What I do know for sure is that the trains were disrupted on the way home tonight. The reason? A fatality at Woolwich. The power had to be turned off on the lines to and from London.
The reactions of the commuters on my train were, shall we say, mixed. Some were hopping mad, upset because their plans for the evening were ruined. Others set off to find other ways to get home. Some of them just sat there, seemingly not reacting at all.
I felt sad. I mourned the passing of this life. I have no idea how the individual had died (Some were telling their families that 'some guy had jumped under a train' but I noted that the announcements didn't state that. They didn't even specify a gender). It could have been a heart attack or an accident.
I felt for this person's family and friends. I felt sorry for the staff at Woolwich Arsenal station. And I felt sorry that some of my fellow commuters seemed incapable of even basic compassion. And that they were so quick to conclude what had happened.
"Except I am moved with compassion,
How dwelleth thy Spirit in me?
In word and in deed
Burning love is my need;
I know I can find this in thee."
(Albert Orsborn)
