‘We'll never forget': How London marked the 20th anniversary of the 7/7 bombings

Telegraph

07-07-2025

Thelma Stober was drifting in and out of consciousness by the time two men appeared, coming towards her through the darkness carrying a stretcher. She was trapped underneath the carriage at Aldgate station; part of the train door was impaled in her right thigh, and her left foot was twisted backwards. Terrified she would be presumed dead and left behind, she had tried to wriggle to safety but found she couldn't move. Two men – her 'guardian angels', as she now calls them – spotted her in the wreckage. One stayed with her and kept her talking, the other went to get help.
'Eventually, after what seemed like such a long time, two men came with a stretcher and took me out.'
But it wasn't until today, 20 years later, at a service at St Paul's Cathedral, that Stober met the men who carried her to safety.
Standing outside the cathedral, moments after meeting them inside, she seems quietly stunned. 'In January, when the BBC programme [about the 7/7 attacks] came out, I saw myself for the first time being taken on a stretcher up the stairs out of the station,' she says. 'They were the ones.'
Stober, who lost a foot in the attack and suffered internal injuries, was 38-years-old on July 7 2005 when she stepped onto a Tube to go to work and, unknowingly, stood next to a man called Shehzad Tanweer. Tanweer was about to detonate one of four bombs that would bring death and devastation to the capital in a coordinated attack – the worst act of terrorism Britain had seen since Lockerbie, and the country's first Islamist suicide attack.
Stober's life changed irrevocably that day, and tied her for evermore to those four strangers who helped her, as well as the 770 who were wounded and the 52 who lost their lives.
When the bomb went off, Stober, a lawyer who had spent the previous night celebrating London winning the 2012 Olympics, having worked on the bid, was thrown onto the tracks. 'When I woke up and I found myself partially underneath the train, I tried to get up. When there's a disaster, they try to save people who are alive, so I thought if I was still lying there they would think that I was dead,' she says.
Tony Silvestro, a plain clothes police officer, spotted her. 'He said 'lie down because you might have significant internal injuries.''
Moments later, Colin Pettet, a passenger who was unharmed, noticed Stober as he was being escorted across the tracks and made a beeline for her. 'He came and sat by me and used his jacket to cover me because my clothes were burnt. He kept asking me questions. 'What's your name? Are you married?'
'I remember it vividly. I said to him, 'Why did you ask me all those questions?' What I found out is that I was in and out of consciousness, and he was trying to keep me alive.'
Pettet would later tell an inquest how he struggled to find help for Stober, saying she was, 'screaming to me that she was dying'.
Prince William comforts the families of victims
Outside the cathedral, where the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh and Sir Keir Starmer joined mourners to mark the anniversary, Pettet finds Stober to tell her how brave she has been. In the service, she stood before the congregation with Saba Edwards, the daughter of Behnaz Mozakka, who died in the King's Cross bomb, and read out the names of all those who lost their lives. While they spoke, 52,000 white paper petals floated from the dome of St Paul's over people's heads, spiralling slowly to the ground like gentle snowfall.
Pettet and Stober embrace. She calls over her son, Lewis, to have him take a photograph of them. 'You've got taller since I last saw you,' she tells Pettet. 'You've got shorter,' he replies. They part ways – Stober has to get across town for the next service in Hyde Park, where she will accompany Prince William in a wreath-laying ceremony at the 7/7 memorial. They smile at one another and wave goodbye, their eyes conveying what words cannot.
At a series of memorial services across the capital, attended by survivors, victims' families, and members of the emergency services, there was a shared disbelief that two decades have passed since that terrible day, when terror ripped through London.
The day began with a wreath-laying ceremony at the 7/7 memorial, attended by the Prime Minister, London Mayor, Sir Sadiq Khan, and Metropolitan Police Commissioner, Mark Rowley.
The service of commemoration at St Paul's followed, with Tony Blair, who was prime minister at the time of the attack, Theresa May and Kemi Badenoch among the congregation.
Later, at the memorial in Hyde Park, Prince William joined a smaller gathering – just survivors and bereaved family members – for an intimate ceremony where the Prince sat among mourners and listened to speeches.
Afterwards, he seemed to melt into the crowd, putting his arm around those that needed comfort, taking pictures with others, and offering words of solace to people who appreciated his presence.
Martin Hart lost his father, Giles, in the bus explosion in Tavistock Square. The Prince stood talking to him and his girlfriend, Lauren Malone, for a few minutes after the service.
'He asked who we were here for, which I thought was really nice,' says Malone. 'He didn't just say hello and walk away, he asked who we were here for and asked us how we were feeling. We were really grateful for his time and attention.
'He spoke about how it's great to see the power of community and wished us well. He felt like a participant rather than someone off to the side which I appreciated.'
For Hart, the anniversary is always a 'tough' day. 'But it's good to be around people with similar stories.'
Kemi Lasisi-Ajao, who works in Transport for London's incident care team, was working in the Royal London Hospital on July 7, and was inspired to work for TfL after seeing the victims coming through accident and emergency. She joined two months later.
She told the PA news agency that it was an honour to meet the Prince, telling him how she had shaken the late Queen's hand when she visited after the attack. He responded: 'Wow, are you kidding? Twenty years ago you met my grandmother.'
Stober sat next to the Prince, who appeared to be a reassuring presence at her side during this final, emotional event of the day. Addressing the crowd, she spoke of her continued disbelief that what had been a 'beautiful blue sky morning' had turned to devastation. She spoke of the injuries she still lives with (in 2019, shrapnel was found lodged in her brain) and described what happened as 'an assault on fundamental democratic principles that are essential to a free society.'
You could quite understand why, after all this time, she might not want to stand in front of hundreds of people and once again go over the trauma she experienced. But earlier in the day, at St Paul's, Stober, 58, tells The Telegraph why she feels it is essential to tell her story. 'I can stand here today and talk to you,' she says.
'Fifty-two people were killed by a reckless act of evil. As we read their names, 52,000 petals were dropped. Even though they are not with us, we'll never forget them.
'When I speak, I speak not just on behalf of the survivors, but also on behalf of those who lost their lives.
'At the end of the day, as much as we've got challenges to navigate, we're here. Those are lives lost. Parents, children, lost forever. What would their lives have been today? They've never had that opportunity.'
During the service at St Paul's, the Very Rev Andrew Tremlett, the Dean of St Paul's, spoke of 7/7 as 'a moment that left deep scars in the soul of our capital'. He urged a renewal of a 'shared commitment to peace, justice and reconciliation', while Dame Sarah Mullally, the Rt Rev Bishop of London, spoke of the 'extraordinary spirit of survival' displayed by Londoners that day.
Philip Duckworth, a survivor of the Aldgate bomb, said a prayer 'for all those who witnessed devastation, and for those whose lives were forever changed'.
For many, the day offered the chance to reconnect with people they may not have seen since the last major memorial 10 years ago. Jo, a counsellor who supported bereaved families and survivors in the immediate aftermath of the attack, came to pay her respects to 'the people that had gone', and to see 'how the people who were left behind were doing'.
'We were all part of that same journey. It will be [with them] for their whole life. You never forget it, you just become accustomed to it. It never really goes away.'
Mick Ellis was the incident commander at Holloway fire station on the day of the attack. The things he saw that day have never left him. 'Years of training, years of preparation. You never believe it will happen, and then on that morning I can remember turning into Upper Wayward Place and sitting in the front knowing you were in charge of it, and just thinking: it's happened. It's finally happened.'
He recalls instructing his team to get all the equipment ready while he walked through the wreckage of the bus in Tavistock Square, surveying the scene. 'It was probably the longest walk I've ever done. Everyone was on the floor. It was just not something you can absorb. Everything goes in slow motion. Your brain is trying to compute what's happening and just slows everything down. And then the noise comes.'
He will never forget one man in particular, a young man called Sam Ly, who had been sitting on the top deck and later died of his injuries. 'He was in a tragic state. But I vividly remember him saying to me, 'I was only going to work, all I was doing was going to work'.
'And he couldn't comprehend – nor could any of us – what had happened.'