On July 7, 2005 – the day that would henceforth be known to the British as 7/7 – I was strolling south across London Bridge, ear buds connected to a portable radio, when the music stopped short for breaking news of four co-ordinated bombings on public transport. It was the second time in five years (the first being 9/11) that I'd hustled into work under clouds of grief and chaos, even if both mornings had been radiant.
That afternoon, having achieved next to nothing, I joined the masses migrating back home by foot along London Bridge. For most of us, the journey would take an hour or more. And yet, I remember stopping alongside a crowd gathered at the guardrail to gaze worshipfully at the impeccable dome of St. Paul's Cathedral, looming to the west. It's a view that never quits.
The spellbinding presence of St. Paul's might have been on the minds of Canadians Christine Archibald and Tyler Ferguson as they crossed London Bridge two weeks ago in the twilight. Or perhaps their gazes were directed toward captivating Southwark Cathedral, pointing heavenward from the south bank of the Thames. London may not have much of a skyline, but it lights its grand monuments with Hollywood skill.
St. Paul’s Cathedral lit up at night.
visitlondonimages/britainonview/Pawel Libera
We've been reminded since childhood of London Bridge's proverbial falling down. Yet, no matter what the terror threat, few were prepared for a calamity of this scale outside a station more than 130,000 passengers pass through daily. The area is simply too essential to Londoners – and that is as true now as it was to the Romans 2,000 years ago.
But the bridge has not fallen. Nor can we carry around the dread that it might.
For how much more tragic it would be were we to deny ourselves the pleasures that exist just minutes from the banks of the Thames. Like the intense chili hot chocolate at Rabot 1745 on tiny Bedale Street – perhaps with a shot of St. Lucian rum, so tempting you'll burn your mouth on it then go in for another sip regardless. Or a cup of Finca Malacara Salvadoran coffee from Monmouth on nearby Park Street, so superior to the chains you won't resent the 10 people ahead of you in line or the perfectionist baristas methodically serving them.
How sad it would be to renounce the thousand-year-old Borough Market, cloudy with the fug of Brindisa's sizzling Spanish barbecue, firing up its legendary chorizo sandwiches, or the delicate custard doughnuts at Bread Ahead – the bakers there sweep a new batch from the oven every day at 2 p.m., just as the lunch crowds have started to dissipate.
London’s Borough Market.
Diana Jarvis/Visit England
What a shame to turn down tickets to fringe theatre amid the Victorian iron columns of the Menier Chocolate Factory on Southwark Street, before news that the show has transferred to the West End and nobody can get their hands on any. Or a vertiginous climb to the Old Operating Theatre Museum, in a garret on St. Thomas Street, where medical students of the Georgian era observed as surgeons performed limb amputations before the advent of anesthetic.
How rotten to have to veto a promenade along cobbled Clink Street to the Golden Hinde, a reconstruction of Francis Drake's triumphant wood galleon, docked on the river behind Southwark Cathedral. Or a tour of the luminous 12th century cathedral itself, open, they used to say, to "princes and paupers, prelates and prostitutes, poets, playwrights, prisoners and patients," and now a vociferous champion of gay rights in the clergy.
How unfortunate to turn down a pint of Punk IPA at the George, a coaching inn on Borough High Street, with its sagging Tudor-era courtyard gallery and creaking oak floors. Or a dash around the back of Guy's Hospital to gape upward at the glass point of the Shard, the tallest tower for nearly 3,000 kilometres. What a waste to merely fantasize about the $60 lunch of rose champagne shrimp dumplings and beef tenderloin at Hutong, on the Shard's 33rd floor, where the glass-walled bathrooms give you an exhibitionist's thrill while you pee and every table has a full-height view all the way to the shires.
An early evening view of London’s South Bank, London Bridge and city skyline, from Waterloo Bridge.
britainonview/ Society of London Theatre/ Pawel Libera
What a pity it would be to forego the view to St. Paul's from London Bridge in the moments after sunset.
So don't. Many of us are programmed to imagine the worst that can happen – but hasn't it already? Don't let your imagination turn against you.
Like that classic 1940 photo of a woman sipping from her cup of tea atop the rubble of a Blitzed house, Londoners will carry on – have already carried on – as usual. Stiffen that upper lip of yours and join them.