A change in the weather is sufficient to recreate the world and ourselves.
Marcel Proust – In Search of Lost Time
The fortitude shown by some people in this present crisis is really quite humbling. My eldest daughter, as people who have read this blog before will know, lives in a small two-bedroom flat with her husband and two young children. They have been self-isolating now for three weeks, having been advised to do so for at least twelve. Her three-year old son had a stroke last year and underwent brain surgery less than two months ago, so he is regarded as highly vulnerable to COVID-19.
She has lost her main source of income, as a supply teacher, and the family is confined to a small, first-floor flat, albeit with its own little yard at the back. They manage to get out on their bikes once a day, but the government are now suggesting even that privilege may be withdrawn.
Yet, whenever I speak to her she is positive and upbeat. I know she worries, and has done so since her child first became ill, but to the kids she’s just a cheerful, lively mum. As a committed teacher she’s thrown herself whole-heartedly into the task of home-schooling her kids – on the first day of self-isolation she sat down with them and they drew up a learning schedule together. Everything is turned into a learning opportunity and every lesson is turned into fun: thus, a water pistol each and numbers chalked onto the wall of the yard becomes a maths lesson.
But we can get this whole appreciation of ordinary people doing amazing things in difficult circumstances thing a bit wrong sometimes. Last week I was out for my morning run and passed, having crossed to the other side of the road when I spotted him, a council worker sweeping the pavement with a brush and a push-along cart. Just an ordinary guy, but one who was doing an amazing job for his community and someone who deserves our appreciation.
‘You’re a hero, mate!’ I called across to him, ‘you’re doing a fantastic job’.
I left him looking puzzled and embarrassed as I ran on, and I’ve worried ever since that he might have thought I was using irony to take the piss. So if the town centre street sweeper ever reads this blog…
Picture of Old Dee Bridge at Chester ©Bobby Seal
