Twenty years ago today, I was in my office at the British Museum, which looked out over Russell Square. I have a vague memory of a large bang being heard – but if anything, I assumed it was just one of the many noises you get around central London.
Then, about twenty or so minutes later, one of my team came up to see me – they said that a colleague had just arrived in some shock. He said he’d just seen a bus explode. That must have been the bomb in Tavistock Square, although we didn’t know that at the time. And I believe we may have heard it go off, unknowingly.
In fact we weren’t sure what he’d seen. I made suggestions to help get him looked after, and said he could consider going home and resting.
The traffic began to ease off, outside, and we began to hear sirens. The story circulated that there were problems on the tube lines (power failures).
About an hour or so in, one of the Security team arrived to tell everyone to move away from the windows. Yes, there had been a bomb, and a follow-up attack could shatter the glass dangerously.
By now, apart from distant sirens, it was unsettlingly quiet outside. And our mobile phones had stopped working. The rumour started that the emergency services had commandeered the network, although it might have just been overload.
Around lunchtime, I was called across the estate to a senior managers’ meeting. Yes, there had been a number of bombs, and and many casualties. There was a need to keep people inside while the emergency services worked. Then, mid-afternoon, we would all be needed to help the visitors leave and give them directions. This was mid-summer, and there were 15-18,000 visitors on site, many from overseas. We needed to help them understand how to get home, or to their hotels, in the absence of any public transport.
(During the briefing, I finally received a call from my son at school (they had sensibly let the children use their mobiles) – so I could tell him I was OK, and he could pass the message on to the rest of the family).
Once the Museum was empty, we left, too. I remember walking with others through an eerily quiet city. Finally managing to grab a bus home near Elephant and Castle.
The Mayor, Ken Livingstone, was on the news. He was in Singapore – the day before, he had been celebrating London winning the right to host the 2012 Olympics. He looked tired, but he gave the best speech of his life.
I want to say one thing specifically to the world today. This was not a terrorist attack against the mighty and the powerful. It was not aimed at Presidents or Prime Ministers. It was aimed at ordinary, working-class Londoners, black and white, Muslim and Christian, Hindu and Jew, young and old. It was an indiscriminate attempt to slaughter, irrespective of any considerations for age, for class, for religion, or whatever...Londoners will not be divided by this cowardly attack. They will stand together in solidarity alongside those who have been injured and those who have been bereaved and that is why I'm proud to be the mayor of that city.
Yet there was an increase in racist attacks over the following days.
The next day, I think it was, I was on the bus to work, and the atmosphere was very jittery. Years later, I had a letter published in the Guardian about how the marvellous Betty Boothroyd stood up then, and helped everyone stay calm. (This was written a few days after the Manchester Arena bombing).
A week later, several other attacks were attempted, and failed, more by chance than effective security.
