7/7 London bombings

I don’t care how well respected the man may be, I hope you are not basing your opinion of my beloved city, on a Terry Pratchett character’s say so? :dubious:

Here’s a sentence I never thought I’d post to a terrorist bombing memorial thread: Maybe you’re taking this a bit too seriously.

It’s possible he is, but speaking as someone who recently had a near-complete sense of humour failure after yet another unprovoked dig at my native accent, I can assure you that one’s skin can occasionally wear just as thin as the jokes.

And taking a pop at Manchester in a thread commemorating a city-centre bombing is probably ill-judged, at best.

Failed? I suppose it all depends on how one chooses to remember the occasion.

The anniversary of the bombing has become a regular cause for joyful celebration by many relatives of at least one of the bombers:

Daily Mail 8 July 2008

The article continues:

The Daily Mail article goes into greater detail but it does seem that the bomber’s actions were by no means unlamented by all. He appears to be regarded as a some kind of hero by his family and his fellow villagers.

For many of us we grew up knowing that if we went to a pub or restaurant or Christmas shopping, there was a tiny, but finite, chance we would get blown up. We got used to it and learned not to worry about it.

I apologize–I really am sorry. It was not my intention to offend. Please consider it retracted.

Methinks you really are taking this to seriously me old cock :stuck_out_tongue:

Then again he probably meant manure so he could be right

I also flew in the day of, and it was amazing how stoically people took it. I thought the tube would be deserted the next day, but people were out and about per the usual. You had to respect that attitude.

My first Baby sitter was a woman Named Bahbrerah (Barbra, for you yanks)

I don’t remember much about her…

I can still say “I was a war bride!” in a colchester accent.

I asked my mom about her.

Barbra was the wife of the farmer next door. She got pregnant by a Canadian soldier serving in Europe and gave birth in the subway tunnels during the blitz.

He married her and brought her (and their daughter) back to the homestead in Alberta .

On one of the nights of the London bombings, she went into labour. A group of her niebours carried her bed into the subway “as not to cause her unnesacary discomfort or embarrasment” . When they went back up, after the “all clear” they carried her bed (and her new daughter) past the shell of her house to a home that had survived the bombing, still in her bed.

3 days later, she carried her daughter into the “tubes” once again, and once agian, when they came up, the house they had been invited into was hot cinders.

This woman talked about this whole thing the way you or I would discuss the inconvienience of having a broken shoelace… her attitude was…

“Well, they can take your house, they can take your street… they can never take your heart or hope… if you let them do that, you might as well invite Mr. Hitler in for tea, and roll over and die…”

She died when I was in my early teens, and I wish I had gotten to know her better… Terrorists!? Hmmph! They better wipe their feet before they walk into Barbara’s house!

regards
FML