MIDDAY PAUSE: Much of Spain came to a standstill at noon yesterday as tens of thousands left their offices, schools and shops to stand for 15 minutes of silence to show their horror at Thursday's bomb atrocity.
I stood with a group of them in a light rain outside a department store in a middle class area. Around us were hundreds of people from all walks of life: workers and customers from the local post office, from a mobile phone shop, and from cafes and bars. Cars stopped and some drivers got out and stood beside their vehicles.
One woman standing beside me wept quietly. She said one of her friends had been seriously injured in the blast. Another woman said she had been at home, but decided to go down to the streets because she wanted to show her solidarity with the victims and their families.
After 15 minutes of a dignified silence, the crowd broke into spontaneous applause - a gesture which surprises many foreigners but is considered one of respect in Spain - and then went about their business. Few said a word to the person who had been standing beside them, but those who did said they would be going to the mass demonstration in the evening. "Of course I will be there. We have no alternative," said my neighbour Guillermo.
In other parts of the city, there were similar scenes. Prime Minister José María Aznar, who had just presided over his last cabinet meeting before Sunday's elections, joined officials and workers on the steps of his Moncloa Palace offices.
Several thousand Madrilenos went to the Puerta del Sol, the hub of the city, to stage their own protests there. For the first time for several years, many of them had white paint on their palms to signify their hands were not stained with blood. As the silence ended, they began to chant slogans calling for and end to violence.
They joined a group of protesters who have been staging a silent day and night vigil ever since the news of the massacre broke. What started as a few dozen has grown by the hour to more than a hundred.
Some stayed a few minutes to lay a bunch of flowers or a lighted candle; others carried banners calling for an end to terrorism.
The scenes were particularly harrowing in the silent protest outside the junior school at Santa Eugenia, near where one of the bombs exploded. Small children, many no older than four or five, stood in the playground with their teachers. Two of their fellow pupils had died in the blast only 24 hours earlier.
One of the largest demonstrations took place outside Atocha Station, the scene of the first two bombs. Workers from the state-run railway network, including its chairman Miguel Corsini, stopped work and stood in the station forecourt alongside bunches of flowers and candles which had been left there during the night.
I was at Atocha Station a few hours earlier, 24 hours after the tragedy when the railway service began, having being closed throughout Thursday.
Most trains are running on time, and only one route was replaced by a bus service. All trains, local and commuter, carried large black mourning ribbons in each coach. Until the damage has been repaired, trains cannot stop at the Santa Eugenia and Pozo stations, both badly damaged in the blasts, but all traffic passing their empty platforms have been sounding their horns as a sign of tribute.
The mood as early morning passengers arrived at the station was subdued, as it was all day throughout the city. There were fewer passengers than usual, as many were afraid and preferred to find other means of transport. There was an almost eerie feeling of shock, and those who spoke did so quietly. It will take many weeks before they forget the horrors many of them witnessed only 24 hours earlier.