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As a journalist, I’ve reported on countless tragedies over the years, but nothing quite matched the spectacle outside Amy Winehouse’s Camden home on 23 July 2011. She was just 27 years old, and one of Britain’s most gifted yet troubled singers, and the news of her death ripped through London in an instant. By the time I arrived at Camden Square, thousands of fans had already gathered behind the iron gates of her high-end flat.
Some, rather ironically, carried bottles of booze and cases of beer. Some placed cigarettes, others clutched flowers and teddy bears. Messages scrawled on scraps of paper were wedged between railings — tributes to a local girl who became a global star but never abandoned her roots. Then came the moment I’ll never forget. Her body, draped in a red tarp, was wheeled out of the house. There was a stunned silence as the reality sank in. Reporters raised their cameras, fans craned their necks, but all you could feel was an overwhelming mix of grief and disbelief.
The Metropolitan Police later confirmed they had been called at 16.05pm by the London Ambulance Service.
“On arrival, officers found the body of a 27-year-old female who was pronounced dead at the scene,” a spokesperson said. At the time, her death was described as “unexplained”, though sources quickly suggested a drug overdose.
Afterwards, I walked to The Hawley Arms, the pub where Amy had spent so many nights. The place was heaving with mourners, locals who spoke of her as one of their own.
Mary Gallagher, a regular, told The Guardian: “Some people might think it shows disrespect to come out drinking tonight, but she was such a part of Camden she made it her home and she always got involved. Amy even worked behind the bar here.
“She was such a lovely person and, to be honest, I don’t think fame agreed with her. She was an ordinary girl at heart.”
That night, Camden felt like it had lost its heartbeat. Cards left outside her home read: “You will not be forgotten by Camden. We all love you and will continue to love you. Your legend lives on.”
Amy’s demons had long been public — the cancelled tours, the infamous Belgrade gig where she forgot her lyrics, the struggles with drink and drugs.
Yet to the people of Camden, she was never just a headline. She was the girl who sang from her soul, who pulled pints at the local, who walked these streets like any other. Seeing her body carried out that day is something I’ll never shake.
And as today would have been her 42nd birthday, it’s impossible not to reflect on what she gave us in so short a time, and what more she could have achieved.
For all those who loved her and especially for her beloved home town, Amy wasn’t just a star. She was family.
