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Shahara Islam was a 20-year-old bank cashier

July 17, 2005
Lost in Bombings, Diverse and Promising Lives
By SARAH LYALL

LONDON, July 16 - They were mostly in their 20's, 30's and 40's. They were mostly on their way to work. They were the daughter of an Anglican bishop, the son of a Nigerian oil executive, the immigrant mother of two teenagers. Some were Muslims.

The names of the dead - Shahara Islam, Anthony Fatayi-Williams, Jamie Gordon, Ganze Gonoral, and so many more - reflect the diversity of their origins and the indiscriminate nature of the bombs that struck London a week and a half ago.

The death toll from the July 7 bombings - on three subway trains and on a No. 30 double-decker bus - stands at 55, including the bombers. The authorities have officially identified 47 of the dead.

Identification of the victims has lagged in most cases behind their families' convictions that their loved ones are dead. Part of the problem is that British procedures are slow, and inquests must be held when deaths are unnatural or violent. The difficulties are compounded by the fact that many of the bodies were jumbled together and severely damaged in the explosions.

The Identification Commission, a group of doctors, police officers and forensic scientists convened in response to the bombings, is relying on a variety of methods, including dental records, fingerprints, DNA - and even internal medical devices like pacemakers with serial numbers - to complete its task.

For friends and relatives, the agony of uncertainty has seemed almost as bad as the devastation of knowing. Many families have been left in an awkward limbo, knowing in their hearts that their lost relatives are dead, but unable to mourn properly.

One such relative was Marie Fatayi-Williams, whose son, Anthony, was still officially missing last Monday, four days after the bombing. Mrs. Fatayi-Williams stood in Upper Woburn Place, near the site of the No. 30 bus explosion, that day and gave a speech about him, saying that she had been "destroyed" by his certain death. He had not been heard from since 9:41 a.m. on July 7, she said, when he telephoned his office to say that the subway had been evacuated and that he would find another way to get to work.

"How many mothers' hearts must be maimed?" Mrs. Fatayi-Williams asked, in an anguished speech that became a striking symbol of the families' grief.

Mr. Fatayi-Williams, 26, was in many ways an embodiment of modern, postcolonial London - a "world citizen," as his mother described him. Nigerian by heritage, he grew up in London and graduated from Bradford University. But he was deeply connected to his Nigerian roots and intended to work in Nigeria someday.

Mr. Fatayi-Williams, who lived in Hendon, was an engineering executive, loved rap music and had hopes of starting a record label. His mother is a Catholic, and an oil company executive; his father, a Muslim, is a doctor. "Basically his ultimate aim was to become a politician and sort out Nigeria," his cousin Sadie Williams told The Evening Standard.

Mr. Fatayi-Williams was her "first son, my only son," his mother said, and he had promised to take care of her in her old age. "In African society, we hold on to sons," she said.

But on Friday, her son was declared dead.

As the names have been released, in dribs and drabs, portraits have been emerging of the victims. Many were young and just starting out. Shahara Islam, for instance, was a 20-year-old bank cashier, a second-generation Bengali immigrant who moved easily between the strict religious world of her parents and the secular world of Britain. She died on the No. 30 bus, her body so mangled that she had to be identified through dental records.

Jamie Gordon, 30, a fellow passenger on the bus, spent his early years in Zimbabwe, worked in finance and was planning to marry his girlfriend of seven years, Yvonne Nash. Shyanuja Parathasangary, also 30, and originally from Sri Lanka, worked for the postal service and died on the bus, too.

Other victims, like Gladys Wundowa, 50, were more established in their lives. An immigrant from Ghana, Mrs. Wundowa had two teenage children. She worked the 5 a.m. to 9 a.m. shift as a cleaner at University College London, and on July 7 left her job, as usual, to go to a class in housing management in Shoreditch. Unable to take the subway, she took the No. 30 bus.

Michelle Otto, 46, was also an immigrant - from Romania - and died on the Piccadilly Line train. She had been en route from the house she shared with her sister's family in Mill Hill to her job as a dental technician in Knightsbridge.

James Adams, 32, liked to stay in touch. At 7:30 a.m. on July 7, he called his mother to tell her he was at King's Cross station headed for work. He also sent a text message to a friend, Amanda Garatty.

That was not unusual, said Tony Garatty, who is married to Amanda and who is one of a close-knit group of Mr. Adams's friends from Bretton Baptist Church in Peterborough, Cambridgeshire.

"He would text my wife all the time when he saw something on the telly," Mr. Garatty said in an interview. "What's really going to hit me is when football season starts, because if he saw anything about Manchester United he'd text me and say, 'What about this?' "

Mr. Adams, a mortgage consultant with a dry wit, had a wide range of friends: David Lammy, a member of Parliament who had known him since grade school; the Rev. John Boyers, the chaplain of the Manchester United soccer team, who met him after Mr. Adams sent a letter introducing himself; and Mr. Garatty, a 47-year-old father of two who was his partner in crime at rock concerts and soccer games.

Recently, the two men spent a Saturday together at the Live 8 concert for Africa in Hyde Park. Mr. Adams was late in picking up Mr. Garatty - he was known for that, too - but he more than made up for it by supplying not only binoculars but also two little folding stools in case they got tired.

They did not. Mr. Adams stood for the entire concert and was at his happiest when Annie Lennox appeared. "At one point he said, 'I hope she sings - ' and then she started to play the intro to the song, 'Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This),' " Mr. Garatty said.

"We were sort of saying, 'Wow, we're here and this is history,' " he said.

Mr. Adams, believed to have been on the bombed Piccadilly Line train, is still officially missing.

Ciaran Cassidy was an unusual combination, a hard-core Arsenal soccer fan who also seemed to be one of Earth's cheeriest shop assistants. Along Chancery Lane, where he worked in the Bridge & Co. stationery store, Mr. Cassidy, 22, was known as a young man who could chat about anything to anyone, who enthusiastically made copies of even the most tedious documents, and who invariably urged customers to partake of the free jelly beans in the jar on the counter.

So the news of his death affected the little neighborhood along the road in London's legal district, where Mr. Cassidy had become, in however fleeting a way, part of the fabric of daily life. His boss, Mike Harris, set up a book of condolence, and dozens of people stopped by to sign it and to reminisce about Mr. Cassidy.

Mr. Cassidy, the son of an Irish postal worker and a teacher's assistant who grew up in London, had been saving for his dream trip: a year's working holiday in Australia. He spent the night before he died discussing his plans with his sister, Lisa.

"People used to say that you could never walk down the road with him because he knew so may people and would forever be stopping to talk to them," Lisa told The Standard. That certainly seemed to be the case on Chancery Lane.

"I remember him from when he started," Angela Thomson, who works in a travel agency nearby and who stopped in to sign the condolence book, said in an interview. "Such a lovely boy. He was one of life's sweet souls - he really wanted to be helpful."

"Ciaran - it's Rita here!" went one of the entries in the book, from a regular customer. "I will always come in and think of you. Will miss you."

Mr. Cassidy's body was found in the wreckage of the bombed Piccadilly Line train. His death became official on Tuesday.

Giles Hart, 55, was from Hornchurch, had a large family - three children, a wife, an 85-year-old mother who lived with them, a sister - and worked as an engineer for British Telecom in Islington. But there was much more to him. A former chairman of the Polish Solidarity Campaign of Great Britain, Mr. Hart met his future wife, Danuta Gorzynska, who had fled Poland when martial law was imposed there, in London more than 20 years ago.

He also loved books, particularly those of Lewis Carroll - he was a big fan of "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" - and of H. G. Wells. He was chairman of the local branch of the H. G. Wells Society. On July 7, he was due to give a speech titled "The Lesser-Known Works of Lewis Carroll."

He was a humanist - one of his many other voluntary posts was as vice chairman of the local branch of the British Humanist Association - a campaigner for peace, a member of the Anti-Slavery Society, a fighter against bigotry and human rights abuses. "It is tragic that he fell victim to the very evil against which he had struggled," the family said in a statement.

Like many of the families, Mr. Hart's asked not to be contacted by the news media. "We hope his many friends and colleagues will continue with his campaigns for freedom and justice, to make the world a fairer and greener place to live in," the family said. "May he rest in peace and his ideals eventually triumph."

Mr. Hart usually took the Northern Line to work. But because of the subway closures, he got on the No. 30 bus. He was declared dead on Friday.

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