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.
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