100,000 Irish people call London home. Tens of thousands more visit every year. A few of them describe their feelings towards the city in light of the ongoing threats.
'It had happened, and I wouldn't have to expect it any more. I felt a warm, guilty surge of relief'
LOUISE EAST, JOURNALIST AND WRITER
Watching the news headlines ticker-tape across the bottom of the television on July 7th, I felt out of kilter with the events on screen. Ambulance crews rhythmically pumped the chest of a blackened body. The handrails of a London bus bristled like a baited trap. A woman wearing lipstick smudges of smoke waved television cameras away from the blood trickling down her leg: "That? That's nothing."
I felt shock and sorrow and an uneasy spritz of fear, but most of all I felt a warm, guilty surge of relief. At last, I thought, at last it has happened, and only at that moment did I realise I had been expecting this since I moved to London 10 months ago. I expected it when a tube train stopped in a tunnel, its motors faltering, abandoning us to darkness. I expected it when large metal shutters suddenly sealed off the entrance to Liverpool Street station as I approached. I expected it when a crowd pressed at my back while I waited to cross at Oxford Circus. Now, finally, it had happened, and I wouldn't have to expect it any more.
Except two weeks later, it happened again; the ticker-tape headlines, the faint sound of sirens as I worked at home in west London, the theories and counter-theories in the newspapers. I felt no relief this time.
When the bombs exploded at 8.50am on July 7th, it wasn't the end of something, it was the beginning. And yet I feel no desire to leave London, for reasons I can't entirely explain. It's not because of the much-lauded Blitz spirit; I haven't lived here long enough to feel that particular brand of fortitude. Nor am I unaffected by the attacks - in the past few weeks, I've walked distances the equivalent of Dalkey to central Dublin rather than get on a tube. But right now, I'm lucky enough not to feel afraid where it matters, deep in the pit of the stomach.
As long as I can think of the terrorist threat rationally, statistics are a comfort: 7.5 million people live in London, and each day three million tube journeys are taken. As odds go, they're hardly the worst. The very thing that caused me fear before - London's hugeness - now reassures. I feel cocooned by people and houses, by roads and cars. To live in a big city is to feel fear; a whisper of it when footsteps get closer; a pounding swill and wash when a shout rings out on a darkened street. But that feeling - that anything at all might happen - is also what compels us to live in cities. If the flip side of fear is the exhilaration of possibility, I'm not ready to give up one for the sake of the other just yet.
'I have children who travel on the tube'
MARGARET MURNANE, DIRECTOR OF THE LONDON IRISH CENTRE IN CAMDEN
I was on the train just behind one of those that exploded on July 7th. Just before we got to King's Cross, the driver announced that we couldn't proceed because of an "incident" on the line. It wasn't until I got in to work that I heard about it on the radio. I suppose everybody knew it was going to happen.
I take the tube every day, and I haven't tried to avoid it; not because of this stiff-upper-lip sort of thing, it's just the easiest way to travel to work. It's out of necessity, really. If I thought I could get on a bicycle here, I'd prefer to, but I wouldn't be able. Haven't got the energy.
I do think people are fearful of the tube, though. I have children who travel on it, and you're always thinking about it. It's very different now to when IRA bombs were going off. I don't feel too insecure, though. It's just at the back of your mind, and getting worse, I think.
'Dark humour isn't a bad way to deal with it'
NEIL BURKEY, THIRD MILLENNIUM PUBLISHING
In a central London pub on the night of the first bombings, a bartender starts ringing the last-orders bell long before closing time. "Sorry everybody, you've got to clear out now, we've got a suspicious bag on the premises." After a pregnant pause he looks around, laughs, and shouts: "Just kidding!"
One tube passenger says to his friend: "I'd rather take my chances with suicide bombers than face London traffic." And, most controversially, another says: "At least with the IRA we were being hit by our own."
It's this kind of straight-backed, slightly twisted humour that defines the unofficial London reaction to the recent attacks. It's heavy on irony, wit and dry bravado, and ringed with wariness.
No morning commuter can escape being faced by 100 Metro front pages with their bold-type headlines ("Met says more innocents may die"), nor is it easy to pretend everything's normal when your tube station is filled with neon-yellow-suited bobbies or when the air is filled with the shriek of sirens, so I suppose humour isn't a bad way to deal with it, dark though it may be.
'We all believe it's going to move on to different targets. Cinemas? Department stores?'
MARK STOREY, MANAGING DIRECTOR OF EMAP'S 50-PLUS RADIO STATIONS
I was in King's Cross tube station when the bomb went off on the 7th. I arrived there to catch the 9.05am train to Leeds, but as it happens, my line - the Metropolitan line - was pretty close to the surface, whereas the other line is very deep; so deep that I didn't even hear anything. They stopped the train to Leeds at about 9.20am to say there had been a bomb at King's Cross.
The only difference to my routine is that I wouldn't take the tube to Oxford Circus - where I work - any more. I tend to get off at the edge of the centre and then walk the rest of the way, which takes about 25 minutes. People know that there's a chance it could be them next, but on the other hand, life has got to go on. We all believe that it's going to move on to different targets; they're not going to continue with transport. Might it be cinemas next? Or department stores? There's an inevitability to it. It's not fatalism, just realism. Unless you turn the place into a complete police state, there's not a great deal you can do to stop it happening.
'Stiff upper lip? The bottom line is that most people have no choice but to use public transport'
BEN KELLY, WORKS IN TV PRODUCTION
Travelling on tubes and buses has become much more nerve-racking. I can't help checking out fellow passengers to see if they're acting suspiciously. The other day I convinced myself that the woman sitting across from me on a bus was a suicide bomber because she was passing worry beads through her fingers and constantly checking her phone. I felt guilty when it became clear that she obviously wasn't but that's the fear that the bombs have created. Although there has been a lot of talk about English resolve and stiff upper lip, the bottom line is that people have to get on with their lives, and most have no choice but to use public transport. Having said that, people are defiant and determined that life will go on. The bombs haven't changed my view of London. It's a great city and great place to live. I am thinking of buying a bicycle, though.
'When I cycle past buses in London, it occurs to me that one could pop any time'
JOHN MULHOLLAND, DEPUTY EDITOR, THE 'OBSERVER'
The second attack changed people's view of their own safety; suddenly this became something quite routine and frightening. I cycle to work every day, and you can see from the number of people who have fled public transport that the idea that they're not affected by it is completely ludicrous. People are very, very nervous.
I was on the Underground on Saturday night, and a couple of young British Asian boys came in and sat opposite me. One of them was carrying a rucksack. As it happens, the guy cracked a joke and said: "When I get into a carriage now, I can empty an Underground in seconds." It was an ice-breaker, but it caused what can only be described as nervous laughter. People will continue in their thousands to take buses and tubes, but not with the same ease and carefreeness as they would have. I find, even now, when I cycle past buses in London, it occurs to me that one could pop any time.
'After seven years here, I won't leave because of this'
JD FURLONG, BUSINESSMAN
"Screw 'em" is the prevailing attitude towards the terrorists. I don't know anyone who has changed their daily routine. If this had happened in Dublin it would have been very different just because of the size of the place and the way people's lives tend to overlap at home. Because London is so big it was possible to have the attitude of "Right. Something has happened down the road but now how do I get to work?"
This city is a busy, manic place at the best of times, and Londoners don't like being told what to do. To a certain extent it's business as usual but there is that Blitz spirit, a feeling of defiance in the air. There is sadness too. I've noticed the indie radio station I listen to all the time has increased the amount of requests, and the songs people are requesting are slower and more melancholy.
Something like this makes you value your friends more. I got texts from people all over the world asking about me on the day of the bombs. It was quite touching. I don't think anyone was surprised that it happened, and personally I think there will be more incidents. I've been here seven years, and I won't leave because of this. If anything recent events have made me appreciate the city more.
'I'm looking forward to moving to London'
HOLLY WHITE, DUE TO BEGIN A FASHION COURSE IN OCTOBER
My initial reaction was: "Thank God Rob is here with us." Rob, my brother, lives and works in London. At the time we were on a family holiday in Portugal. Approximately a week later the holiday was over and we had all returned to normality and work. The second bombings occurred and the first thing I did was ring him. I couldn't get through. I texted him. Two hours later he replied. Those two hours were horrible.
I'm confident, happy and looking forward to moving to London. But recent events have made me realise what I will put my friends and family through if there is another bomb. Communication is vital. I am confident that security will increase and London will only be safer. But from being the person at home watching the television or hearing the news, I know your mind has a horrible habit of assuming the worst. I don't want to put anyone through that, but in light of recent events I may.
'Next morning, the end of my road exploded'
ANTONIA CAMPBELL HUGHES, ACTRESS AND CLOTHES DESIGNER
I'd been out of town for a few weeks and came back the night before the 7th. The next morning the end of my road exploded. I live on Brick Lane, just near Aldgate East. We stayed in, watching the news that morning. It was funny, because the news seemed to cater only for outsiders. When you're in that situation, the things that you want to know are practical: why are people not contactable; why are the phones not working? We walked the streets a bit around 4pm. It's odd, but I thought there was a relaxed atmosphere - I guess because people didn't know what to do with themselves.
Will I change my routine? This morning, I had to go to Oxford Street, and normally I'd take the tube, but I took the bus instead. People don't want to seem weak, but they're more wary. There are all these things on the news like "How to spot a terrorist". It works very negatively; it means that you're aware of every single person you see. You're paranoid. I think I'm sitting beside a suicide bomber all the time now.
'People play out the stoical role TV confers on them'
RUADHÁN Mac CORMAIC, STUDENT
The busy commuter trains from Cambridge to London terminate at King's Cross, so a great number of people were conceivably at a few degrees' separation from the bombers on the morning of July 7th.
Public reactions were more confused than politicians and media managed to convey. There was an odd sense in which people had to play out the stoical role that television conferred on them, but I know many resented the patronising praise of their "bravery", and there was palpable unease, especially after police confirmed that these were British men - an enemy within - who had taken themselves with their compatriots.
The complexion of things was incomprehensibly changed. One community activist unwittingly pointed to the new lexicon. Be assured, he said, this need not mean trouble between "them" and "the rest of us".
The second, failed series of attacks struck people more deeply - was this a beginning or an end, desperation or consolidation? But cities are resilient organisms; people will go to work because there is no alternative. Just as people still fly to New York, holiday in Bali and take the train in Madrid, so too will London's rhythm impose itself again.
'Heathrow was surreal, totally deserted'
MARIE-CLAIRE DIGBY, JOURNALIST AND RECENT TOURIST
"Go to Paris instead." As I boarded an aircraft from Dublin to London last Friday evening, my mother made her feelings clear. But I had plans made, and it wasn't practical to change them. And anyhow, that reservation for lunch at Jamie Oliver's restaurant, Fifteen, had been hard to come by. Superficial, yes. Foolhardy, possibly. It could have been different, as I was all too aware.
Heathrow was surreal, totally deserted. Would I take the tube - a 40-minute journey straight to South Kensington - or look for a taxi and shell out £50 instead of £5? Would it be the most expensive decision of my life? The tube won, and I took a good look at my fellow passengers - there weren't many, and none was the type I was reluctant to share a carriage with.
Checking in to the hotel, it was reassuring to find security checks and bags being searched. Less reassuring was the ear-splitting sound of the fire alarm at 3.45am. Thankful that we were on the second floor, not the 27th, we joined the calm, compliant hordes descending the stairs. Not annoyed, this time, by the false alarm. Just glad that's all it was.
People say: 'I wouldn't get on a tube.' I look at them and say: 'For crying out loud, you're daft'
PAT O'MAHONY, FORMER RTÉ PRESENTER; WORKS FOR INSIGHT NEWS TELEVISION
Statistics can be used in two ways: to frighten people or reassure them. With those for burglaries in Ireland, for example, you could say, "There is a burglary in Ireland every X minutes," and people will say, "Oh my God, that's awful. I mustn't go out." You could use the same statistics to say: "The chance of your house being burgled is about once every 20 years." That's how I've been thinking of this. I worked out that had I waited for a tube that morning - as I often would - instead of walking, as I did on the 7th, I could have ended up in town on the Piccadilly line at the time it went off. But you can't worry about nonsense like that. I have heard people say "I wouldn't get on a tube." I just look at them and say: "For crying out loud, you're daft." One thing that annoys me is this "great British spirit of the Blitz". That's rubbish. It's people just going about their daily business. If I don't go to work, I don't get paid. It's not heroic; it's practicality.
'Almost everyone I knew texted. Are you safe? Are you okay? I was in Ireland. It continued for two days'
ALEXANDRA McGUINNESS, WRITER AND ACTRESS
I live around the corner from Shepherd's Bush, where one of the failed tube attacks took place, and I know a few people who live around Tavistock Square as well.
Luckily, I left London three days before the first attack. I was in Ireland, but almost everyone I knew texted me to check if I was all right. It continued for two days. Are you safe? Are you okay? I hadn't heard what had happened, and then I watched the news. It's like it was when the Twin Towers fell; everyone grasping to see if people they know are all right.
I'm not fearful, and I think people shouldn't let it get to them in that way, but I would feel more uncomfortable taking the tube now. I think you just look at everybody a little differently. The city is such a melting pot; the fact that they're British and young, it makes you think differently about people around you.
'We can't switch off when "Big Brother" comes on'
GERALDINE DENING, ARCHITECT
The 7th for me was a two-hour walk across London, through hordes of walkers flooding from the opposite direction, huddling round TVs on the pavement, and a hitch to Luton airport with a random knight in a shiny VW: humanity at its best. I made my plane, and the first of many discoveries about my emotional relationship to London. I couldn't bear to leave, as if torn from a loved one when they're sick. I experienced the shock, but not the catharsis. I was in limbo, longing to return.
It wasn't until the second round that I felt any fear; the event was no longer isolated but a continuing situation. I was evacuated, and narrowly missed the shooting in Stockwell.
I continue to take the tube, partly through defiance and partly to face my own fears. This already bizarre, dislocated environment has generated a fascinating state of heightened awareness of ourselves and those around us. Suddenly we are fully involved, and in it together. Now terrorism isn't something we can switch off when Big Brother comes on.
'It's a long walk to my office, but I can do it'
EMER PATTEN, TV PRODUCER
I don't do normal office hours, so I'm fortunate enough to miss rush-hour traffic every day, and like most people I heard about the first attacks on the radio. My phones were down, so I set off on the 40-minute walk to work to see that everyone was okay. I'd never seen anything like the volume of people on the streets.
There have been a number of tube strikes over the past number of years, so people have had to figure out ways of getting home on their own steam, but everything was good-natured, and the police response was incredible. By that night, the whole city was up and running again. People were getting on with it.
I'll still take public transport, but if I'm really honest, I think I'm going to walk more. It's a long walk to my office, but I can do it.
The thing that really rattled me in the last wave was that it was so close to home. Oval tube station is right around the corner from where I live, and Stockwell, where the police shot the Brazilian man, is fairly local as well. It's really on everyone's doorstep.
'Should I just take the children and go home?'
CLARE REIHILL, EDITORIAL DIRECTOR, FOURTH ESTATE
My 14-year-old daughter was on a bus in Shepherd's Bush when they were evacuating the tube station. She's just beginning to go out and about in the city in an independent way, and it kind of knocked me back a bit. But she wanted to get out again the next day - quite fearless, I thought - even though she'd experienced all this chaos on the streets. I feel like telling her not to take the bus, but that's against my better judgment. I know I've got to let her get out. This is her city as well. She has grown up here, whereas I didn't, and in a way I'm more fearful of London than she is.
I was here in the 1980s when the IRA bombings were happening, and I remember not getting served in the shop after the Harrods bomb. They said I could take my custom elsewhere. And now I think they feel the Irish terrorists were so benign in comparison. They were never necessarily prepared to lose their own lives planting bombs. How do you fight this, when someone is prepared to give up their own life? And that they're British, too. I do really feel for British Muslims. I remember sitting in pubs here after IRA bombs, and being horrified, but at the same time I could feel inside me boiling at the anti-Irish stuff. It brings out something in you that you don't know is there.
I'm more wary now. It's not talked about much, but there's a genuine fear in the air. For the first time, it has occurred to me: "Should I just take the children and go home, because I have this other country that I belong to?" At night, when things always seem more scary, I start to think: "What if this city turns into Jerusalem?" I don't come from here. I could always just go home. But the children wouldn't. Their lives are here.
It's funny, when we were growing up in the north of Ireland, our parents hoped that we would leave. Now to be thinking of returning - for that to be the peaceful place - it's a kind of irony, really.
'I felt the threat most during the minute's silence, which lasted six or seven minutes'
TRACY YAVERVAUN, WORKS IN ADVERTISING
I get into work quite early and was already at my desk in the West End when the first reports of a "technical fault" on the tube came through. We spent the day clicking on the refresh button of news websites, texting our friends, making sure everyone we knew was all right. Afterwards we all congregated in the basement of a Soho pub - it felt like a bunker - to watch the news and then I got a taxi home.
It only sank in the next day, when you had to think about how you would get to work. I walked to work. It took an hour and 20 minutes. It was the first time I remember being in London and somebody I didn't know said hello to me. There was recognition in people's eyes. There are so many police and security checks everywhere now.
It should make you feel safer but it just reminds you of the imminent threat. I felt it most a week after the bombs, during the minute's silence, which in Soho went on for six or seven minutes. I just thought about how lucky I was. There is definitely a defiant spirit among my friends here and a determination not to let these events change the way they live. Being around people with this attitude makes me feel more resilient. Though I do know people who refuse to get on the tube. My mother is worried about me being in London and calls me even more than usual, but I don't intend to leave.