Patience

Brace yourselves! Boris will address us this evening (or already has, depending on when you’re  reading this). He will tell us how they plan to unlock us, though here in Wales, Mark Drayford, our First Minister has already told us that it won’t amount to much - a bit more exercise and open garden centres. Hmmm, I’m not sure what the logic is of that. 

We are ten days into May. How many weeks have we been locked down? The weather has been glorious and everyone is chomping at the bit to get to the beach or countryside, or go shopping, or go to a football match, a picnic, a pub, visit family and friends. I’m not sure how many are as keen to go back to work, though. VE Day on Friday gave people a reason to party at two meters distance from each other. The flags were out and there was a lot of virtual celebration through the media. Here at the caravan park you wouldn’t have known it was VE Day. We haven’t hung up any Union Jacks or bunting and Gareth would have looked at me askance if I’d suggested we have a 1940’s style tea party and dress up to dance to Vera Lyn. Each day for us is like any other, the greatest excitement being the appearance of sheep escaped from the field.

Yesterday was a bit of an event, however. The sound of cars coming down the lane signalled that something was occurring (a bit of Ruth Jones there for you, if you know ‘Gavin and Stacey’). Three cars pulled up on the grass across the way and a bunch of lads emerged noisily and with bags that looked to contain bottles and cans. I told them politely that they shouldn’t be here as the site and car park are closed. After trying to convince me that they were here because their mothers had chucked them out with nowhere to go, but refusing to report to the site owner as I advised, they all walked off determinedly, heading for the beach. Jan, of the other couple staying here, informed them that the police have been patrolling but nevertheless, off they all clanked, muttering expletively.

After a few minutes the clanking wanderers returned, got in their cars and drove off again, presumably because they expected us to call the police (which we didn’t; should we have?). I spent the rest of the afternoon feeling sorry for them; a bunch of young men who have each presumably been cooped up with family, the sunshine strong and hot, and patience run out. Young men their age have historically been the cannon fodder of war; the WW2 veterans are now at risk of being defeated by an invisible enemy, this bonkers coronavirus. Yesterday’s young reprobates may well have great grandparents who fought, died or survived to remember that war. I wonder what they would say to these boys. It has struck me how many of the wartime memories are of the sense of adventure presented by the opportunity of enlisting and of the camaraderie of fighting together. How does this war against a virus; the call to “Stay at home, protect the NHS and save lives” capture the imagination of young blood?

And it really was a glorious day, yesterday, but with much less pleasant weather threatened; such a temptation to head for the beach. Also, news has been circulating that lockdown would be eased from this weekend so people are getting ahead of it, thinking that the worst is over. But, apparently we’ve been too previous and lock down will continue for another three weeks. I’m not the only grandparent worried that the grandchildren will have forgotten us.

Last night we watched “The Darkest Hour”, a film about Churchill. We watched with the doors and windows wide open for the balm of the evening and the birdsong serenade to accompany our last bottle of red. Thoughtful and thankful for the massive sacrifices made for the freedoms we now take for granted, and the current sacrifices being made for our health, I took a night-time walk. Above the beach and looking out across the water, the lights of human habitation twinkled and glowed back to me. It’s a beautiful Earth and it deserves our respect. In a fanciful moment I flashed the torch a few times into the dark dunes. I had such a shock when something flashed back! I flashed again, and sure enough I received a reply. Oo-er!

Rather than check it out any further (a vagrant? a resentful evicted teenager? just another night walker?) I turned around and walked back through the caravan park. Unoccupied caravans, their windows eerily reflecting the dying light wait stoically. Some are accompanied by solar fairy lights,  like glow worms, softening the darkness and adding magic to the peace of the night. My own caravan, aglow and with life inside, beckoned me. ‘Where are those young lads now?’, I wondered.

Well, I hope they got something out of their system somewhere and gave some thought to the wisdom of their escapade. I fervently hope, too, that they aren’t infectious!