What a Difference a Day Makes: Grenfell Tower tragedy crystallised that we are all born the same way

The Red Cross service I was with was to support the fire brigade, to provide emotional and practical help for vulnerable people affected by fire. 

I got my kit together and called my boss – I was a regional managing director for a broadcaster. I said ‘something serious is happening, I’ve been asked to go. I need to’. He said ‘absolutely, go’.

I was living 30 minutes north of London. I got the train in but had to get off a distance away – all tube stations in the Grenfell Tower area were closed. 

Coming out of the tube, two things hit me: the heat of the day and the smell of smoke, though I was still a mile away.

As I walked in my Red Cross uniform, a lot of people were coming up, trying to give me money. Obviously I couldn’t accept but it was their way of helping. The smoke and people giving money were not normal everyday occurrences. They reaffirmed the gravity of what was happening, before I’d seen it with my own eyes.

My first sighting, walking down a street – a gap, a skyline view, a big tower dominating the skyline. Devastating to see: very black, very thick smoke – the sunny day, the blue sky, the black, thick fog emanating from this building. It was hard to believe what I was looking at, thinking ‘this is like nothing I’ve ever seen, or am likely to see’.

You think very quickly of the human aspect, that this is a very tragic thing you’re looking at.

We set up an emergency rest centre for all those affected at a sports complex close to the incident. Families who’d got out, friends of people who hadn’t got out – this was the focal point where everybody gathered. My job, alongside the other volunteers, was to organise, to support.

You train, you plan. This was on a different scale. There seemed to be this moment, surreal – people taking on roles beyond what it said on paper. Someone with quite a serious position, distraught, overwhelmed, by what was going on. It was a big levelling experience. It didn’t matter who you were, what your job was. It was all hands to the pump. Being human was what was required – caring about fellow human beings.

We put out beds, kits. The place filled up. People came with children, mothers trying to breastfeed babies, there were privacy issues. Because of the multicultural make-up of the building’s residents there were lots of backgrounds. 

There were people looking for answers 

It was Ramadan and there was a large Muslim community who weren’t eating. There were unique dietary issues. People wanted to pray. We set up an area for people to observe their faith.

There were others evacuated from buildings around, for safety. They had friends in the tower, had looked on from across the road, helpless. There were people looking for answers, very upset, angry, who couldn’t talk, couldn’t speak English.

I saw the very best in humanity that day, people from all backgrounds coming with nappies, food, clothes – it was overwhelming what came in that day.

Early on I thought: The people coming in, their world fallen apart, they’re going to need some serious human beings to help – to be there, present, a listening ear.

I remember two brothers. They’d been speaking to a relative, living in the tower, when the situation unfolded. 

They lost contact in the night with their relative, hadn’t been able to make contact since. They’d travelled from elsewhere in the country, had been to every hospital in London, looking for some update, information. Nobody had any news – like the person didn’t exist.

I made them tea, asked them to tell me about their relative. They told me – they spoke for 20 minutes. They cried. At the end we hugged. I said I can’t give you the answers you’re looking for – they thanked me for listening. I’m not some sort of hero – a lot of others were doing the same.

There isn’t a month I don’t wonder did they find the person. I don’t know. I never will.

Everyone goes out at some point

I was there 12-14 hours. It was non-stop. I didn’t speak about any of it for a year. I didn’t feel it was my place, or my story to talk about. 

The Red Cross gave its highest award to all those who attended that day. I almost felt embarrassed – what I did was something I’d do anyway. Maybe I’d be one of those trying to give me a fiver, a tenner, delivering a can of beans to the front door.

That day certainly crystallised for me – everyone’s born the same way. Everyone goes out at some point. 

It’s what you do in the middle that makes you who you are, as a human being. 

When I think of that day, it was just humans helping others. It all comes back to helping someone if you can. Why wouldn’t you?

• David Tighe is CEO of CRITICAL, Ireland’s leading volunteer emergency medical response charity, with a mission to save lives. 
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