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Telegraph
07-07-2025
- Telegraph
I lost half my body on 7/7 – but every day I remind myself how lucky I am
On the morning of the July 7 bombings in 2005, marketing manager Martine Wright was working her way from Harringay, north London, to her office at St Katherine Docks near the Tower of London. It was later than usual – the previous night she had been out celebrating with her work colleagues following the news that London had won its bid to host the 2012 Olympics, and she'd overslept. There was a signal failure on the Northern Line, and the 52-year-old had what she now describes as her 'sliding doors moment'. 'I thought, 'Am I going to get off, go above ground and get the bus to Tower Hill, or shall I stay on the Tube?' I decided to stay on, and so one of my last memories was running up the escalator at Moorgate, turning right at the top and seeing the Circle Line train in the platform, running towards it and thinking, 'What a result.'' As she was rushing, she didn't get on her usual carriage, but her favourite seat was free – one in the corner. She picked up a paper, filled with jubilant articles about the Olympics, and pondered buying tickets for the opening ceremony. Then the bomb went off. 'I don't remember a noise, or a big bang. What I do remember is a flash of light, and it was a light that was all-consuming for a second. I remember thinking, 'What the hell is going on?'' Shehzad Tanweer, a 22-year-old Muslim extremist from the Leeds suburb of Beeston, had detonated a bomb hidden in a rucksack, as part of a coordinated attack on London that killed 52 people and injured hundreds more. Disorientated, Martine found herself surrounded by mangled metal and debris from the blast. She was yet to realise she had lost both her legs. 'I just remember, in the beginning, trying to get up, and I thought, 'Why can't I get up?'' Next to her were two survivors: Andrew Brown, electrocuted by live wires, and Kira Mason, with a severed arm. Seven passengers in the carriage had died, along with Tanweer. 'The screams were awful. I can't really describe what they were really like, and then people started to come past. It must have been the station master. He was talking to me through this hole. 'I had no concept of time. I just have memories; this gentleman talking to me, saying, 'It's OK, it's OK'. Everyone's just shouting, 'Help! Help!' 'I remember trying to pull myself out, and then seeing this figure coming up. This was my guardian angel, Liz Kenworthy. I could see Liz, long blonde hair and blue eyes, coming towards me.' Kenworthy was an off-duty police officer, and immediately got to work tending to both Andrew and Martine, gathering anything to use as a tourniquet to stem the bleeding. 'I remember one tourniquet was a belt,' recalls Martine, 'and I remember pulling this belt and thinking I felt like [a character] out of a John Wayne Western, like I used to watch with my dad on Sunday afternoon. And all I kept saying to Liz was, 'Please tell my mum and dad I'm OK.' The irony was that I wasn't OK.' Slowly, the walking wounded were evacuated through the tunnels, leaving only the most severely injured behind. Martine had to be cut out of the twisted metal, although she has no recollection of this. Having lost 80 per cent of her blood, Martine spent over a week in a coma and it took almost two days of anguish before her parents finally found her, having spent the days ringing round the city's hospitals. 'I just remember waking up in [the] Royal London [hospital] eight days later. James, my intensive care nurse, saw that I'd woken up a bit, and had to tell me that I'd lost my legs. I looked down and, you know, I saw half my body gone.' Heavily drugged, Martine went back to sleep, but the next morning reality hit her. 'I thought I was going to die. I wrote a letter [in my head], got the nurse to get me paper, but I couldn't write. I asked to have my ashes scattered on Haad Yao Beach, Koh Phangan – my favourite place in Thailand.' Martine spent 366 days in hospital, firstly at the Royal London and then at Queen Mary's Hospital, Roehampton, in a rehabilitation centre for amputees. Out of all those who survived the bombings – passengers on two other Tube trains and a double-decker bus in Tavistock Square – Martine was the worst injured, and at first felt bitter and resentful. 'I went down to the physio, and met about five or six of the other victims. I looked around that room and I thought, 'Oh, you've got one arm missing, you've got one leg missing, you've got one foot missing. I've lost two legs [above the knee]… Why?' And then I found out that 52 people had died. I had no idea that so many people had died that day.' Martine began talking to the other survivors, who make up what is now known as the 7/7 Club. 'That is a club that you would never choose to belong to, but a club where all you've got to do is walk into a room and see that person's eyes and you've got this deep understanding of each other.' And gradually, amid the trauma of what had happened, Martine discovered a new purpose. 'I suddenly found myself holding hands with people and looking into their eyes, and I felt like I had a role to play, to say, 'It's going to be OK'. And I think now, looking back, that was really important for me in my healing process, thinking, 'I can help people, I'm not useless', reminding people that we were actually the lucky ones.' Martine campaigned for better compensation for the 7/7 victims and, in 2009, discovered wheelchair volleyball. With the help of her physiotherapist, Maggie Uden, she began her journey to compete in the 2012 Paralympics. She was awarded an MBE in 2016 for services to sport, including her work as a role model for amputee athletes, and she also mentors amputees at the Royal London. 'I diverted my anger towards the Government. I met families of those 52 people, they were offered £8,000 each. Bloody ridiculous. I remember meeting Tony Blair and Gordon Brown at the first memorial at St Paul's Cathedral. Tony Blair could not look me in the eye. I thought it's because he couldn't relate to us. But Gordon Brown and Sarah Brown were fantastic. 'I still don't understand why I wasn't really angry towards the bombers. [Mohammad Sidique Khan, 30, Hasib Hussain, 18, Germaine Lindsay, 19, and Tanweer, all died in the attack.] I couldn't get away from the fact they had left their family and left their babies, their children, their wives – they'd been influenced by someone else. [Martine herself has a son, now aged 15.] 'Not a day goes by when I don't think I'm lucky. You know, [Tanweer] was 4ft away from me. I should not be here. And I'm here not just because of me, I'm here because of the love and support I've had. 'Twenty years on, this is normal. This is my life. Maybe five, 10 years on it wasn't normal, but I'm very reflective now. I feel like I could not have done anything in my life to stop what happened, and that actually my life is more enriched, it's better, than it was before. My legs might be shorter, but that's it.' 'I knew it was bad, but I figured she had a chance': the rescuer's story Liz Kenworthy, an officer with the Met Police, was off duty on July 7 2005, heading into London for a conference. Having missed the first train from Broxbourne, Hertfordshire, so she could have a chat with her daughter, Emily, on the platform, Liz arrived at London Liverpool Street station later than planned and then headed to the Circle Line. 'I jumped on the Tube, with my rucksack on my back, my Daily Telegraph under my arm, because it was full of pictures of the excitement of the previous day, and the train pulled out, heading towards Aldgate,' she remembers. 'Very shortly afterwards, there was a sudden crunch; the train came to an abrupt halt.' The lights flickered on and off, and then there was a call on the intercom for anyone medically trained. Thinking that perhaps there had been a collision, Liz made her way through the carriages towards the front of the train. 'The next carriage was very different. There was darkness, there was newspaper blowing around. People injured and covered in dirt started coming towards me.' Reasoning that these were the walking wounded and that there were likely to be more seriously injured passengers further on, she carried on walking through the carriages. Finally, she reached the carriage where the bomb had detonated. 'The cables were coming out of the roof like spaghetti, the train had been disembowelled – the floor was ripped up, and there were bodies. I saw a human back underneath, down below my feet, and a big sheet of metal, which I had to stand on. The body down in the hole was [beyond saving], so I just had to ignore it.' Liz's police training had impressed on her that if there were more than three casualties, her job was to stand back, assess the situation and call for help. Liz sent a text to a colleague: 'Accident Aldgate, I'm OK', but the text didn't send, so Liz crawled into the carriage, finding Martine and Andrew. 'I saw a lady on the right with her feet up. I thought, 'Why is she sitting like that with her feet up on the seat?' Then I realised that it was her shoes up on the sill, not her feet. It was an incredibly confusing scene. 'I didn't compute what had happened initially. Then I realised she was badly hurt, but conscious. The man next to her had lost one of his legs, but he was conscious as well and then, to their left, there was a woman on her back in the debris trapped by her arm, and she was shouting and shouting. 'One of the rules we're taught is: the more people shout, the less help they probably need; if they've got the energy to shout, then let them get on with it. 'So I thought, 'I'll stick with the lady who's lost her feet, and I'll stick with the man, and the lady who's shouting. I'll deal with them.'' Liz worked to stem the bleeding from Andrew Brown's leg, and sent a volunteer with her warrant card to find T-shirts, belts and ties to use as tourniquets. She did her best to comfort and tend to the injured, and could see that Martine was in a critical condition. 'It was bad, but I knew that people from the First World War had their legs blown off in trenches and survived. Obviously, I couldn't tell if she had anything internal, but she was still talking and conscious. I figured she stood a chance.' Some time later, Liz was joined by Sgt Neal Kemp of the City of London Police. Sgt Kemp's arrival took the pressure off Liz, who was exhausted by this point. 'I had probably done about as much as I could. I was starting to flag. I said to Sgt Kemp: 'This is Andy, this is Martine. Remember their names. They're going to live. They're going to be alright, we're going to make sure they get out safely…'' Then approximately 45 minutes after the bombing, the fire brigade arrived. Liz made her way through the tunnel to the surface to see people being treated on the streets. Liz wrote down as much as she could remember while it was still fresh in her mind, and drew a map of the scene on the train. Later, her sergeant came with colleagues and took her statement. 'I gave them the original notes, and I said, 'I can't write anything else.' For a person who loves words, I've never, ever been able to write it down. I can talk to you about it. But I can't write it down.' Understandably, life didn't get back to 'normal' for Liz, as it didn't for so many survivors. 'Once I knew what [the blast] was, I was extremely angry – the idea that someone would do that to people they didn't know, and hurt people that were completely innocent, minding their own business, travelling on a train.' Liz saw someone in occupational health, and talking about it helped a great deal. 'I needed to talk about it and come to terms with not being able to do more, and wishing I could have stopped it. But, I did what I could in the circumstances, and I can't beat myself up over what I did or didn't do, because it's done.' For the remaining years of her service, Liz carried a first aid kit and torch in her backpack during her commute, 'in case it happened again'. She received an MBE for bravery and retired on the 11th anniversary of the attacks, in 2016. Unlike Martine, whom Liz is still in contact with, there is no forgiveness or understanding. There's a deep anger towards the terrorists, and Liz is incredibly blunt in her condemnation. 'They're beneath contempt. They're evil people. I don't care what their cause is. 'They've wasted their own lives. They've caused a lot of hurt and misery, and what have they achieved? Absolutely nothing. You want to blow yourself up. You really want to end up as a carcass in the bottom of a train? You're not a hero. You're just a dead lump of meat with me stepping on you. Me in my shoes, stepping on you. That's how I feel about that.'
Telegraph
07-07-2025
- Politics
- Telegraph
20 years on, the terrorist threat is as great as ever
On July 6 2005, I joined colleagues on the balcony of our office building overlooking St James's Park to see the Red Arrows streak past in a trail of red, white and blue in celebration of London's successful bid to host the 2012 Olympics. Less than 24 hours later, a parallel universe enveloped the capital in a sea of blood and chaos. In the two decades since that day of infamy, how has the threat of violent extremism changed? Are we now equal to its challenge? The suicide bombers who caused carnage on public transport above and beneath the streets of London were acting in the name of al-Qaeda (AQ), the dominant Islamist terror franchise of the day. Fifty-two people were murdered and 700 injured in a co-ordinated attack involving four bombs packed with shrapnel, detonated at four locations. The logistics involved and the prior movements of two of the bombers suggest a high degree of training most experts agree was enabled by senior AQ assets in Pakistan. The motivation for the attack was to influence British foreign policy to force a withdrawal from Iraq and Afghanistan. The threat we face two decades on has arguably mutated to something even greater. Organised group attacks can be devastating but they are also relatively easy to detect. Another co-ordinated bomb attack narrowly failed on July 21 that year, with heightened panic leading to the tragic death of innocent Jean Charles de Menezes. Public co-operation led to the perpetrators being swiftly arrested. Two other multi-handed plots in 2006 and 2007 were successfully stopped. The next decade saw the terrorist threat from Islamists mutate from one with an ostensible foreign policy objective and external support to home-grown radicalised terrorists acting for Islamic State (IS) whose objectives were global jihad and the creation of a worldwide Caliphate. Attacks became more frequent and less sophisticated. Many more of the perpetrators involved had criminal backgrounds and psychological impairments. Ideological strikes in iconic locations by dedicated groups had devolved into lone actor attacks using vehicles and knives involving deeply inadequate perpetrators animated by online grievance and conspiracy theories. While the attacks and plots of 7/7 and those intercepted afterwards always had murder in mind, there was at least some recognisable rationale behind the attacks. Today's Islamist extremist is motivated only by how high he can make the body count before being martyred in a 'divine' cause. Althought the vast majority of terrorist attacks since 7/7 have been carried out by Islamists and they remain the overwhelming threat to our security, the extreme Right has been growing in potency. However, the state's cack-handed and plainly ludicrous insistence that the risks posed by these groups is somehow equivalent to Islamist terror plays into the very grievance narratives that fuels a broader and more complex challenge than was the case in 2005. We now have a networked and 'always on' terrorist threat enabled and amplified by online communication still in infancy at the time of 7/7. The internet connects, inspires and mobilises today's lone actor terrorist. Moreover, the West has seen a collapse in morale and collective identity in part resulting from the stealthy infiltration of the state and its organs by Islamist-adjacent groups and supporters. Don't take my word for it. Hizb ut-Tahrir (HbT), a hugely influential global Islamist organisation, has a three-stage strategy to establish a caliphate, including penetration into government positions and military special forces to build public opinion. HbT was proscribed here in January 2024 because of the violent anti-Semitism it stirred up in the wake of the October 7 massacre. Today's terrorist threat is more diverse and unpredictable than in 2005. Our resilience against violent extremism is hollowed out by institutional timidity. We still face tactical, technical and operational obstacles hampering disaster response. While Islamist extremism is supported by a tiny fraction of Muslims, virulent anti-Semitism has taken hold within and animates hatreds, the precursor for domestic terrorism, from events thousands of miles away. These challenges require a strong response, putting country before political calculation or progressive distractions. In remembering the innocent lives sundered by terrorists on that awful July day, two decades on, we owe their brutally foreshortened lives a debt that is far from being repaid.
Yahoo
06-07-2025
- Yahoo
'I'm here to tell the story for those who are not'
Thelma Stober was one of the hundreds of people affected by the London bombings of 7 July 2005, in which she lost a leg. But standing by the memorial in Hyde Park, her thoughts are not on her losses but the 52 people who did not survive. Ms Stober was on the Tube at Aldgate station when one of four coordinated suicide bombs detonated during the morning rush hour. She lost her lower left leg among other life-changing injuries. Now, 20 years later, she said: "Although I lost parts of my body, I am still here to tell the story, to represent those who are not". "I'm reflecting on my life before 7/7 and my life after. "I was on the train later than usual because I had taken my son to nursery as I had promised him. "Then as I was walking towards the platform [at Moorgate station], I saw a train and I ran for it. So I went into the carriage that I would not normally go into. "Consequently, I was on the wrong train the wrong time." The day before the attacks, Ms Stober remembered as "momentous" and "incredibly happy", as London celebrated winning the bid to host the 2012 Olympic and Paralympic Games. As a senior lawyer, she had worked on the bid. She had originally planned to take the next day off, but changed her mind due to the workload. Ms Stober was "completely unaware" she was standing next to a man with a rucksack who would turn out to be one of the four bombers, Shehzad Tanweer. When the bomb detonated, she was thrown onto the tracks, partly underneath the train with a piece of the train door impaled in her right thigh and left foot twisted backwards. When she began seeing rescuers in yellow and orange jackets approaching, she shouted: "Help me, help me. I'm alive. I don't want to die." "I was thinking of my son, my mother, my husband. "And I worked so hard on the Olympics - I wanted to get back to continue my work on the Olympics." Ms Stober said the memory of that day is still "vividly clear". "If I could have amnesia permanently to eliminate everything about the incidents, I would." She suffered significant injuries, internally to her liver and stomach and externally her lower left leg - and nearly lost her right arm. She has complete loss in her left ear and a percentage loss in her right. After years of suffering from persistent headaches that she put down to migraines, Ms Stober discovered at a scan in 2019 that she had shrapnel in her brain, which now requires annual monitoring. "I remember being in the hospital and they were not sure whether I would be alive and my mother, who was deeply religious, wrote to every Bishop in the country, including the Pope," she said. Ms Stober said the ordeal brought out her "inner resilience". "The whole idea of the attack was to destroy individuals and communities. I wasn't going to let that happen." She channelled her experience into supporting survivors and shaping policy. She co-chairs the Grenfell Memorial Commission and advises governments and the United Nations on survivor-led disaster preparedness. 7/7: Thelma's longest journey 'The 7/7 London bombings made me feel helpless' Surviving the 7/7 London bombings 20 years on Ms Stober said there is a "mixed feelings" as she looks back on the attack and the 20 years since. "There is anxiety. There is sadness because 52 people lost their lives," she says. "It's not something I would've wished on anyone but looking back now, I have been involved with so many positive things that I would not have been involved in if it wasn't for 7/7." "I'm glad I'm alive to do what I do." Coverage of events marking the 20th anniversary of the 7/7 terror attacks begins at 8:00 BST on the BBC News website and BBC Radio London. Listen to the best of BBC Radio London on Sounds and follow BBC London on Facebook, X and Instagram. Send your story ideas to
Yahoo
05-07-2025
- Yahoo
'I'm here to tell the story for those who are not'
Thelma Stober was one of the hundreds of people affected by the London bombings of 7 July 2005, in which she lost a leg. But standing by the memorial in Hyde Park, her thoughts are not on her losses but the 52 people who did not survive. Ms Stober was on the Tube at Aldgate station when one of four coordinated suicide bombs detonated during the morning rush hour. She lost her lower left leg among other life-changing injuries. Now, 20 years later, she said: "Although I lost parts of my body, I am still here to tell the story, to represent those who are not". "I'm reflecting on my life before 7/7 and my life after. "I was on the train later than usual because I had taken my son to nursery as I had promised him. "Then as I was walking towards the platform [at Moorgate station], I saw a train and I ran for it. So I went into the carriage that I would not normally go into. "Consequently, I was on the wrong train the wrong time." The day before the attacks, Ms Stober remembered as "momentous" and "incredibly happy", as London celebrated winning the bid to host the 2012 Olympic and Paralympic Games. As a senior lawyer, she had worked on the bid. She had originally planned to take the next day off, but changed her mind due to the workload. Ms Stober was "completely unaware" she was standing next to a man with a rucksack who would turn out to be one of the four bombers, Shehzad Tanweer. When the bomb detonated, she was thrown onto the tracks, partly underneath the train with a piece of the train door impaled in her right thigh and left foot twisted backwards. When she began seeing rescuers in yellow and orange jackets approaching, she shouted: "Help me, help me. I'm alive. I don't want to die." "I was thinking of my son, my mother, my husband. "And I worked so hard on the Olympics - I wanted to get back to continue my work on the Olympics." Ms Stober said the memory of that day is still "vividly clear". "If I could have amnesia permanently to eliminate everything about the incidents, I would." She suffered significant injuries, internally to her liver and stomach and externally her lower left leg - and nearly lost her right arm. She has complete loss in her left ear and a percentage loss in her right. After years of suffering from persistent headaches that she put down to migraines, Ms Stober discovered at a scan in 2019 that she had shrapnel in her brain, which now requires annual monitoring. "I remember being in the hospital and they were not sure whether I would be alive and my mother, who was deeply religious, wrote to every Bishop in the country, including the Pope," she said. Ms Stober said the ordeal brought out her "inner resilience". "The whole idea of the attack was to destroy individuals and communities. I wasn't going to let that happen." She channelled her experience into supporting survivors and shaping policy. She co-chairs the Grenfell Memorial Commission and advises governments and the United Nations on survivor-led disaster preparedness. 7/7: Thelma's longest journey 'The 7/7 London bombings made me feel helpless' Surviving the 7/7 London bombings 20 years on Ms Stober said there is a "mixed feelings" as she looks back on the attack and the 20 years since. "There is anxiety. There is sadness because 52 people lost their lives," she says. "It's not something I would've wished on anyone but looking back now, I have been involved with so many positive things that I would not have been involved in if it wasn't for 7/7." "I'm glad I'm alive to do what I do." Coverage of events marking the 20th anniversary of the 7/7 terror attacks begins at 8:00 BST on the BBC News website and BBC Radio London. Listen to the best of BBC Radio London on Sounds and follow BBC London on Facebook, X and Instagram. Send your story ideas to
BBC News
05-07-2025
- BBC News
London 7/7 bombings: 'I will tell the story for those who cannot'
Thelma Stober was one of the hundreds of people affected by the London bombings of 7 July 2005, in which she lost a standing by the memorial in Hyde Park, her thoughts are not on her losses but the 52 people who did not Stober was on the Tube at Aldgate station when one of four coordinated suicide bombs detonated during the morning rush hour. She lost her lower left leg among other life-changing 20 years later, she said: "Although I lost parts of my body, I am still here to tell the story, to represent those who are not". "I'm reflecting on my life before 7/7 and my life after."I was on the train later than usual because I had taken my son to nursery as I had promised him."Then as I was walking towards the platform [at Moorgate station], I saw a train and I ran for it. So I went into the carriage that I would not normally go into."Consequently, I was on the wrong train the wrong time."The day before the attacks, Ms Stober remembered as "momentous" and "incredibly happy", as London celebrated winning the bid to host the 2012 Olympic and Paralympic Games. As a senior lawyer, she had worked on the had originally planned to take the next day off, but changed her mind due to the workload. Ms Stober was "completely unaware" she was standing next to a man with a rucksack who would turn out to be one of the four bombers, Shehzad the bomb detonated, she was thrown onto the tracks, partly underneath the train with a piece of the train door impaled in her right thigh and left foot twisted backwards. When she began seeing rescuers in yellow and orange jackets approaching, she shouted: "Help me, help me. I'm alive. I don't want to die.""I was thinking of my son, my mother, my husband."And I worked so hard on the Olympics - I wanted to get back to continue my work on the Olympics." 'Mother wrote to Pope' Ms Stober said the memory of that day is still "vividly clear"."If I could have amnesia permanently to eliminate everything about the incidents, I would."She suffered significant injuries, internally to her liver and stomach and externally her lower left leg - and nearly lost her right has complete loss in her left ear and a percentage loss in her years of suffering from persistent headaches that she put down to migraines, Ms Stober discovered at a scan in 2019 that she had shrapnel in her brain, which now requires annual monitoring. "I remember being in the hospital and they were not sure whether I would be alive and my mother, who was deeply religious, wrote to every Bishop in the country, including the Pope," she said. Ms Stober said the ordeal brought out her "inner resilience"."The whole idea of the attack was to destroy individuals and communities. I wasn't going to let that happen."She channelled her experience into supporting survivors and shaping policy. She co-chairs the Grenfell Memorial Commission and advises governments and the United Nations on survivor-led disaster preparedness. Ms Stober said there is a "mixed feelings" as she looks back on the attack and the 20 years since. "There is anxiety. There is sadness because 52 people lost their lives," she says. "It's not something I would've wished on anyone but looking back now, I have been involved with so many positive things that I would not have been involved in if it wasn't for 7/7.""I'm glad I'm alive to do what I do."
