The Sun’s Harry Cole relives the harrowing moment he watched Tory MP Tobias Ellwood bravely try to save stabbed cop’s life after Parliament terror attack
FIFTEEN years ago Tobias Ellwood’s brother Jon was one of 202 people killed in the Bali terrorist bombings.
Yesterday I watched with horror and admiration as the Tory MP was forced to once again confront terrorism — fighting to save PC Keith Palmer who was repeatedly stabbed by the Westminster Bridge attacker.
The Foreign Office Minister was one of the first to rush to the officer’s aid as other coppers darted across the grass to help their fallen comrade.
Ellwood was on his knees, massaging the chest of the dying man. Blood became smeared across his forehead and on the cuffs of his blue suit as he knelt to give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Watching from inside the Commons via an upstairs window, it had seemed like hours before the paramedics arrived.
They gathered with their equipment before tearing open the officer’s shirt and delivering CPR.
Ellwood, one of the most respected politicians in the House, kept his hands pushed to the policeman’s bare chest.
All of them were shouting at PC Palmer, trying to bring him back.
Even after the paramedics took over, Ellwood stayed right at the centre of the chaos. When nothing more could be done he remained, exhausted, at the scene, a distraught look on his face.
He was eventually led away by the police as they draped a red blanket over the dead officer. A policewoman who helped him try to save her colleague was also escorted away in tears by another officer.
I had witnessed Ellwood’s heroism after being alerted to the shocking drama by the sound of gunfire.
Building works in Parliament mean there are always loud crashes and bangs.
But the sound we heard yesterday was different — the distinct crack of a gun echoed around the historic cloisters. Leaping to the nearest window overlooking New Palace Yard, where tourists and MPs usually mingle, I saw PC Palmer lying on the cobbled square. He was still wearing his hi-vis jacket.
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A hundred yards or so beyond him I saw a Hyundai 4x4 vehicle had crashed into a fence on the Westminster Bridge side.
A man in black jeans and a blue jacket had run through the main gates and lunged at the officer with a knife, stabbing him repeatedly.
The suspect then tried to run towards Westminster Hall — the oldest part of the Palace — but was shot at least three times.
I could see the terrorist writhing on the ground.
Two coppers were stood over him while more were trying to help the stricken officer. He was just yards from the shot assailant who had a gun trained on him by a policeman yelling at him to stay down.
Another stood guard, scanning the gates and pointing his machine gun up at the rooftops.
Commons doormen and security guards then tore down the corridor where we were huddled. They screamed: “Get down, this is not a drill, stay away from the windows.”
But crouching between a photocopier and the crumbling old wall two floors above the yard, I watched as policemen flocked from all over to help save their friend.
They have told us for so long to be prepared for something like this to happen here. We were all acutely aware of how much of a target the ancient building is.
But nothing prepares you for the sense of helplessness as you watch a terror attack unfold from your office window.
Huddled together between the lift and the gents, journalists of the Commons Press Gallery could do nothing but watch the horror.
As one colleague began to cry, the security staff again begged us to get back from the windows. A group of paramedics were with the dying officer while a handful of policemen were trying to restrain the terrorist and keep him alive.
He was stripped by one who appeared to be checking that he did not have a bomb.
The terrorist’s bare legs kicked up and down in agony, as he was clearly still conscious at that early point. Meanwhile, police inside the building did not initially seem to know what was going on.
“There’s been a bomb, there’s been a bomb”, was being shouted across their walkie-talkies.
My colleague said that in the journalists’ coffee bar half a dozen police jumped up to announce the attack, spilling tea over the table.
Another policewoman screamed as if in pain — worried that her colleague who had just taken over her shift was the one injured.
An air ambulance landed in the middle of Parliament Square. Its paramedics battled in vain to keep PC Palmer alive, but it was too late. Other ambulances then came after what seemed like an eternity.
As the terrorist was loaded into one, police officers draped a blanket over their slain colleague. Upstairs we frantically rang colleagues and worried family members who were glued to the news.
I became aware the building was shaking from the thunder of helicopters circling above.
Soon the police arrived and told us we would be moving out.
Leading us down the deserted corridors of power, they contained us in Westminster Hall — the cavernous stone palace where Charles I was tried and Henry VIII played tennis.
Catering staff and Cabinet ministers began arriving ashen-faced, and MPs and their staff all huddled together.
We could not leave as the area outside was a crime scene.
Police Minister Brandon Lewis was hurried through, briefed by plain-clothed officers, before being taken to the scene of the shooting.
The head of the Cabinet Office Sir Jeremy Haywood and former Labour leader Ed Miliband were all detained, just like the barmen and the librarians.
Health Secretary Jeremy Hunt was glued to his mobile while Pensions Secretary Damian Green put an arm around an upset aide.
News of the horrors outside rippled round the hushed thousands inside.
In equally stunned silence police began the mammoth task of collecting witness statements from us all.