Covid#23 - Finding our way to that happy bar at the bottom of the mountain

Lockdown is over.  Sort of.

Since Boris’ latest announcement – just over a week ago – we’ve been gradually feeling our way out of isolation; not entirely sure what we’re supposed to be doing or how far we’re supposed to go, experimenting a bit, pushing the boundaries of the lockdown like mischievous children, breath bated, waiting to see if the ‘R’ rises. 

Apparently, Boris refers to this as ‘unlockdown’ and like much of his speech the weekend before last, no-one really knows what that means.  There’s been a lot of criticism.  ‘Stay at home’ was replaced with ‘Be alert’ but none of us is sure of how to do this, what we should be alert to or how to be more alert than we are usually.  Coronavirus doesn’t come with flashing neon lights and bells so we can’t look out for signs of it and presumably, if being alert was as straightforward as avoiding anyone with obvious symptoms of fever or a cough, few people would have ever contracted it.  Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland swerved this message completely, cautiously sticking with ‘Stay at home’, while those of us in England feel like they’re watching us, lab-rat like.  For many of us though, it came as a relief to be told that we no longer had to stay at home.  The once-a-day limit on exercise is at an end; we can drive elsewhere for a walk; we can lounge outdoors in parks or on the beach; garden centres and golf courses have reopened; we can meet another person outdoors and sit with them at what has become the normal social distance. 

I don’t exactly have sympathy with Boris but I think this phase was always going to be difficult politically and to communicate.  The near-complete lockdown we endured from late-March couldn’t last until all risk of the virus has gone – at best, a vaccine won’t be widely available for another year and it may take much, much longer to develop one.  The economic effect of the pandemic is already severe; continuing shutdown would be catastrophic.  Isolation was already becoming hard to endure – harder for some than others – and the impact on the emotional wellbeing and mental health of many continuing to suffer it would be dire.

The risk now may be close to the lowest it’s going to get until there’s a vaccine.  Crucially, the NHS wasn’t overwhelmed by the peak of the pandemic and there is capacity within hospitals to cope with any new surge in cases.  When Boris spoke, the ‘R’ (the reproduction rate of the virus) was below one (it may have risen closer to one now) and last week, sampling revealed that approximately one in four hundred of us has the virus.  The easing of restrictions could be delayed by another three weeks or another three months, but little would have changed and the risk may not be much lower.  It’s understandably hard for Boris to persuade everyone that now is the right time for ‘unlockdown’ though – and not just because he’s Boris.

Many of us took to lockdown far better than we ourselves or anyone else thought we would and, as all the graphs, charts and reports of the falling ‘R’ attest, we’ve seen the positive impact, so there’s apprehension about changing it.  Some of us are relieved, eager to seize the opportunity and personally happy to take some risk; some are more tentative; some understandably fear the risk and aren’t yet ready to emerge; and for others, the risk is too great and they must continue shielding themselves.  Being an SEND teacher, I share Boris’ enthusiasm for a five-point scale (he unveiled his as part of his address) so perhaps, our various responses to this phase of the emergency can be summed up thus:

5	Socialising with other people in larger groups.  Visiting family or friends in their homes.  Never wearing a mask.  Not always observing social distance.
4	Driving elsewhere for walks or exercise.  Visiting family in their gardens.  Sometimes meeting more than one other person.  Not always wearing a mask.  Popping to the shops more regularly.  Maintaining social distance.
3	May be returning to work or continuing to work from home.  Going outside more often and for longer.  Strictly maintaining social distance.  Wearing a mask.  Shopping only once or twice each week.  Occasionally meeting another person outdoors.
2	Continuing lockdown – isolating at home with family, exercising once per day, shopping once each week, working from home or not at all.
1	Shielding at home – elderly or vulnerable.

I’m a four.  I’ve had long walks along the prom at home in Bournemouth or driven for up to an hour for a walk somewhere different and followed that with a run later in the day.  Usually, I’m on my own but I’ve met a small number of friends for a socially-distanced glass of wine in their gardens or a catch-up at the beach and I’ve sat in the street for a drink with neighbours.  I’ve popped to a local shop a couple of times to supplement the weekly big-shop.  There may be occasions when I swiftly pass someone at less than two metres but most of the time, I try to keep to those social distancing guidelines, and I’ve bought myself some masks.

To most of us, ‘five’ seems reckless.  Otherwise, we shouldn’t be too judgmental of each other for our response; everyone’s is reasonable, personally responsible and sensible.  Boris himself has talked about ‘common sense’.  It’s a nebulus thing that makes us anxious.  Each of us probably thinks we have generally good common sense (allowing for occasional lapses) but we can also be suspicious of each other’s – even untrusting.  Usually, our ‘common sense’ decisions have minimal effect on others, but now they are responsible for keeping the virus under control; now they could have life-and-death implications.  Nonetheless, there was always going to come a time when, with due regard for others, we make our own decisions about the level of risk we are prepared to take and we take more personal responsibility.  For many of us with concerns for individual liberty, it’s also imperative that we defer less to the state.

Boris talked of the route back down a mountain being the most difficult and dangerous.  We sustained terrible, tragic losses on the way up, but we made it to the peak, and in doing so, we understood the magnitude of our shared endeavour, we looked out for each other and our trust in each other grew.  Like standing at the top of a mountain though, we all know we can’t stay there forever so now, we’re each finding our moment to leave the summit.  Some of us throw ourselves into the descent with the eager courage and ferocity of a black-run skier whilst others of us find a gentler, slower path.  We know there will be many more sad losses and undoubtedly, there will be bumps and obstacles.  Our faith may be shaken by a few rogues who try a more dangerous route, seemingly going too fast with less regard for others.  We’ll keep looking to our scientific sherpas for advice and support and we may need to pause and wait a while before continuing.  However, with the trust in each other and the hope we discovered on the way up, and with the same mutual respect, consideration and support, we’ll get ourselves to that happy bar at the bottom of the mountain.

Covid#22 - VE Day

Today, for the first time in weeks, disease and death wasn’t the headline news; VE Day was a much-needed distraction from coronavirus.  Scenes of busy hospital wards and locked-down care-homes were replaced with those of street parties: bunting strung across house-fronts, Union Flags flying proudly, people coming together to dance in their streets – albeit sensibly spaced two metres apart.

Interviews with workers on today’s frontline were replaced with interviews with those who had served on another or on the home-front and remember Churchill’s announcement of the German surrender, the crowds outside Buckingham Palace, the cakes at their street parties seventy-five years ago.  The sad tears of those bereaved by Covid19 were briefly replaced with the happier memories of victorious fathers returning to their families after months of fighting or imprisonment abroad.  Grief and despair at the rising number of deaths today was replaced with remembrance of the far greater number who gave their lives in a far greater fight and gratitude for the fortitude and sacrifices of that wartime generation.

Many didn’t celebrate today.  Doctors, nurses and carers on today’s frontline were too busy caring for the sick and dying, engaged in today’s fight against the virus and to save lives.  There were those worried for elderly and vulnerable friends and relatives, or anxious for someone sick or in hospital.  Some were alone and fearful for themselves.  And, of course, there were those in mourning. 

Equally, not everyone celebrated seventy-five years ago.  Then too, many felt terrible loss; some were too haunted by the devastation of the blitz, the battlefields of Europe and the appalling suffering of the occupied across the continent; others were exhausted by years of terror, fear, fighting and loss; and all knew that victory in Europe was less a full-stop than a comma – the war in the east remained to be fought and then came the struggle for a lasting peace.  As Churchill said, celebration would only be an interlude, ‘a brief moment of rejoicing’.

Just for today though, perhaps we could be forgiven our distraction from those realities.

Comparison of our modern-day emergency with that my grandparents’ generation endured and the battles they fought isn’t right.  The tyranny and the horrors they confronted and the sacrifices they made in total war far exceed our own challenges and remain unimaginable to us.  What has become more imaginable though is the sadness of separation they too experienced, the solidarity and strength they found in their communities and their eventual joy in coming back together with family and friends.  The words of Vera Lynn’s ‘We’ll meet again’ have taken on greater poignancy.

There was great hope today in the way neighbours came together in defiance of the virus.  There’s great hope too in the coming together of the world’s scientific community to learn more about coronavirus and find treatments or a vaccine.  We’re fighting a very different enemy today but still there is a great sense that we’re all in this together. 

For all of us, VE Day wasn’t the celebration it was supposed to be.  There was no sharing of our homes and gardens to fancy-dress wearing family and friends.  There wasn’t the same sharing of food there would have been without fear of infection.  We didn’t gather around the barbecue, debating whether or not the burgers were properly cooked and toasting marshmallows.  There weren’t any drunken dances with neighbours.  No-one got to enjoy my Eton mess!  It wasn’t just the lockdown that subdued our celebrations though; how can you really party when over thirty-thousand people have died in the past few weeks and you know thousands more will die?  No-one was really in the mood for a proper knees-up.

Some people talk of parties when all this over, on the other side of the lockdown, once coronavirus is finally beaten, whenever that will be.  There will be gratitude, relief and joy, just as there was seventy-five years ago: gratitude for sacrifices made and the incredible efforts of workers on our frontline, relief that it’s all over and joy at seeing friends and family once more.  Celebration may be hard though.

626 people died in the UK today, bringing the total to 31,241. 

Covid#21 - Now I've got that off my chest ...

A few days ago I was feeling upbeat after completing my 2.6 Challenge for Alzheimer’s Society, then I watched Panorama, with all its shocking revelations about the Government’s failures, and all my positivity was replaced by frustration and anger.  I got that off my chest in my last post so now I can return to something more sanguine.

My 26,000 steps around the Cornish coast, which actually turned out to be 27,061 steps or 12.7 miles, was my way of remembering my Gran, who had dementia and died four years ago in a care home, and of showing my admiration for and gratitude to carers and care-home workers on the frontline during this emergency.  So far, friends, colleagues, family and people unknown to me have donated an amazing £770 to Alzheimer’s Society and they have helped me to appreciate how coronavirus has brought out the good in us.

I’d originally set a vague target to raise £100, counting on those ever-dependable friends and family members to support me, but others donated too, including – thanks to social media – some complete strangers.  To raise nearly eight times as much was overwhelming.  Such generosity is one of the hallmarks of this pandemic.  It seems to have made people think about others, recognise the plight of the disadvantaged at a really desperate time and want to give.  Millions have been raised for NHS charities, the BBC ‘Big Night In’ raised £27million for Comic Relief and Children in Need, the 2.6 Challenge has raised £8million and a quick glance at websites like JustGiving shows large sums being raised for a range of charities.  It may not total the £4billion charities reckon they will lose out on in the first few months of this emergency, but hundreds of millions could well be raised. 

My personal effort seems small.  I am fortunate to be in a beautiful place where walking the clifftops is a great way to occupy my time, good exercise and a simple pleasure, and it’s something I do every day.  Walking so far in one day was a challenge and I certainly ached for a few days after, but it was nothing compared to the remarkable efforts of others: six year old Frank Mills walks ten metres every day on his frame despite his spina bifida; Nick Spooner is cycling the 2,200 mile distance of the Tour de France on his exercise bike after operations on both his legs to ease a condition that often caused fractures and sprains of his ankles; wheelchair-bound Brynn Hauxwell has embarked on a 1,679 mile marathon in five-mile, six-hour stints; and, of course, Captain Tom walked lengths of his garden on his new hip as he neared his one-hundredth birthday. 

Giving in this crisis hasn’t just taken the form of pound coins either.  Volunteers have sprung to action, sewing scrubs for healthcare workers, making visors and face-masks, delivering food parcels and medicines, preparing meals for needy families, the elderly and the vulnerable.  Children have provided groceries to their neighbours from stalls outside their homes.  Postmen, delivery drivers and dustmen have donned fancy dress to bring a smile to their customers.  Musicians and performers have taken to the Internet to entertain all of us with time on our hands, and they’ve staged impromptu concerts from their windows, gardens and streets.  People with all manner of skills offer free online classes in everything from yoga and languages to baking and coding, while artists paint the portraits of some of our heroes.  Their generosity with their time, imagination and compassion and the lengths they have gone to have been just as heart-warming as all those fundraisers’.

All these people would probably play down their efforts but their response to crisis wasn’t fearful and hopeless or to panic and hide; it wasn’t enough to just follow the rules and self-isolate; they needed to do something for others who were suffering more and in doing so, they provide hope and inspire the rest of us to do and give whatever we can.

Not everyone can do so much and this pandemic effects people differently.  Many are anxious and afraid, those who are especially vulnerable to the virus need to shield themselves at home, the circumstances of many mean they can’t volunteer or embark on a charitable challenge, not everyone wants to share their talents from their balcony or a website and some simply choose to keep themselves to themselves.

For all of us though, social contact at this time of social distance is more important than ever and for some – those on their own, the vulnerable, sick or disabled, people prone to anxiety – it’s critical.  Instinctively, we have taken each other to our hearts, found new reserves of compassion and even greater capacity to care, and instinctively, we’ve connected with each other by whatever means we can.  We’ve seemingly found new value in family members we previously rarely spoke to, rediscovered old friendships and got to know our neighbours.  I’ve been in touch with some relatives more in the last couple of months than I have in the last couple of years.  I’ve searched out long-lost friends and tried to stay more regularly and frequently in touch with a wider circle than (sadly) I might usually.  I find myself a couple hundred miles from home, but better friends with my neighbours there nonetheless, whilst simultaneously feeling taken into this, my adopted Covid-community.  The out-of-the-blue Whatsapp message or phone call – the three word ‘How are you?’ question – suddenly carries so much more weight and meaning than it used to.  The simple thoughtfulness and kindness they represent means so much; it makes us smile, warms our hearts, strengthens our relationships and, in these tough times, it keeps us going.

There’s talk of how this experience will change us once the emergency has passed and we return to normal.  Might there be a ‘new normal’?  Will we have found such value in our relationships – both old and new – that we sustain them?  Will those text messages and phone calls continue with similar regularity?  Will we still take advantage of our new-found confidence with video-conferencing apps?  Will neighbours find time to share a cuppa in closer quarters when they can once again also share their lounges?  When it’s harder to find time, will we find it nonetheless and stay in touch and visit each other?  Will ‘How are you?’ mean so much?

It’s good to find light in dark times and natural to hope that, for all our travails, the post-Covid future might in some way be brighter and better.  I suspect we were all so settled in our old way of life and we’ll be so relieved when this is all over that we’ll too quickly revert to our old ways.  In spite of what may come then, I’ll make the most of all the good that coronavirus has brought out in us for however long it lasts.