LONDON // Ten years after the suicide bombings that killed 52 people on the London transport network, survivors and the loved ones of those who died are still angry, grief stricken and scarred.
But they share a resolve to move forward, to deny the extremists victory by getting on with their lives.
Here, survivors, family members and witnesses recount the terror of that fateful morning.
My second life
On July 7, 2005, Gill Hicks boarded the underground at King’s Cross. She didn’t notice the bomber, but she knows now she was standing inches from him when he detonated his backpack on the Piccadilly Line.
“For me July 7, 2005, was the end of life number one ... and the beginning of a very fortunate position to have the gift of a second life,” said Ms Hicks, who lost both legs below the knee.
When Ms Hicks awoke in the hospital, she found her arm bracelet labelled her “One Unknown”. It made her realise she had been rescued in dangerous conditions from wreckage miles underground.
“What those words said to me on my arm bracelet was that people risked their lives to come and save one unknown – to come and save as many one unknowns as they could,” she said.
“And to me that is humanity, because they weren’t selective. It didn’t matter whether I had wealth or no wealth. Whether I had a faith or no faith. What the colour of my skin was ... Nothing mattered other than I was a precious human life.”
Ms Hicks, 47, went from being a workaholic designer to a motivational speaker who also runs the charity MAD (Making a Difference) for Peace. The organisation tries to connect people globally and encourage them to think of peace as an act of individual responsibility accomplished daily.
She tries to use her anger as fuel for her projects, to keep her motivated and moving forward. She believes she has no choice but to celebrate the fact that she is here – every day.
'I will not allow them to defeat me' Esther Hyman was at work as a medical secretary in Oxford when she heard "something was going on" in London.
Her sister Miriam, 32, was on her way to a meeting in the capital. She had been evacuated from the underground after one of the explosions. Her father managed to speak with her briefly, and she told him she would stop and take breather before deciding whether to go to the meeting.
When they did not heard from her that evening, the family became agitated. Soon they were putting up missing posters and visiting hospitals. Four days went by before they learned the truth – that she had jumped on a bus targeted in the attacks.
In the years that followed, Ms Hyman, now 46, considered her options.
“Am I going to allow this to beat me? Am I going to lose my life as well? Am I going to allow them to terrorise me, as they wish to do, into submission?” Ms Hyman said. “Or am I going to survive, with my sanity intact and do everything within my arms reach to address what happened?”
The family established a trust and equipped the Miriam Hyman Children’s Eye Care Centre in Odisha, India. It seemed fitting to the family, because Miriam got glasses as a teenager and was shocked at what she had been missing. She was very visual, and was fascinated to better see things in nature, such as the intricacy of leaves.
Together with the University College London Institute of Education, the trust has also developed an educational programme that uses Miriam’s story and her family’s reaction to her death to prevent young people from being drawn into extremism of any kind.
‘It is never over’
Stavros Marangos remembers the silence. One of the first London Fire Brigade members to respond to the bus attack in Tavistock Square, he was struck by how the usual traffic, bustle and chatter had disappeared – replaced only by sirens wailing in the distance.
His superiors warned that there might be secondary explosive devices, and said that anyone who didn’t want to get off the fire engine was free to stay. No one did.
“It was like a scene from a war film,” he said. “There were unidentifiable body parts strewn all over the place.”
One person was still alive on the bus, but there were no more stretchers. Crews used the top of a desk to move the survivor into the courtyard of the nearby British Medical Association, where doctors had gathered to help the injured. Ten years on, he still cannot get it out of his head.
“Day to day, when you are busy, when you are engaged doing things, it’s way in the background. But every now and again, it just creeps up,” he said.
Quoting a film he watched about a fire department veteran, he said: “I wish my head could forget what my eyes have seen.”
‘A portion of your soul ripped out’
Grahame Russell didn’t give much thought to the first news of trouble on the Underground because early reports suggested it was only a power outage. Around lunchtime though, he got a call from his son Philip’s office. They had received a text message from Philip at about 9.30am, saying he was going to get on a bus. They hadn’t heard from him since.
A police family liaison officer was soon on the doorstep. Philip was “missing” for days. His family identified his body on what would have been his 29th birthday.
Ten years on, Grahame, now 72, says he has stopped trying to make sense of it.
“It’s very difficult,” he said. “When you have a portion of your soul ripped out from you, you find life very difficult. I find difficulty in reflecting and thinking back. If I did that all the time, I would just collapse.”
Instead, Grahame has thrown himself into a project to create a more personalized memorial in Tavistock Square, not just for the victims but also for the survivors and emergency services personnel, many of whom risked their lives in uncertain situations to reach the injured.
“They are not recognized anywhere and I believe we should have some sort of inscription to basically thank them,” he said, hoping to create a space for reflection for everyone touched by the tragedy.
“But also to remember them. If we forget what happens, we’ll do it all over again.”* Associated Press
