Reflection on 7 July 2005

Here is a blog, I wrote for the BMA's Intranet. I thought might resonate with those who remember the attacks on London in 2005.

Warning: Please be aware that this blog contains first-hand descriptions of the events that took place in London on 7 July 2005. Please do not read if you feel this could trigger any trauma you may have suffered.

There are many long-serving BMA staff who pitched up to work on 7 July 2005 as normal to face a day we would never forget. There were many who saw things that can't be unseen. Those who went above and beyond to help.

The staff and members who helped on that day were incredible. On the anniversary I always pause and remember that day. This year I thought I would share my story. It is not one of heroism but one of fear, sadness, and survivor's guilt.

In 2005, I worked two days a week at the BMA. I remember being excited to go to work that day as London had just been awarded the Olympics and it felt exciting to be part of that. My commute was a long one as I was living in Nottingham at the time. And while the trains were normally reliable, that day there was some sort of problem which meant I was late for work.

My train arrived at Thameslink station on Pentonville Road around 9.20 am. As I walked out onto the street, it was clear that this was no ordinary day. Kings Cross station was being evacuated and Euston Road was full of pedestrians who had stopped the traffic.

I was listening to snippets of conversations as I walked to BMA House. Some people were talking of a major electrical failure, others of a fire. But there was no sense of this being a terrorist attack.

My normal route to work would have been to walk up Euston Road and turn left down Upper Woburn Place, but because of the congestion, I weaved through the backstreets of Bloomsbury to the rear entrance of BMA House on Burton Street.

This decision saved me the horror of walking past the bus which had exploded minutes before my arrival.

I had a friend that wasn't so lucky. He was stood outside the front of the building, when the bomb went off, waiting for his girlfriend who had been caught up in the chaos at King's Cross. Other colleagues based at the front of the building also witnessed hugely traumatic scenes.

From our office on the 4th?floor, some of my team saw the roof of the bus ejected into the air and the horrifying aftermath. While many staff were traumatised by the things they saw that day, we were all so thankful that none of us were physically injured.

When I arrived, the building was being evacuated. I quickly met up with colleagues huddled together at the evacuation point on Burton Street. We were so pleased to see familiar faces, confirming that they were safe. At the same time, we were deeply worried about absent colleagues.

Mobile networks were down in the aftermath of the attacks which meant it was impossible to tell loved ones that you were safe. Sophie, my wife, was at a playgroup with our children when she heard that a bomb had gone off at BMA House. In her mind, the building had collapsed with me in it. There was no way of letting her know I was OK.

As we waited outside BMA House, there was plenty of misinformation flying around. It felt like the city was under continual attack. Confusion about the location of each explosion made it seem like there had been many more attacks. At one point we were moved further back from the building. People became worried that we could be moving into the area of another attack.

And then the fear began to subside, many of us went quiet. I started to feel guilty. Why was I cowering outside the building when people needed help? In my head, I knew that the doctor first responders and the emergency services were in a much better place to help. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was a coward.

We stood at BMA House until at least midday. I handed out some cakes I had brought in as it was my birthday that week which helped pass a little bit of time. And then one of the fire marshals said we should make our way home.

With all public transport suspended this was going to be especially difficult for me as I was based in Nottingham. Happily, a colleague offered me the sofa of her flat in Muswell Hill. A 6-mile walk. On the way, we passed a payphone?where I managed to get in touch with my family to tell them I was safe.

The walk?through London was strange as there was little traffic, just lots of people walking away from the city like in a disaster movie.

By the time we had got to my friend's flat, some public transport had started up again and I managed to get home that night.

We weren't set up to work from home in the same way we are now, so the next two weeks were difficult mainly because of the isolation. The feeling of guilt stayed with me. Why didn't I stick to my normal route? Could I have helped just hold the hand of someone that could have died alone? These are the questions that rolled around in my head afterward. Working in the press office didn't help when we were setting up interviews with doctors who had acted heroically.

There were a few sleepless nights in the days and weeks that followed but when we returned to work it got better as we were all able to share our experiences. I began to understand concepts like survivor guilt which are very common following these sorts of experiences. The BMA offered counseling and support at the time, but I found the support of colleagues who had been there the most useful.

One reason for sharing my story is just to remind everyone that works here that we have an association with the events of 7 July that runs deep and if you have long-serving colleagues that are a little subdued on 7 July – they might be reflecting on that horrible day 16 years ago.

If you would like to take a moment to reflect on the events of 7/7 you can watch this?short digital film?that will be available from noon.