London Pride
‘THAT was my city on the TV screens. I know Woburn place well. Tavistock Square is an old haunt, the café in the middle a great place to sit and watch the world go by.
Russell Square station is a short walk from Coram Fields, where I take my daughters on the swings, to feed the goats and chase the sheep that are let loose to chomp on the grass already flattened by childrens feet.
Now it was on the telly. Places I knew well were being looked at by people all over the world.
One bulletin showed us what Americans were watching on their screens. The No. 30 bus, the one I never want to catch, that stops a little too far from where I want to go but still just beats walking, was destroyed.
And all around were faces. Those hurt by the bombs. And those hundreds more walking home, thinking how it could have them or someone they loved or just knew.
Many had their stories to tell. Had they not been late for work… Had they not stopped to buy a paper… Had they not dawdled… Near misses.
But once wed stopped to take a look, we soon begin to move on.
People were patient. No-one pushed. No-one shouted. No-one scowled at another. This wasnt the aimless meandering of the shell-shocked, but something deliberate.
No panic. No histrionics. No unwanted fuss. Londoners got on with things. One stop in front of the other, walking to and fro.
Thinking about the dead and injured. But getting on with it…
Paul Sorene’
Posted: 8th, July 2005 | In: Reviews Comment | TrackBack | Permalink
