It had started around midday at the East London Mosque on Whitechapel Road. After Friday prayers, local dignitaries — George Galloway, the Respect MP, Stephen Oliver, the Anglican Bishop of Stepney, Father John Armitage, a Roman Catholic, and mosque elders — held a joint meeting in a prayer room.

“We must condemn these horrific actions,” the mosque’s imam had said earlier, to uncharacteristically packed prayer rooms. “There is no place in British Muslim societies for these people to take refuge. We must co-operate. Now is not the time to be silent.”

The MP for Bethnal Green and Bow, of course, does not know the meaning of the word. Before the vigil and amid near silence, Mr Galloway, his eyes narrower than ever, said: “The stealth bombers and suicide bombers delivered death to innocent people for political purposes.”

Time was pressing, said the glance from one organiser: the vigil was running late. “But those torn apart by razor-sharp metal and shards of flying glass died the same death in Baghdad as they did in Bethnal Green,” Mr Galloway continued. “And until we deal not just with terrorism but with the causes of terrorism, then we will not ultimately be able to defeat this scourge.”

The crowd had come together in a matter of hours. Throughout the early afternoon, the steady trickle of worshippers into the East End had swelled to a sea. Older men, dressed conservatively in suits and traditional wear, rubbed shoulders with younger worshippers wearing hooded tops with names such as Firetrap and Duffer.

One young man, in some sense of solidarity, wore a black top with the words New York stencilled across his chest. As the main prayer room reached capacity, late arrivals went to another hall in the basement.

“I had to be here,” said Forhad Aziz, 18, an A-level student. Aziz had been trampled while fleeing Liverpool Street station on Thursday.

“No one knew what was going on,” he said, walking to the site on Mansell Street where community leaders would pause for prayers. “No one knew anything. It brings it all home. I know what it is like to be caught up during a terrorist attack. Before that, I’d only seen anything like 9/11 on television.”

His friend, Foisal Ahmed, 19, a car salesman, agreed. “You have to come out on something like this. As Muslims you have to let everyone know that you hate what happened. After all, it has made life harder for all of us. Everyone trying to live in London will find things harder from now on. It is important that we mourn for the dead and let the world know that we are all in this together.”

The display of emotion after tragedy seemed oddly unique: a purposeful show of strength from a community better known for keeping its thoughts private. Perhaps it was the enormity of the attacks; equally, outrage at the fact that the explosions were so indiscriminate.

“In the 1930s, the East End came together to fight off fascism,” John Armitage said earlier. In the 1970s, the East End came together to fight off the BNP. We will come together to fight off the terrorists. That’s what we do. East London comes together.”

And for one afternoon, at least, it did. Police stood respectfully out of the way as the group began its slow walk towards Aldgate.

Amid this moment of calm, this moment of quiet reflection, only the MP for Bethnal Green and Bow caught an inappropriate sentiment. “The insurgency is not just in Iraq, it has now arrived in Britain,” Mr Galloway said. “We have begun to pay the price for the war in Iraq.”

It had been so different on the previous evening. With the noisy hustle of Brick Lane replaced by a dignified silence, worshippers made their way into the East London Mosque for prayers at 7pm. The men, some aged, a younger generation wearing hooded tops, followed the imam’s instructions in silence.

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