It was 20 years ago yesterday. I took my usual route to the British Library where I had worked since 1997: Herne Hill to King’s Cross Thameslink, a station that no longer exists – or, rather, trains no longer stop there since St Pancras International opened in 2007.

I emerged on Pentonville Road and immediately saw that the King’s Cross mainline station was closed, with the entrance taped off. “Overcrowding”, was my immediate thought – a not uncommon phenomenon. The Police were everywhere but I didn’t stop to ask what was happening. The junction with Euston Road was blocked off, so I turned left and nurdled along the back streets, eventually approaching the Library from the south. To my left, less than half a mile away, was Tavistock Square. I didn’t hear an explosion, so I may have arrived just before the bomb detonated at 9:47 a.m. – or a few minutes afterwards.

When I walked into the Entrance Hall it was already clear that there had been “a major incident”. But no-one mentioned terrorism – yet. I went up to my desk on the second floor and got on with my job, fiddling about with the British Library website.

But not much got done that day

News reports started to come in: some false, as we later discovered, of bombs elsewhere, including at Victoria which my wife used en route to her office in Sloane Square. I was worried, especially when Anne didn’t answer my emails or her office phone. And there was no mobile coverage for several hours.

***

Four years earlier I’d watched from work as the events of 9/11 unfolded. Seeing airliners crash into the twin towers at New York, horrendous though it was, held a gruesome fascination. No-one who watched it on TV on that fateful day will forget it. But this, the worst terrorist atrocity ever seen in England, was almost pathetically mundane. Nothing clever about it. Four devout – or discontented – morons carrying black rucksacks loaded with explosives. They, like me, had arrived in King’s Cross via the Thameslink line, but from the north.

There was a public announcement that the building would be closing early. The entire tube network had been shut down. We had to make our way home as best we could. I started to walk west along Euston Road, away from King’s Cross, with the intention of walking the whole way home. It was a beautiful summer’s day: ideal for a two-and-a-half-hour stroll through central London. I passed other pedestrians in silence. The general mood, as far as I could judge, was calm and quiet.

When we emerged from our daze we vowed that we would not kow-tow; London would prevail, as it always does. The previous evening we had been out celebrating the good news that London would be hosting the 2012 Olympics.

From elation to grief, but no panic

Phones started working again, and Anne rang to say that she had cadged a lift home from Vauxhall Bridge Road. Lucky her! I trudged on via Farringdon, and to my surprise found that trains were running south from Blackfriars to Herne Hill. I have no recollection of that evening but we must all have been glued to the TV – possibly in the pub. The death toll gradually climbed to 52, with hundreds more horribly maimed. Details started to emerge, but we understood that the security services wouldn’t be broadcasting everything they knew.

Two weeks later a copycat attack failed when only the detonators exploded. During the manhunt that followed, Jean Charles de Menezes, an innocent young Brazilian, was shot dead by the Metropolitan Police at Stockwell tube station, a couple of miles from our house. Was this the new normal? Hard to remain stoical, if so. There would surely be a mass exodus from London. Perhaps Anne and I should have spotted the signs of trouble to come and moved away? But in the end, we just carried on as before.

***

Seven years later came the 2012 London Olympics: a great success despite all the security worries, which somehow felt like a long-delayed revenge. London’s diversity, friendliness and good humour were on display for the whole world to see. Anne and I were lucky enough to get tickets for a memorable evening of athletics.

Two fingers to you lot!

***

But I wonder, now that social media has become a well of poisonous lies and stupidity, what would have happened if this dreadful event had taken place today. Of course we had the awful Manchester Arena bombing seven years ago. But it always felt like an insane one-off rather than an attack on critical infrastructure. Iin social media terms it was a long time ago. If the 7/7 attacks had taken place today it would have been one mis-directed backlash after another. The “influencers” who thrive on hatred and ignorance would have had a field day, just for the pleasure of making matters worse. We saw what happened at Southport.

I am not so naive as to be sure that London will never suffer another terrorist attack on such a scale again… but a life of fear is not worth living.