On July 7th 2005 I was in London. I was there to attend a meeting at the UNISON HQ building, which is at the corner of Euston Rd and Mabledon Place, about 400 metres from King’s Cross Station, and just a few streets away from both Tavistock Square and Russell Square. Unusually for me I’d taken the decision to travel down the night before and stay over at the Novotel, which is directly opposite UNISON HQ on Euston Rd: a random decision, but one for which I’ll always be grateful.
Anyway, these are just some snatches of my memories of that day, and of the days and weeks that followed.
I can remember:
Coming out of the hotel with a colleague at about 9.45am, and it suddenly registering that apart from emergency vehicles, there was none of the normal traffic on Euston Rd.
Glancing down towards King’s Cross, taking in all the flashing lights and sirens outside the station. Wondering why? What’s happened?
Crossing the road, and then stopping halfway to ask a police officer what was going on.
Him muttering something about a power surge in the underground system, but then as we were still standing with him, a noise in the near distance. A bang? A thud? What was it?
Another police officer suddenly sprinting past us, shouting “Shit! Another one’s gone off!”
Standing there, in the middle of Euston Rd, wanting to shout back “What? Another what’s gone off?” but being too scared to.
Looking back at the officer we’d been talking to, and realising he’d been lying to us. Him asking us “Where are you going?” Me, pointing at the UNISON building, and then him “You’d better get inside then.”
I can remember:
Other women arriving for the meeting. Lots of talking, speculating, about what was going on in the streets outside.
Someone starting the meeting, but then an interruption. Someone telling us that everyone in the building would be assembling in the conference room soon, the General Secretary was coming to talk to us all.
The room filling up. More talking, more speculation. And then Dave Prentis was there.
Hearing him say that there’d been bombs. There’d been bombs on the underground. And a bus blown up. Just round the corner.
Thinking. That noise. That bang. When we were crossing the road. What was it?
People asking – has everyone you were expecting turned up today? Is anyone missing? Then people taking phone numbers, wanting our details. “Do not leave the building” they said. It was an instruction from the police they said. We were in the exclusion zone, the area had been completely sealed off, but we weren’t being evacuated for now, we had to stay put.
The room emptying again.
And then people complaining. Wanting us to get on with the meeting. “We’re all here” they said “we may as well just carry on with it.”
Thinking no. We can’t do this. Not now. Not today.
The meeting being abandoned. Women sitting around instead on desks and chairs, talking, reassuring each other. Then some of them leaving. Ignoring the instruction to stay put. Heading back to airports. “We’ll take the chance” they said.
And me. Too scared to go anywhere for a while. I’m not leaving. Not yet. Not until I’m told it’s safe.
I can remember:
Desperately wanting to go home.
Finally managing to get through to Dave on someone’s office phone.
Refusing to use the lift, and instead climbing the 8/9 flights of stairs up to the restaurant floor.
Looking out of the windows from those top floors and seeing the scenes of chaos outside King’s Cross.
Looking back into the room where someone had turned on a tv, and staring at it in horror as the scenes from just beyond the window were beamed back at us.
After what seemed like hours stepping just outside the main entrance doors for a cigarette.
Seeing nurses, doctors, in scrubs, running up Euston Rd.
Everyone assembling again in the conference room. It’s still not safe they said, everyone has to stay here.
Hearing “No trains. You won’t get home tonight. Who needs a room?”
My hand going up.
Thinking “but I want to go home.”
I can remember:
Sitting next to a young woman in the foyer.
She’s in shock.
Can’t talk.
Staring straight ahead.
Was she on the bus? The tube?
Noticing her clothes.
What’s that speckling her top?
Blood? Flesh?
But she’s not hurt.
Then whose is it?
And what’s that smell?
Wanting to scream
I can remember:
More people leaving
Not me
Is it safe yet? I’ll go when it’s safe.
I can remember:
Walking
A group of us. Trying to find the hotel we’d been told had been booked for us.
But that can’t be right. It’s in Russell Square.
Look, there’s the bus. That bang this morning. Crossing the road. Here it is.
Asking another police officer. Our hotel? Can we get to it?
No. These streets are sealed off.
Someone talking into their phone.
Another hotel
The first one. We can go back to the Novotel. It’s ok, they’ve got rooms for us.
Stopping for a drink.
Hundreds of people crowded into the bar. Everyone solemn and watching the tv screen
Laughing at something someone said.
All of us laughing
Heads turned towards us
Shush. We shouldn’t be laughing. Not now. Not today.
I can remember:
Ordering room service.
No, I don’t want to meet you downstairs in the restaurant or in the bar.
I don’t want to see people.
I’ve run out of words.
Just leave me alone.
Can’t eat.
Putting the tray of uneaten food back outside my door.
Watching the news
Lying awake listening to the sirens.
Sirens screaming all through the night.
I can remember:
Getting up early
Crossing Euston Rd to go and buy a coffee
Cars, traffic on the road.
Is it safe now?
Walking past the reporters and the cameras at King’s Cross Station
Can’t stop to chat. I’m going home.
Sitting on the train
My colleague: “Well, that was all very exciting.”
Me: “No. It wasn’t. It really really wasn’t.”
I can remember:
At work a week later
There’s going to be a 3 minute silence for the victims.
I can’t be here. I can’t be in this building when the world stops again.
Walking outside.
Sitting on the steps as the clock chimes.
The traffic stops.
Everyone, all the people milling around, stop and stand still.
I’m sitting on the steps
And I’m crying.
I get my bike out of the bike shed
I’m cycling away. Pedalling as hard as I can.
I’m lying on grass in a park
But I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving.
I can remember:
The next day
My manager calls me in to her office.
People are worried about you she says.
You’re not yourself.
I’m fine, I say
It was horrible. I got scared.
I saw things. Bad things.
But I’m fine.
Then the fire alarm goes off
“Please evacuate the building” comes over the tannoy.
I’m walking down the fire escape stairs
All of us. Staff, customers, we’re trooping down the stairs together.
I can’t stop shaking
I’m outside
I’m shaking and I’m crying again
In front of all these people.
My manager hands me a number
“Phone them” she says
“No one has to know.
They can help you.”
I can remember
And I’ll always remember July 7th 2005.
It’s not a constant memory, like it was for the first 6 months or so, but there are still days, like today, when it all comes back to me. I can remember the sights, the sounds, and the smell of it.
But most of all, I can remember the fear.
Too Much To Say For Myself 
I don’t know what to say.
Reading your post brought back my own memories of that day. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t directly affected. I was in Glasgow, but my sister then worked very close to Aldgate tube station, where another bomb had gone off. None of us could get hold of her, and I remember feeling so very, very *useless*, sitting on my living room floor in Glasgow crying my eyes out as I watched BBC News 24.
My sister was fine, as it turned out, she’d decided to work from home that day, but the phonelines were buggered and we couldn’t reach her (or her us) until late in the evening.
I remember feeling guilty for laughing with relief when my mum phoned to say she had finally got hold of her.
Reading your post brought back those memories and I’m crying now as I remember them. I can’t begin to imagine how those who lost someone or were injured or who experienced those events first hand must feel today.
hugs and love to you friend. X
It was probably the first time I met you. I remember feeling responsible for everyone in the room as the officer – but it was my first meeting too. Telling everyone is was a power surge and not to worry, but then finding out the truth. But I was fine until my son phoned – he had been trying to call me or his dad for hours but the mobile networks were down and it had not occurred to me that his school in Hertfordshire would tell the kids what had happened so I hadn’t called to say we were safe. He just cried and cried when he eventually got through and then I cracked up too. Now I don’t think about it until I see an unattended bag – on a seat, in a cafe, at the airport – then I get angry and become the loud woman demanding to know who owns it.
That was really, really moving. You do write brilliantly, you know. Set, too, in the one part of London I know a little – ironically, also from going to union meetings, in my case at Acorn House in Grey’s Inn Road.
Oh, and another ameliorating factor – you smoke!
I imagine a lot of people are still trying to make sense of that day out of the tangled wreckage that can’t be cleared away.
A fine post, a fine memorial, a fine piece of evidence to help us all not forget.
A very honest account.
Though I have to say I’m glad the medics running up the Euston Road weren’t quite as self-indulgent.
Moving
Wow Cath, that must have been awful. Reading your recollection reminded me so much of 9/11. The worry not being able to reach my brother-in-law, the feelings of fear shock and incredible sadness for all the victims. Certain things you never forget.
i was in bristol when it happened but i lived in london, and i’ll never forget it. phoning everyone i knew in blind panic, my friend’s voice breaking because he couldn’t get in touch with another friend who had headed off to aldgate, the feeling of uselessness and anger, the bus that i used to get every day to uni, top blown off. and then people not seeming to understand why, the next week in the cafe i worked at over the summer, people didn’t want to observe the silence, and my boss saying ‘ she lives in london’ to explain my actions. as though it didn’t effect people outside th capital.