First I want to thank everyone for emailng me and making sure I’m alright. Extra smooches to Coop and Ruth, who arrived in New York *right* after the WTC attacks. I’ll start with a few realizations.
Realization #1: If I’d been on the earlier plane, I’d have been in the Underground in the wrong place at the wrong time. I am by no means the only person in London thinking about this.
Realization #2: London Boy almost got killed coming to meet me at the airport. Instead he whisked me out of Heathrow and into a taxi, then to his house where he made me breakfast and we got to chat for the first time, but in a state of shock.
Realization #3: I’ve seen London looking a lot like 28 Days Later. When the bus service was restored last night we hopped one to get to a pub, and all bus service was free. Not many people were out.
But don’t just listen to me: read my sweet host’s account below, stolen (with permission) from an email he sent to his friends:
“I’m still a bit in shock actually. The more I read about it the more I think that I narrowly avoided being on one of those trains.
“I bought a ticket at 8:17 yesterday morning. I’m not THAT dull as to
remember that, it’s stamped on the ticket and now stamped on my mind. I was going out to the airport to pick up Violet. She was arriving on a 10:20 flight from San Francisco. Even with all the time she’d take in baggage claim and passport control I figured that it’s was best to get there early.
“One 25-30 minute bus ride to Finsbury Park later, I arrived to find the Piccadilly line (Dark Blue line) was out due to power failure.
Uninterestingly, but for the sake of a context which will become apparent later, it was down from Arnos Grove (north of Finsbury Park) to Caledonian Rd station (just before Kings Cross) to the south of Finsbury Park.
“So, I couldn’t catch the Piccadilly as planned, instead – plan b – I caught the Victoria Line (Light Blue line). Front carriage, through the first two double doors as it happens. This meant nothing at the time.
“When we went through King’s Cross the train wasn’t allowed to let passengers off and two station staff were the only people on the platform. Normally you get a warning about this kind of thing at the station before, like “This train will not be stopping at the next station.” I don’t remember hearing that. The driver got out, which is strange, and was talking to them for ten seconds or so. I now have the feeling that I was there about 1-2 minutes after its 8:56 bomb, and 8-9 minutes after the bomb at Aldgate. The King’s Cross bomb was in the front carriage in the standing area between the two front double-doors.
“So if I had have been a bit earlier, or on the bus before the one I took to Finsbury Park, and changed for the Piccadilly at Kings Cross, or the Piccadilly line hadn’t had problems… If, if, if
“The train continued to Green Park. I had no idea a couple of the bombs had gone off, I got off at Green Park thinking the power supply issue was the problem at Kings Cross – these closures always creep as trains get banked up. The station announced that the Piccadilly line was now closed all the way west to Hammersmith. An attendent suggested I stay on that platform and get the next train to go one stop to Victoria Station, then the District (Green line) out to Acton Town and take the Piccadilly from there. Oh, cool, sounds fun. I’m starting to get a bit worried about being late now.
“Five minutes later, Victoria Station. The platform was quite full and
station staff were holding us all on the platform, not allowing us to leave. They said that the District and Circle (Yellow) Lines were closed and that we had to make our way to the street and use buses. Up the escalator we all trudge. When I got to the top, some people went out the exits and others, uh, including me, performed a commuter rebellion and went to the District Line platform. Lo and behold a train was arriving in one minute and it was going through Acton Town. Saved!!
“I remember thinking “hmph, last time I listen to them”. We got four stops to Earls Court and the driver asked us to leave the train. The station announcement kept on saying something like “Please leave the station, this is due to an Emergency” over and over again. I remember someone speaking to the station staff and the staff member saying “I’m sorry, I can’t answer questions at the moment sir, I have to make sure that everyone leaves as quickly as possible”. It was all very calm though. Like a thick, wide conveyor belt of people forced, toothpaste-like, out into the street
“By now I was bit pissed off, a bit confused and incredibly concerned about getting to Heathrow. The plane was to land at 10:20, it was now about 9:20 I think. So the Edgware Rd bomb had just gone off. That must have been when someone senior said “Fuck it, get ’em all off the trains”
“I don’t think they said the whole tube network was shut down, because I walked to a mini-cab office toying with the idea of getting a car to Acton Town and going from there.
“Time was starting to slow down now. Lots of information rushed in. When I got to the cab office there was 1 person waiting. Over the next five minutes it became more frenetic. About 20 people showed up, phones ringing, people wondering how they were going to get to work, people unhappy at the inconvenience of it all. I was evesdropping to pick up scraps of the story. Pretty soon I didn’t have to. Strangers just started talking to each other. There’s a bus blown up? What do you mean? They’re saying it’s a power surge… How does a power surge affect a bus?
“Fuck. It stared to dawn on people. Like light rain turning to heavy
droplets.
“It took about half an hour but I got a cab and shared it with an American woman needing to get a flight out of London. Lucky bitch. In the spirit of High Capitalism the cab office said “It’s normally £25 to the airport, but seeing that there’s two of you… £20 each”. What a piece of shit, but with no time to twat him I left the cries of “outrageous!” from my fellow strandees and just got in the fucking car. Feeling very anxious by now. Lateness, bombs, confused.
“The driver took a call from a friend who was telling him about Aldgate. The ambulances and the police cars and the wounded. The radio was telling us about the power surges, oh… and a bus had exploded. The cab driver looked sadly at us both in the rear-view mirror and gestured loosely in the air, palm up. “Well, this is it. Our turn.” his gesture said. Police cars from a couple of different police forces raced by on the other side of the motorway. Some expert on the radio says that power surges may affect a small area, but there’s no way that the Aldgate one could affect King’s Cross, let alone Edgware.
“They know what it is. We know what it is. “Please don’t panic” they said. We arrived at the airport at 10:30. The plane had touched down on time, just ten minutes before, so unless Heathrow had suddenly become speedy and efficient, it was fine.
“I took a breath, and a slash *phew*, and called my brother to ask him to call my Mum and my Dad to let them know I was alright. I got as far as “Hi” and my steely resolve rusted and crumbled. “Could you ring Mum and Dad” – voice starts to crackle and break – “tell them I’m OK?”.
“What are you talking about?”
“Um”
“Ad? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“Hang on” – took a breath – “Turn on the news.”
“The rest is a bit of a blur actually. Just kept on wiping my eyes and trying to form words with a trembling bottom lip. And my voice went up an octave. I don’t know how I did that but it was probably a good time to hit the higher notes in “Living On A Prayer”. If I’d ever wanted to that is. Which, of course, I never have. No. Never.
“I hung up from him. I wanted to ring everyone I knew and check they were ok, tell them I’m ok. I couldn’t face another phone call though.
“I walked back to the arrivals and waited for Violet. I thought about how I was going to tell her. How we were going to get out of Heathrow. How I was really soft as shite.
“It was about 45 minutes later she came through the doors and I hugged her and we went for a coffee. I think I mentioned the tube being out. I think that’s all I could say. I formulated sentences in my mind and each time the words came near my lips some kind of orange heat came to the back of my eyes. And a metallic taste in my mouth. Must have been the remnants of my steely resolve. So we talked about normal things and drank a coffee. Actually, when she went to leave her bags to help me carry the coffees I almost said it then. Almost said “People have been killed in such an awful, awful way this morning”. Instead I said, “You better stay with your bags, they’re really edgy about that today” or something. I told her I was feeling “tired and emotional” because I wasn’t sure that I could hold it in for much longer. I thought they may have mentioned something on the plane and that she would ask more about it and then I’d lose it again.
“Coffee finished, we joined the biblical-style queue for the cabs. Not that I remember people queueing for cabs in the bible. It was still playing on my mind though, how do I mention it? During a brief lull in the conversation I casually blurt out “This is because of a bomb” and quickly turn away. She asked me whether this happened often. “No”, I replied. Orange heat. Steely taste. Wet eyes.
“We eventually got a cab and took a complicated route through choked and then, as we went through the top of Central London, wide empty streets. As the enormity of the situation became more apparent Violet thanked me for making such an effort to be at the airport. Mr Soft-as-shite had to look away really quickly then too. I coughed a few times to hide the little gasping sob sounds I couldn’t stop myself from making. Any feeling of emotion, even heartfelt appreciation, was much too much to bear. I had done nothing really. I just went out to the airport. I just did a regular day-to-day thing. Like the people who were torn apart.
“I saw buildings being evacuated near Paddington Station. More police cars. Streets taped off. We turned away from Central London near Euston and headed North East for a bit. I think I accidently tipped the driver about £40. This on top of his £80 fare meant that he could go home for the day. And buy a yacht.
“But we were home, and alive. There’s really something to be said for that.
