Remembering the 7/7 attack, in Luton with its constant reminder

7/7. The tenth anniversary of Britain’s worst terrorist attack since the 1988 bombing of Pan Am flight 103 over Lockerbie in Scotland. Oddly, though, living in Luton I really don’t need an anniversary to be reminded of that attack.

The bombs, detonated entirely at random, killed 52 innocent people and injured 700 others. It was a gratuitous act, pointless and ultimately futile: nothing was gained and only damage was done.

Although the perpetrators claimed to act in the name of Islam, their victims included Muslims who don’t have anything in common with their point of view. To add insult to injury, as one Muslim survivor pointed out in the Guardian, there is a tendency to treat all Muslims as somehow associated with the guilt of that day, which is particularly hard when one is in fact a victim.

The most awful scenes from the day were naturally of blood-soaked remains or weeping survivors. However, for personal reasons I’m particularly struck by a grainy, indistinct image from a surveillance camera, of a fly-blown, unsightly car park.

That’s because it shows the open parking area outside Luton station. Which was where the bombers left their cars before heading for London, on 7 July 2005.

Surveillance camera shot of the bombers' two cars at Luton station

Another surveillance camera shot: the bombers enter Luton station
Travelling to London to end their own lives while
killing 52 innocent civilians and injuring 700 others

At the time, I wasn’t living in Luton. But I arrived a few years later, and the station is one of the places that I tend to go to or through pretty frequently, whether I’m going to London or just into the town centre. And it always bothers me that this was the place, fifteen minutes walk from my home, where the last stage of that fatal voyage started. It’s almost as though I ought to feel guilty, or at least partly responsible, for what happened next.

The place doesn’t look anything like it did then. It’s hardly become breathtakingly attractive – it’s an open-air bus station – but at least it isn’t quite as run down as it was. Not quite as dishevelled. Not quite as appropriate a setting for such shameful deeds.

The same area today.
Hardly a scene of beauty, but somewhat less desolate

But it still acts as a baleful reminder to me each time I pass.

Time to chill

You have nothing to fear but fear itself Franklin Roosevelt told us. And in that spirit I have to say that little frightens me quite as much as how frightened we seem to be these days.

It’s doing us a huge amount of damage. We’re all worried sick about the Italian economy, so the fearful people with enough money to make a difference start trying to unload Italian bonds, so the yield rises, so it becomes more expensive for the Italian state to service its debts, so the economy gets worse. And yet, at root, the problem is only fear. If we all just said, ‘hey, it’s the Italians, it’s part of their charm,’ and had another glass of Barolo, the problem would be well on the way to resolution.

Exactly the same is true of terrorism. There was lots of fear last week about the fact that the passport officers would be on strike on Wednesday, opening our borders, or so it was claimed, to all sorts of sinister characters. There were calls for passport officers to lose the right to strike.

The 9/11 bombers got into the US through fully-staffed passport control checkpoints. What on earth difference did they make?  The bombers who attacked London on 7/7 2005 were born and bred in this country. They didn’t even need to go through passport control.

Besides, 7/7 cost 52 lives, and there have been no other deaths from terrorism in Britain since. Over that period, nearly 12,000 people have been killed on the roads. So if you’re concerned about saving lives, shouldn’t you start by banning cars rather than limiting the right to strike?

In any case, none of that is the point. The right to strike may be immensely irritating when it’s exercised, but it’s still a fundamental right. Before it was recognised as fundamental, we lived in societies which were significantly uglier than today’s – the occasional inconvenience seems a price well worth paying to block any move back towards those times.

I never tire of quoting Benjamin Franklin, who was bang on the money when he said ‘he who would give up a fundamental freedom for a little temporary security deserves neither freedom nor security’.

This constant striving for safety is bound to fail anyway. I recently quoted Eliza Manningham Buller, former heady of the British Security Service MI5, from her second Reith lecture of 2011. Let’s look at what she said in the third:

‘It’s important to keep a rational perspective on terrorist risk. Bin Laden must have known that 9/11 would make this especially difficult, for at least two reasons: the endless images of the horror, recycled and replayed round the clock by the 24 hour media, and the unrealistic view that society can become risk free. The world is full of risks and dangers, only some of which can be reduced.’

That’s right. Anyone who wants to live in a risk-free world shouldn’t be in this world at all.

So if you’re scared about terrorism, just remember it’s extremely unlikely to affect you. Worried about car crashes? Don't, you're probably not going to be involved in one. As for anxiety about the Euro, bear in mind that stoking up the general sense of panic may make the very thing you fear more likely.

Not perhaps an answer to our woes,
but a great palliative

So my advice? Relax. Chill. Open that bottle of Barolo and set about emptying it. You may do the Italian economy some good, and yourself a lot more.

Iconic Places of the World: Luton Station

Paris has the Eiffel Tower, New York the Empire State Building, Rome the Coliseum. And Luton has its station.

Iconic buildings. They sum up something essential about the places in which they stand. Grace and elegance in Paris, majesty and power in New York, the pride and glory of the ancient world in Rome. And charm wrapped in shabbiness for Luton.

Because Luton has about the ugliest station in England. It’s run down, windswept, bleak. It even has terrible associations. You know those ghastly grainy CCTV pictures you get whenever there’s a major crime? The ones that show the victim just before the murder or the perpetrator just before the act? Well, the only thing that ever made Luton Station famous was the CCTV footage of the 7/7 suicide bombers heading to London to cause the carnage that cost 52 lives in July 2005.

7/7 bombers entering Luton Station

It’s gruesome seeing the pictures. In the background, behind the bombers, is the place where I chain up my bike when I cycle to the station. Chilling.

So far, then, not a lot to commend the place. And yet there is on platform 4 a café and newsagent with the most cheerful barista it has ever been my pleasure to meet. Really. He has a warm and ready smile for every customer, while making each one feel special. ‘Seeing you,’ he seems to be saying, ‘is just the most unexpected and extraordinary pleasure.’

He gets to know your habits within a visit or two: there was a day when I didn’t want a latte but took one anyway because, seeing me in the queue, he’d started preparing mine while he served the other customers. The other morning I missed my train because I couldn’t bear to drag myself away before he’d finished making the coffee (it wasn’t a problem: I was on time anyway and, in any case, I’m changing jobs at the end of this month. It's amazing how knowing I'm not going to be around much longer reduces my stress at the prospect of being late).

It’s reached a point where I'm disappointed if I ever have to catch a train from a different platform.

And that’s why the station represents Luton so well. It may be ugly and flyblown outside, but it has unsuspected charms in the little gems beneath.

So you can keep the London Eye or the Brandenburg Gate. I’ll settle for my fine latte in Luton station, with a nice fresh Guardian to read in the train, all served with a broad smile and a ‘How are you today?’ that suggests it actually matters to find out.