0n the 24th March 2020, I received this message :
GOV.UK CORONAVIRUS ALERT New rules in force now: you must stay at home. More info & exemptions at gov.uk/coronavirus Stay at home. Protect the NHS. Save lives.
I knew it was coming, of course. Sometime in December 2019, rumours were emerging of a novel virus, maybe an accidental release from a biowarfare lab, maybe a bat virus gone rogue: who knew then? (Who knows now? ) people were dying, it was spreading, who knew that Christmas 2019 would, for millions, be their last?
On being ordered to stay home, I set myself a few tasks: to blog daily (I didn’t) to keep in close virtual touch with family and friends, which I did, and to light a candle at dusk every evening at sunset. That I kept up for two years.
I remember being surprised at my parents’ generation often describing “the war years,” as the happiest of their lives. I’m not going to claim THAT, but I gained a sense of how that might be. Every day came awash with an extra sense of how good it was to be alive. There was a coming together ( at a distance ) of people in the pursuit of a common aim: staying alive. In fact the nationwide Thursday night cheering for the NHS was the first time I actually met many of my neighbours. We were kinder to one other, more helpful: it was a good time to be alive, primarily because we WERE still alive.
The U.K. government led by Boris the Toxic Buffoon muddled through, endangering as many lives as it saved. I shall say no more on that topic, sceptics may tune into the Parliamentary inquiry currently convening and find that out for themselves. It’s worse than you think.
I had a mission. March 2020 found me one of only two members of the Church Council under 70 - thus able to leave home for one of the few permitted activities: opening the church.
The sanctuary was cleared as only five ( plastic ) chairs were permitted for the five people allowed in the building for private prayer. Every door and window opened, every chair sanitised after us, free masks on hand, the wearing of which was compulsory. There were lists of attendees with contact numbers, that had to be kept. Thankfully I only needed to use one once: and that was because Dennis picked up an infection at work.
I had a dedicated team. We scrubbed and cleaned with enthusiasm. We moved furniture in and out as the numbers permitted at Mass increased. We bustled about with a sense of purpose I have a kind of nostalgia for.
I ran a tight ship. There were no infections. Nobody died.
The rules were strict. When Mass was first permitted, hanging around inside afterwards wasn’t. My best schoolmarm persona emerged as I emptied the church with the imperious command, “No Loitering!”
We could shop, walk outdoors with members of our household,go to church, but not sing, “bubble” with one family group. (I cheated, though cautiously didn’t bubble with the same household in a week …) Testing was routine, masking up a way of life. (The discovery of a pink floral one, that I sewed from a pattern I found on the internet, prompted this post. “Lest We Forget.” )
At its peak Covid infections in the U.K. topped 300,000 a day. I lost count of the death toll. Everyone in my family eventually caught it, though post vaccination, and although sick for a few days, there are no lasting effects. Or so I believe.
Covid’s not over. It’s dropped from the news, because thanks to amazing, and timely, developments in cellular biology, vaccines became astonishingly quickly available, at least for those of us fortunate to live in the west, with a decent healthcare system.
Eleven months after that text from HMG, on Feb 2nd 2021, I received my first shot. It became safer to venture out.
During that year of Lockdown, , I celebrated both my 70th birthday and my 50th wedding anniversay. There was a brief respite in October 2020 when five people were allowed to gather together. I had a celebration dinner with my daughters and husband, at The Royal William south of Gloucester. My wedding anniversary we toured our children’s back gardens, and toasted each other at the statutory distance of 2m.
I hope and pray never to have to live through another pandemic: though another is an inevitability.
When the next one comes, I hope the lessons of this one will have been learned. Anyway, one thing for certain, it won’t be me shouting, “No Loitering!” at group of recalcitrant worshippers enjoying their one legal get-together of the week!
