We all strive to live in the present. Perhaps more than ever before, because of the information revolution and the growth of social media, we are the now generation. The past is obsolete, last year’s model. The future is being invented now. Seize the time! You only live once is the mantra of first adopters. Only they are not the first. If they paid more attention to the past they would know that in a more pastoral age we were enjoined to “gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” Following the horrors of World War II a 1949 hit record told us to “Enjoy yourselves! It’s later than you think.”
There is another future that awaits us all and death is in all our futures. Our deaths are also, as Philip Pullman so brilliantly described it in his Dark Materials trilogy, ever present, always with us. Mostly we prefer to ignore this for as long as possible and live our lives as if we are immortal. Some parts of our future are acknowledged, even anticipated, and incorporated into our present: planning for that wedding; looking forward to a holiday; even saving for the future gives the more fortunate among us satisfaction in the here and now when the bank statement or the pension report drops through the letter box or pings in our inbox.
Yet the past persists. It too is always with us. We cherish fond memories, reinvent the past, or maybe edit it to enhance our self-esteem. Less happy memories may be suppressed or forgotten but they cannot be ignored. We are shaped by our history. This history may include grief and trauma, disappointment and regret, embarrassment and shame. The pursuit of happiness is simultaneously a flight from misery. Some are more nimble than others. But unseen and unexpected obstacles can trap and trip anybody at any time during the chase.
Mostly we live inside our heads, scripting the story of our lives in which we are the heroes. There are always a few co-stars, supporting actors and walk on parts for family, friends and acquaintances. Not many of us are megalomaniacs requiring a cast of thousands and nobody wants to be an extra in somebody else’s movie. Then, once in a while, events take over and we find ourselves, in the fulfilment of what is purported to be an old Chinese curse, living in interesting times, with a walk on part in a blockbuster disaster movie. These are interesting times. We have all to some extent been trapped and tripped by novel events from the other side of the world.
COVID-19 was first identified in December 2019 in Wuhan, China. The World Health Organization declared the outbreak a Public Health Emergency of International Concern on 30 January 2020. They would not declare a pandemic until March 11th. In Britain, the main focus of the news was on Johnson’s Tory government and “getting Brexit done.” At the end of January there were only 2 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in the UK. One month later there were 36. Most of the attention was still on China, the source of the outbreak, and Italy where the Lombardy region was particularly affected.
By the end of February the UK had 23 recorded cases. By comparison there had been 1128 recorded cases and 29 deaths in Italy. To be honest I shared in the general mood of complacency in Britain at the time. Previous coronavirus outbreaks like SARS and MERS had been a long way away and had been contained with little impact on the UK. Why should this one be any different?
On March 5th my wife and I were due to visit Keswick in the Lake District for Words by the Water, a Festival of Words and Ideas. As both our bookshelves and our bank accounts were approaching their limit we limited ourselves to the opening weekend instead of the whole fortnight. The caseload had now grown to 115 and there had been the first death on UK soil. Nevertheless we set off for Keswick unperturbed. In retrospect I am glad that we spent so little time in the company of strangers.
It was a good weekend. The only mention of the virus came from Ben Okri, who thanked us for not succumbing to fear and for travelling from across the UK and beyond to fill the main auditorium at The Theatre by the Lake, probably the best independent theatre in Britain, both for its location on the shore of Derwentwater and the quality of its repertoire of established classics and new writing. Ben also urged us to read slowly. Well I have been doing a lot of that these past months.
Melvyn Bragg spoke, not about his new book, he does not have one; but about the book he is writing on his childhood memories of Wigton and, in his discursive manner, he managed to take in the Water Lily paintings of Monet and the works of George Simenon along the way. Thank you for that Melvyn. The Maigret novels have been a welcome companion during lockdown and I look forward to viewing three of Monet’s Water Lily paintings at the National Gallery this autumn. Providing, that is, I can get there before the second wave causes a fresh lockdown.
Hashi Mohammed was there to promote his book, “People Like Us.” Hashi is an example of social mobility actually working. He described how he won a scholarship to Eton and, rather than being overawed, reframed the experience. “Just think,” he said, “all those people paying a small fortune just to be at the same school as me.” Hashi was optimistic at the beginning of March. This was ahead of the death of George Floyd at the hands of an American police officer which led to #BlackLivesMatter reverberating around the world. It also predated the disproportionate impact of COVID-19 on black and Asian communities.
Black lives matter in the UK as well. A young socialist who has also won a scholarship to Eton has been attacked on Twitter and told to get back to Pakistan, even though he was born in East London and his parents hail from India. He has wryly observed that, unlike his privileged fellow Etonians, his study room during lockdown has been a bedroom shared with his siblings.
Natalie Haynes was funny, erudite and entertaining in her talk on Greek mythology and the work of Homer, which she brings to life quite brilliantly in her novel of Troy, “A Thousand Ships.” Now the ships are small boats and heading in the other direction, carrying refugees from Asia to Europe. But Natalie’s theme is not migration. She speaks and writes, in counterpoint to the eponymous Heroes of Stephen Fry’s venture into classicism, of the heroines of Homer’s epic poems, a long overdue #MeToo moment for the classics which chimes well with the recent work of Emily Wilson, Mary Beard, Madeleine Miller and Pat Barker.
John Crace was equally funny in his satire of the state of British politics, “Decline and Fail,” in which he bemoaned the fact that rather than a satirist, he felt more like a stenographer. His targets in the government wrote his column for him. All he had to do was record their words and get paid for it! While Boris Johnson’s Brexit threatened us with political apocalypse, John managed an optimistic note over Starmer’s probable victory in the seemingly interminable Labour leadership campaign.
Overall there was an optimism of the spirit, tempered by some justified pessimism of the intellect. Our future in a post-Brexit world was, and is, still unknown. The impending climate catastrophe had not yet galvanized world leaders into any meaningful cooperation. But, in Keswick at least, there were people of good will who valued our shared humanity and our cultural heritage. Invigorated and informed, we would leave with renewed hope for the future.
Unsuspected by many, the future was already spreading amongst us. By the time we returned home on March 9th the number of COVID-19 cases in the UK had more than doubled to 273. A week later I returned to the Lake District with the Barrow Ramblers Club. Most of us are approaching retirement age or older. We joked about who was supposedly at risk. We were fell walkers and mountaineers. Our lungs had breathed the Lakeland air from the summits of some of England’s highest peaks. We were not vulnerable old people. That day we walked from Grasmere to Ambleside via Fairfield (873m) and descended via Dove Crag and Scandale. In Ambleside that Sunday there were still plenty of tourists. The public houses were all busy. But in a bookshop I heard the young assistant talking to a friend about how worried she was. All these people, coming from all over. Who knew who had the virus? She was scared and looking forward to shutting the shop. I left. That was the last time I would visit the Lakes for months to come. The Ramblers Club coach hire is still cancelled but a limited programme of walks has restarted since lockdown restrictions were eased using members cars.
I am a trustee for the National Autistic Society and had important meetings in London on my return from Ambleside. Monday’s journey was uneventful. Mindful of the virus, I chose to walk from the station rather than use the Tube. The pavements were crowded with like-minded individuals. That evening the news was grim: over 1500 cases and 55 deaths. Prime Minister Boris Johnson was advising against “non-essential” travel and contact with others, to curb coronavirus, as well as to work from home if possible and avoid visiting social venues such as pubs, clubs or theatres. I had an NAS Board meeting in London scheduled for March 19th, made even more pressing by the potential impact of COVID-19 on our services to vulnerable autistic children and adults and their families. We took the decision to go ahead and I travelled down to London on the 19th.
I was already adjusting to the level of threat. I took a packed lunch, wore gloves and carried hand sanitizer. The meeting was confident and purposeful. Our planning was detailed and robust. I had bought a basil plant at Waitrose which I placed on the table and there were jokes about “a pocket full of posies.” I discussed the merits of Zoom and Teams with fellow trustees, little guessing how familiar we would become with these web conferencing platforms in the weeks ahead. At my hotel in Islington I was advised of their hygiene precautions and informed that the restaurant was closed and that the bar was closing early. I set off in search of an evening meal. This is usually a vibrant area with bars and bistros competing for business. Most were already closed in anticipation of the coming lockdown. I discovered a restaurant that was still serving. I was its only customer. The next morning back at Euston, I had never known it so quiet. Returning home I had a carriage to myself and the guard announced that there would be no on-board ticket checks due to the risk from coronavirus. I returned home to learn of the government furlough scheme and the lockdown measures due to be enforced the following week.
A week after lockdown there were over 10,000 cases and 400 deaths. By the end of March more than 1000 had died and we were fast approaching a spike in the virus with nearly 1000 deaths a day that would push the total to well over 40,000 deaths out of over 300,000 confirmed cases. The future was upon us, no longer ours to shape, but shaping, shaking, and for too many of us, shattering our lives.