London may not be able to move on from July 7th

LONDONERS' RESPONSE: London reacted to the reality of more terror attacks yesterday with a distinct tremble of its stiff upper lip.

Defiance, equanimity and sorrow were still the main emotions, but for the first time since the July 7th bombings, perhaps, these sentiments were interleaved with expressions of anger, weariness and even fear.

The simple act of taking the Tube took on Herculean proportions yesterday, what with the Circle, Hammersmith and City lines all closed and four other lines partially suspended. Thousands of commuters faced gridlock during the morning and evening rush-hours as the Tube was abandoned in favour of the car.

The chaos underground was made worse by the withdrawal of labour by some Tube drivers on Thursday, a decision interpreted by some as evidence that the fear quotient was increasing.

Those that did make it on to one of the functioning lines had about them a new watchfulness. Absent was that middle-distance gaze found on underground systems everywhere, indeed any place where people are tightly packed together and wish to avoid interaction with their neighbours.

In its place, there seemed to be among passengers a newfound interest in their fellow travellers. Especially if they happened to look Asian. Especially if they were carrying a rucksack.

It seemed the slightest unexpected event - an unscheduled stop, a station announcement - caused heads to turn, as if this could presage another awful event.

London wants to move on from July 7th, but may not be able to. Outside Edgware Road Underground station, scene of one of the bombings on that day, sympathisers have left flowers, most still in their plastic wrapping, in two neat piles.

The station is closed, a sign says, "for essential maintenance". In a politely worded notice, posted before Thursday's repeat attacks, the authorities declared their intention to remove the flowers today, as if their mere disposal might put an end to the nightmare.

There are Union Jacks aplenty, and signs declaring that "Muslims condemn this barbaric attack".

"Dear Osama," reads one message, "thank you for making me even more determined to love my neighbours."

But there is anger, too, as in a verse entitled "To the enemy within":

You may tread on our hope

Wherever we go,

But our hope will grow and grow.

You may tread on our glory

With your twisted mind,

But you will never be a winning kind.

You may tread on our hearts

You cowardly kind,

But your love will never shine.

Across the road, at the Hamada hairdressers, the Tunisian staff don't want to talk; they even try to pretend they're from Bangladesh. It's the same elsewhere; Muslims don't want to discuss their reaction to the bombings and its effect on them.

At Paddington station, rail travellers are quitting the capital after another long week. The trains are running on time and the station bristles with normality. Only the team of police in the hi-viz vests and their sniffer dogs looked out of place.

In a big city, not everyone has felt the tension of the past week. Welshman Craig Douglas said he hadn't suffered any disruption during the week; besides, "there's nothing you can do about that sort of thing. It's part and parcel of modern life."

Gillian Blake, on her way to visit her parents in Cornwall, says: "Life will carry on as normal. All that 'stiff upper lip' stuff is true". She praises the softly-softly approach of the London police.

"I've just moved back from New York and I felt much more uneasy there. It was unnerving when they put policemen in every carriage on the subway.

"I suppose this will go on for some time," she adds with a sigh.

Newspaper seller Aidan Harty points to the "Bomber Shot Dead" headline on the Evening Standard and gives his reaction: "Good job, mate, I say. It's not just blokes what are say that, birds are too."

"Get them" shouts another Standard headline.

"Shoot first, ask questions later, just like in Northern Ireland," his friend chimes in. "This lot are worse than the IRA; at least they gave warnings."

Asked if he feels in danger personally, Mr Harty replies: "Yes and no. You think, nah, that could never happen to me. Then, the next minute, you're looking at someone and wondering.

"Look, now," he says, "look at that Pakistani guy, he's got something funny on his belt." But the man has disappeared before I can get paranoid.

On Praed Street, the buses are busy, though most passengers are sitting downstairs; the July 7th bus bomb and this week's botched effort happened on the upper deck.

"People would rather take the bus than the Tube," a West Indian bus inspector tells me. "The underground is more scary. On a bus, people feel they can run, not that they can run," he says, laughing, before asking me if I know the latest score in the test between England and Australia.