Death (not family/friends) impacted on you

youngbob said:
For me it has to be the Arena attack. I've never been impacted by anything similar to the extent I was impacted by that, not before or since. When it happened I was right outside the Arena in a taxi on my way back home from visiting a friend in Hulme. At the time I lived in the blocks of flats between Angel Meadow and the Marble Arch pub, just off Rochdale Road. The cab was at the four-way junction where Trinity Way meets Bury New Road and Victoria Street.

Something felt really odd.

Even after a normal gig, when there are thousands of people in the streets and t-shirt vendors in the road, you can still drive right past the Arena and over the railway bridge. But there was absolutely no way to get through the crowd this time. There were no t-shirt vendors around and the crowd wasn't happily loitering like always, people were just speed-walking away from the Arena and paying zero attention to the traffic.

The cab driver managed to (slowly) find a route through people, behind the snooker hall and round the back of the Green Quarter. As we crept through the little side streets, all I could see were groups of kids in pink Ariana Grande t-shirts standing in groups, crying. There were parents with two and three phones in their hands, calling, waiting, getting no answer from whoever was at the other end, then calling again.

At the time I didn't think too much of it. Something felt strange but my mind just didn't jump to "a bomb's gone off". I got back in my flat just before 11 that night and made some food for myself. I turned my laptop on. The first post in my social media feed was from my building's Facebook group: "Just heard a loud bang coming from Victoria, hope everyone's okay?" So I immediately went onto Twitter and searched for news coming from Victoria station.

I expected there to have been an electrical failure on the train or tram lines, or a train crash. Anything but what had actually happened. A girl I'd known at school was tweeting from inside the Arena: "If anyone thinks there's been a stampede or that a balloon has exploded, you're wrong". I remember being in denial for a couple of hours. Then that GMP statement was posted on Twitter and my heart sank.

I don't think I slept that night. I went to bed at about 4am and got 2/3 hours at most, and even that was broken up. I was due to meet @Rascal the next morning at the Waldorf. I remember setting off, going past the Angel Pub, the Crowne Plaza, through the Northern Quarter. It was like somebody had finally shut Manchester up. No traffic around the Arena, just police officers, journalists on smoking breaks, and police tape flickering in the wind.

The volume of the city was significantly, eerily reduced. @Rascal can vouch for how shaken up I was. I remember him and another former Bluemooner having to talk me round a bit and carry on with the day.

And then the news spread worldwide. People like Donald Trump were spreading awareness about the #PrayForManchester hashtag. The American president was discussing something that had happened in my postcode, round the corner from my flat, inside a building I'd been outside of when it happened. I tried as hard as I could to distance myself from it because it wasn't "my tragedy", but I just couldn't do it. I was dazed for weeks.

Then the identities of the victims started coming through. It turned out a good friend of mine was close with Martyn Hett. There's a text from my friend still out there in the ether somewhere ("Heard about the Arena news, you ok? x") that Martin never got to read. And Saffie, the 8-year-old girl, was related (by a previous marriage) to a work colleague. The way the media hounded that family bothered me for months afterwards.

Things got worse when I found out people I knew had briefly been at school with the attacker. He was a Manchester lad that a lot of people knew; a work colleague of mine had briefly been at the same mosque; the police raided a building I walked past about twice a week. I tried to put it all out of my mind and maintain a level of distance but the degrees of separation were far too close. The whole thing knocked me for six.

Over that summer I found myself staring out the window at the empty roads around the Arena. I used to walk as far as where the Ducie Bridge pub used to be, opposite the CIS building, and just stand there, looking. When the public were allowed to walk past Victoria station again, I used to stare up at the foyer where the bomb had gone off every time I went past and think about going to the McDonald's there to get breakfast for an old girlfriend.

I'm not a mawkish person, and the deaths in my life have just kinda rolled off me because I'm quite philosophical about it all, but the Arena attack changed something in me for months afterwards. I attended all the minutes silences, visited all the flower displays, watched the benefit concert on TV and cried. I felt guilty on some level because I hadn't actually been there and experienced it, but I couldn't stop feeling so awful about it.

I still functioned, still started a new job, still carried on with my life, but I couldn't get my head around it at all. It felt too surreal. I think I only got over it when I moved back out to Stockport, where I've stayed ever since. I think I got too close to Manchester as a city in the six years I lived there and I ended up taking the Arena bombing more personally than I should have. I'll never emotionally overcome that morning after - probably the eeriest day of my life.

EDIT: Just found my trip on Uber from that night. You can see on the map where the cab goes up Trinity Way as normal, then has to find a way around through the Green Quarter because of how many people were just stood in the street.

View attachment 39023
Click to expand...
What a fantastic post my friend.

It was a tough time for us all, Manchester is our home.
 
youngbob said:
For me it has to be the Arena attack. I've never been impacted by anything similar to the extent I was impacted by that, not before or since. When it happened I was right outside the Arena in a taxi on my way back home from visiting a friend in Hulme. At the time I lived in the blocks of flats between Angel Meadow and the Marble Arch pub, just off Rochdale Road. The cab was at the four-way junction where Trinity Way meets Bury New Road and Victoria Street.

Something felt really odd.

Even after a normal gig, when there are thousands of people in the streets and t-shirt vendors in the road, you can still drive right past the Arena and over the railway bridge. But there was absolutely no way to get through the crowd this time. There were no t-shirt vendors around and the crowd wasn't happily loitering like always, people were just speed-walking away from the Arena and paying zero attention to the traffic.

The cab driver managed to (slowly) find a route through people, behind the snooker hall and round the back of the Green Quarter. As we crept through the little side streets, all I could see were groups of kids in pink Ariana Grande t-shirts standing in groups, crying. There were parents with two and three phones in their hands, calling, waiting, getting no answer from whoever was at the other end, then calling again.

At the time I didn't think too much of it. Something felt strange but my mind just didn't jump to "a bomb's gone off". I got back in my flat just before 11 that night and made some food for myself. I turned my laptop on. The first post in my social media feed was from my building's Facebook group: "Just heard a loud bang coming from Victoria, hope everyone's okay?" So I immediately went onto Twitter and searched for news coming from Victoria station.

I expected there to have been an electrical failure on the train or tram lines, or a train crash. Anything but what had actually happened. A girl I'd known at school was tweeting from inside the Arena: "If anyone thinks there's been a stampede or that a balloon has exploded, you're wrong". I remember being in denial for a couple of hours. Then that GMP statement was posted on Twitter and my heart sank.

I don't think I slept that night. I went to bed at about 4am and got 2/3 hours at most, and even that was broken up. I was due to meet @Rascal the next morning at the Waldorf. I remember setting off, going past the Angel Pub, the Crowne Plaza, through the Northern Quarter. It was like somebody had finally shut Manchester up. No traffic around the Arena, just police officers, journalists on smoking breaks, and police tape flickering in the wind.

The volume of the city was significantly, eerily reduced. @Rascal can vouch for how shaken up I was. I remember him and another former Bluemooner having to talk me round a bit and carry on with the day.

And then the news spread worldwide. People like Donald Trump were spreading awareness about the #PrayForManchester hashtag. The American president was discussing something that had happened in my postcode, round the corner from my flat, inside a building I'd been outside of when it happened. I tried as hard as I could to distance myself from it because it wasn't "my tragedy", but I just couldn't do it. I was dazed for weeks.

Then the identities of the victims started coming through. It turned out a good friend of mine was close with Martyn Hett. There's a text from my friend still out there in the ether somewhere ("Heard about the Arena news, you ok? x") that Martin never got to read. And Saffie, the 8-year-old girl, was related (by a previous marriage) to a work colleague. The way the media hounded that family bothered me for months afterwards.

Things got worse when I found out people I knew had briefly been at school with the attacker. He was a Manchester lad that a lot of people knew; a work colleague of mine had briefly been at the same mosque; the police raided a building I walked past about twice a week. I tried to put it all out of my mind and maintain a level of distance but the degrees of separation were far too close. The whole thing knocked me for six.

Over that summer I found myself staring out the window at the empty roads around the Arena. I used to walk as far as where the Ducie Bridge pub used to be, opposite the CIS building, and just stand there, looking. When the public were allowed to walk past Victoria station again, I used to stare up at the foyer where the bomb had gone off every time I went past and think about going to the McDonald's there to get breakfast for an old girlfriend.

I'm not a mawkish person, and the deaths in my life have just kinda rolled off me because I'm quite philosophical about it all, but the Arena attack changed something in me for months afterwards. I attended all the minutes silences, visited all the flower displays, watched the benefit concert on TV and cried. I felt guilty on some level because I hadn't actually been there and experienced it, but I couldn't stop feeling so awful about it.

I still functioned, still started a new job, still carried on with my life, but I couldn't get my head around it at all. It felt too surreal. I think I only got over it when I moved back out to Stockport, where I've stayed ever since. I think I got too close to Manchester as a city in the six years I lived there and I ended up taking the Arena bombing more personally than I should have. I'll never emotionally overcome that morning after - probably the eeriest day of my life.

EDIT: Just found my trip on Uber from that night. You can see on the map where the cab goes up Trinity Way as normal, then has to find a way around through the Green Quarter because of how many people were just stood in the street.

View attachment 39023
Click to expand...
What an incredible post.

The Arena attack shook me up as well but not because I was around Manchester at the time.

I went to watch Oasis play there in 1995 with a load of mates. We were all 18 or about to be. A few of the lads had seating tickets (maybe me included) but we wanted to stand so rushed the gate at the bottom of the stairs and got in the standing area. We weren't a bad group, just young lads pissing about.

After the gig, we went to the McDonald's for a nosebag. I was always on taxi ringing duty because my mum knew the women on the switches of both Lyle Cars and Minicabs, the two main taxi firms in Eccles.

One of the group put some money in one of those tall vending machines but it didn't give them what they'd asked for. Whoever it was banged the money slot and more change came out than they'd put in. Soon, we were all putting money in and twatting the machine and it paid out every time like a malfunctioning fruit machine.

I took a run up and karate kicked the machine just as the taxi bibbed us to get in. I looked round and saw my Uncle leaning out of his window. "Get in the fucking car now!"

19 years later, my Uncle was murdered by ISIS in Syria. He never told his brother, my Dad about the Arena incident but I did in the days after his death.

When the Ariana Grande bomb happened, I didn't hear about it until I got up for work the next morning. I have to confess I hadn't heard of her. My missus told me to go and look at my daughter's bedroom wall - there was a huge framed poster of her on the main wall.

I felt a double shock that morning. My home city had again been attacked but this time, the people hadn't been as fortunate as they had when the IRA struck in 96. I thought back to the night that our Alan turned up to pick us all up. I thought about the 22 victims and couldn't help but think of him as my 23rd Manchester Arena angel.
 
Blue Mist said:
@kaz7 So why do you still watch the 9/11 documentaries. Its as though you need to be upset. Sometimes you have to ignore stuff otherwise you end up a basket case.
Click to expand...
I hadnt watched them for years but last year i just wanted to see the newer ones as well as the older ones , i just felt the need to , like i said i am entwined with it and full of empathy , i cant really explain it any more than that , you know me misty , complicated mental health wise
 
For me to it was the Arena attack.

I couldn't believe someone had targeted fellow young mancs just enjoying a concert. Still cant to be honest and should I watch any program about the attack I fill up.
I didnt know anyone but I felt helpless beginning 300 odd miles away. Not that I could have done anything. It was an attack on my City it was sort of personal.

It did hit me hard and I will admit to crying.

I worked in dover but life was just carrying on as normal, and I couldn't understand it. A few weeks later there was an attack in London and some were killed.
It now sounds silly and childish but I can remember going into and seeing that Dover Castle were flying their flag at half past. I rang the National Trust to ask why " its because of the London attack" I said about childishly " shame you didnt fly it at half mast for the Manchester attack, I guess us mancs dont matter". A few hours later the flag was back at full mast.

It was silly of me but living down here life stops at London, and I was still angry about the Arena attack.
 
denislawsbackheel said:
Most of us in the U.K. were asleep in our beds when Diana snuffed it.
Click to expand...
I was wide awake in ward A5 in Stepping Hill hospital, having had a mild heart attack the previous Wednesday. No one could sleep, as there was a guy with Downs syndrome crying all night as his dad had gone home for a rest. We'd just had a brew made, when the senior sister came on the ward, and told us the news. Then it was to the radios for the rest of the night.
 
I still think Brian Jones was murdered by those builders. The Stones was his group until the glimmer twins fucked him off.
Didnt even attend his funeral.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Unread Posts

Don't have an account? Register now and see fewer ads!

SIGN UP
Back
Top
✖
  AdBlock Detected
Bluemoon relies on advertising to pay our hosting fees. Please support the site by disabling your ad blocking software to help keep the forum sustainable. Thanks.