Yesterday marked 15 years since a nail bomb exploded in the Admiral Duncan pub in Soho. I remember that day pretty well as I was moving into a new house with my then boyfriend. We both worked with a forensic team in the Met Police and knew only too well what our colleagues in that area would be dealing with. My godmother was with us on that day and when I mentioned it to her, she told me that her son sometimes drank there with friends. We tried calling him but only got his voicemail. I tried hard not to show her how worried I was as I left a message asking him to call me ASAP. I am not in any way trying to take on any of the worry that the families of the victims must have felt but my godmother and her children had been in my life since I was about 6 weeks old so I was pretty concerned about him.
Happily, he did call back and said that he had been just around the corner from the pub when the bomb went off and was pretty shaken up when he saw the side of a van he was walking past ripple with the shock-wave from the bomb.
Whilst I was (and still am) relieved that he wasn’t injured in the attack, my thoughts are with those who were injured and the families of those who died.