A tribute to the victims of the Grenfell Tower fire. Photo: Carcharoth / Wikimedia Commons.
‘The sense of impotence has moved out of numbness and into constructive rage.’
Two years ago Anne M Jones went to volunteer as the Grenfell Tower burned. She returned last month for the memorial service, and to check on the promised progress
Raw feelings of unresolved grief abound in the area around Grenfell – unsurprisingly, given the nature of the tragedy and all that is becoming known as the inquiry continues hearing evidence. Witnesses have courageously spoken words from inner thoughts that initially were too awful to verbalise. These include shocking descriptions of the way most of the victims died trapped in their flats, which had turned into ovens. Other residents have highlighted the apparent indifference of the local council before and since. The sense of impotence has moved out of numbness and into constructive rage.
And yet the memorial service held at St Helen’s Church on this second anniversary brought messages of joy and courage to grievers and supporters alike. Songs and poetry, composed by local people, were performed with dignity as they held back the tears of grief – these were people who had lost family members and close friends. People like Malcolm Andrew reading his poem on ‘The mystery of our pain / secret miracles at work / that only time will bring forth’. Or Leanne Mya, singing her own song; the Kensington Aldridge Academy choir; Yousra Cherbika, reading her poem, ‘A Panic Attack’; and the Mendy family speaking of their daughter thus: ‘Such a terrible ending / for a beautiful way to live.’
Sadiq Khan, the mayor of London, recommitted himself: ‘We shall never forget and shall always support you… and shall ensure justice will eventually prevail.’ This message was reinforced in the address from the local Anglican minister, Steve Divall, using verses from the Old Testament book of Habakkuk: ‘How long, oh Lord, must I wait? Why do you tolerate injustice?’ This is answered with ‘there will be justice’ and he brought the message into the moment by reminding us how Habakkuk took his anger to God, and saw that, in time, every wrong is righted, that the end of this book points out there comes ‘amazing grace’ of finding more justice than was ever felt possible.
This was followed by an act of commitment by all faith leaders and local politicians, conducted by Rose Hudson-Wilkin, who is priest vicar at Westminster Abbey and chaplain to Elizabeth II. Those present promised to ‘continue to make this community a place where everyone can live and walk in peace without fear’, which was followed by a trio of school girls singing ‘Flying High’.
In between, the audience joined in familiar hymns, ‘In the sweet by and by’ and ‘How great thou art’. The church’s simple pillars held huge bright green bows and one simple banner read ‘RESILIENCE’, which sums up this community.
Towards the end the words of Sam Cooke asking ‘How many rivers to cross?’ tore across our silence, reminding us how much work there is still to be done.
As a finale, a group of drummers in colourful costumes brought back more tears. Outside the church, before proceeding to the foot of the tower to read the names of all seventy-two victims, a hail of white doves was set free and a stream of green balloons let off into the air. I turned to one of the organisers, who instantly noticed my insipid green scarf and pressed one of her own upon me, a bright green like the balloons.
Two years on from the Grenfell disaster, there is still so much to be resolved, including homes for at least three families. Before departing I had a tearful reunion with a friend I have made there, who told me her daughter, who lost friends in the fire, was determinedly taking her GCSEs that day.
Then I made my way to a café for a cup of tea. The owner, spotting my new bright scarf, asked me if I had just come from the service. I said I had and mentioned how I still felt cross that my offers to the council of my house and support to victims had gone unanswered – recognising as I spoke how my ‘crossness’ was so irrelevant. ‘Nothing’s changed here,’ she replied, ‘unless you are from the rich part of the borough.’
But I like to think that mutual respect and support is bringing about change, albeit slowly, and that all the words of hope spoken today will continue to cement these beginnings of a new communion within that neighbourhood.
