Moving on

At the moment I don't have to use the Tube for work: as much as I love it and in spite of its faults it's not a pleasnt place with an OD of company. In the summer it's hot down there and in the winter, well, it's hot down there. Last Friday I used it for the first time since the events of Thursday. Eerie it was too.

Virtually empty the Tube cars clattered and rattled against rail, reverberating against the claustrophobic tunnel walls to a crescendo. Passengers usually avoid any kind of eye contact but this time people connected longer than for it to be a momentary lapse in concentration.

Some journalists have suggested this is out of fear or suspicion: is that man a suicide bomber, does that bag belong to her? I disagree. I think people needed some recognition, some non-verbal reassurance from their fellow Londoners of shared feeling and respect: not to the level of a smile or a nod, just an instinctive and brief link. In the aftermath of July 7th Londoners have (temporarily?) lost their social commuting tunnel vision.

In the attempt to terrorise us the bombers have actually prompted a resurrection of blitz spirit and community: it may not show its self for much longer in everyday commuting but in one way that's the whole defiant point and it demonstrates that such spirit is still there 60 years on.