7/7: The Angels Of Edgware Road, Sunday, Channel 4 IT SEEMS pointless talking about any programme broadcast over the weekend other than 7/7: The Angels Of Edgware Road. Everything else just looks so unimportant by comparison. Thi
s was the almost unbearably moving story of the ordinary people who came to the aid of their fellow passengers following the London Underground suicide bombings on 7 July, 2005.
I'm the last person to express an overly-sentimental platitude, but listening to the recollections of these selfless people was truly humbling. The thing that struck me most was how unthinking they were in their bravery: rather than choose the perfectly natural option of running for safety, they heard the anguished cries of injured strangers and decided instantaneously to stay and help as best they could. None of them really knew why they acted in the way they did; who could possibly imagine or explain their reactions to such an atrocity?
We all like to assume that we'd act heroically in times of extreme crisis, but for most of us our innate survival instinct would kick in and we'd do everything we could to escape and return to our loved ones.
Dazed passengers such as Jackie Putnam talked of her guilt over not helping her fellow passengers, but she has absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. No-one who survived that terrible day does.
Those who did help, including teacher Tim Coulson, certainly don't feel braver or better for doing what they did. They're just as shocked and traumatised as everyone else.
Coulson was travelling on the passing train that came to a standstill as soon as the blast hit the adjacent carriage. He was part of the group of passengers who broke through the thick safety glass separating the two trains. Once inside, amid the darkness, dust and screams, he went to help anyone he could find. One horrifically injured stranger died in his arms. He then stayed with another passenger, Alison, who he held and talked to until emergency services arrived. In times like these, basic human contact can bridge the gulf between life and death.
Military man Jason Rennie found himself in a similar situation, as he cared for the seriously injured David Gardner. An amateur actor, Gardner was rehearsing his lines for a forthcoming production of Julius Caesar at the time of the blast. Even as he lay there rapidly losing blood, he thought about the play. I suppose the human mind retreats into places of comfort and understanding when confronted with such madness. Rennie held Gardner's hand and engaged in constant conversation in an effort to keep him focused. Banalities, small-talk, simple common interests, even just hearing a stranger say your name, all of these things became unimaginably important as they lay there waiting for help.
The bonds that were forged endure to this day. People like Susanna Pell, who also administered aid to the injured, said that her own unexpected actions and those of her fellow passengers have actually affirmed her faith in human nature. This was the good that arose from such horror.
Reading aloud from a beautifully worded letter of thanks that he received from Alison, the woman whose life he most probably saved, the softy-spoken Coulson broke down, and through his tears summed up the sentiments of all those involved.
"It's hard to hear people tell you how brave you've been, because you don't believe it.
"You don't do it to be brave, really. You do it because you care for human beings."
The full article contains 600 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
