room in the carriage. Passengers are reminded that unattended baggage can lead to unnecessary security alerts. Passengers are reminded that there is absolutely no service on the Circle Line. Passengers are reminded that any single one of the people on the platform or in their tube carriage could be a bomber ready to detonate at any moment. Passengers are asked to stand clear of the closing doors, mind the doors please. On the train, everyone in my immediate vicinity was instantly attracted to one particular bag, sitting underneath the legs of a man standing in the doorway at the end of the carriage. We all stared at it, all stared at each other, all tried to shield ourselves against each other from every direction and then stared at the bag again. Finally, the man noticed, and shamefacedly picked up the bag, as if to claim ownership and relieve us of the tension. We all immediately started to try to find another unattended bag, like frustrated sniffer dogs convinced there was a package somewhere nearby. But there wasn't, and it was fine, and I defiantly and with great relief got off at my stop, virtually ran up the stairs and got back in to daylight, limbs and life intact. Sanity left somewhere underground between Bank and Chancery Lane.
Friday, July 08, 2005
7/7
I got on the train yesterday morning as usual, arriving at the platform barely on time to get the (thankfully slightly delayed) 8.46am train to Liverpool Street. As usual, the train was full to capacity. As usual, I had to stand. As usual there were too many people cramming themselves on and as usual someone stood on my foot. I buried my head in my book and ignored all the newspapers crowing about the London Olympics. I didn't even notice that the tube station was closed until I was almost walked into the barrier, such is my mental state in the mornings. I've arrived at Liverpool Street and found the underground not working twice already since I moved here, so I decided to ring work and get myself a big old cup of coffee while trying to work out bus routes. I also rang He Who Only… who was by then himself on the way in to Liverpool Street to keep him up to date with the news, and only then did I notice the sudden influx of armed, bullet-proofed policemen who descended out of nowhere and started to put up police tape. I headed outside, trying to find someone to ask directions of, and realised that as I walked out, a steady stream of people were flowing out behind me - the station was being evacuated. I headed up the road towards Bishopsgate and saw that the police had taped the road I was walking up out of bounds. I started walking quicker as a policeman started screaming behind me for everyone to clear the area. Even then, walking at a pace with my coffee, I was more worried about the fact that I'd got some coffee on my jacket then whatever security alert was happening around me. I only found out what it was when my Dad rang. I answered the phone and he said "so you're not on that train then." I said no, I was trying to get my train but the station was closed - what was going on. Dad said a train had "exploded". I looked up and saw the Sky News helicopter circling above us, competing for air space with the police. I really wanted to not be there. Couldn't get a bus for ages that was heading out towards my office, because everyone that had been kicked out of Liverpool Street station were obviously trying to same trick as me. Finally I managed to force my way on to a number 8 and we headed out towards the heart of The City. I picked up a phone message from He Who Only… (the phone networks were already starting to show the strain) who said that the train accident appeared to have been caused by a power surge and there was no cause for alarm. I felt immediate and immense relief. I was on the phone to JC, who was telling me what was being reported on the radio news, and how Kings Cross seemed to be closed, when the bus driver stopped the bus in the middle of the road about 10 minutes later, and started screetching at us in no uncertain terms to Get OFF. The BUS. NOW. Someone asked him very calmly why, and he wailed something about being told to return to the depot. I told Johnny, hung up and got off the bus. I rang He Who Only… at his office, after trying for about five minutes with no success to get signal, to ask for directions from St Pauls to my workplace, and complain about the bus driver. He told me a bus had just blown up. I wanted to burst in to tears then and there. It seemed so stupid to keep heading in to the heart of the City when all I wanted to go was go home, but the best plan of all was just to be indoors somewhere, and that was the only place I could think of going. I walked up the street with my walkman on, listening to the news bulletins on the radio stations, all of which were still reporting power surges. I felt like every bus that went past was a potential explosion waiting to happen. I finally made it in to work at about 10.30am, and at that point realised the extent of what had happened. What followed was the most surreal day, between keeping up to date with everyone, trying to get messages to people that I was all right and checking they were okay and trying to get to grips with the second day in my new job. It really didn't help when He Who Only…'s building was evacuated. I finally cracked and had to leave the office at 3.30pm, since I had no idea how to get home. I walked home. It took me two hours. It was actually quite a nice experience, although one I'm not keen to try again. Because there was no public transport in town, the traffic on the road was very minimal, and there was a huge stream of office workers heading out of town in every direction, so I just joined the flow. It felt really comforting to be part of a crowd, and although no one was really talking to each other it felt very friendly. I basically kept pace with a girl who was wearing very pretty green shoes, listening to the special broadcast from Capital FM who were keeping up the great Breaking News tradition of broadcasting guesswork and rumours. When I got to Angel, I started feeling like I was closer to home and finally stopped the panicked power walking I'd adopted. Almost immediately headed to the pub, echoing the actions of almost everyone in London. One stupid story from this morning: The overground train we were on this morning got stopped about three stations outside Liverpool Street due to a security alert. We all whipped out our phones and called our respective offices. And then the man opposite us offered the man sitting beside him the use of his mobile, in case he had anyone he needed to ring. These atrocities have changed London, although I think they may have changed it for the better.
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