Beverli Rhodes

The day we were blown up....
I recall it was a murky, damp hazy and unseasonably cool in the early morning of 7th July being a Thursday, in 2005.

I got onto my later train that day, on the London Underground system (LU, known colloquially as "the Tube") little knowing what I was to face.

I soon realized that the smoke from fires within the deep tunnels, which are up to 30 m below the surface, would have nowhere to go except the stations. The tunnels gave us a mere clearance of only 15 cm around the train. The deep tunnels are 3.5metres in diameter, which felt even smaller to me, like trying to push a sausage through a piece of macaroni!

The extreme explosion seemed to gain additional power and force, by being detonated in a confined space. The sparks and debris bounced and trickled it way along the steel line of the carriage, the bogey acting as an anchor, lay buckled and broken.

Silence for minutes...
I was deeply afraid to look around me after I became conscious again. It was about 10 minutes at most from the time of the sudden stopping and the plunge, being thrown forward – then nothing but a ping sound and blackness, deathly quiet, just a small sound of ringing in my ears.

There was silence for a few seconds.

Then, at first quite low and soft, terrible screaming from somewhere in the tunnel.

I heard my voice and other voices saying: "Don't panic, keep calm". I took a woman's hand and we struggled to stand. Disoriented, unable to see or breather, almost as if we'd been plunged into the bowels of the earth, I scrambled to my feet.

I felt a warm sponging feeling in my face and in my mouth. I clenched my teeth and realised that they were not where they should be. Where were they then? I felt feverishly with my tongue, found the bottom teeth. I took all my strength left in my face and squashed them back into place.

Using the light from my opened flip-top mobile phone handset, we were just able to make out a feint outline of each other.


Time to escape ...
Those of us who could still walk, moved forward in single file. The driver forced open his door, pulled out the steel stairs from a hidden place under the train – our escape stairs, ready and waiting.


I notice as I looked through my teary eyes, an enhanced and increased type of power. My so-called 'compartment injuries' were more from within. Some of us in my carriage were badly affected by inhalation of smoke and dust, hence my left lung tumors, called “the little passenger”



Have a look at an interview on the day at the memorial to those that lost their lives on:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/8141155.stm