In Episode 9 of his new book, author Julian Roup considers his fear, his stomach and the world beyond Covid-19.
In case you missed Episode 8, click here.
Life in a Time of Plague
Sussex, 15th April 2020
By Julian Roup
After another quiet day yesterday, we walked Gus down to the lake at the bottom of the hill around 5pm to admire the early bluebells. The fluorescent green of the new growth on the chestnut trees lit our way down the sun-dappled path. We were alone in wonderland. Then a cyclist on a mountain bike came past, moving carefully downhill, one eye on Gus, whom we held onto.
Moving through this magic place, my spirits lifted noticeably. No wonder the Japanese, lovers of gardens and Zen, have a phrase for it – forest bathing. All around us, there were small vignettes of bluebells and sunlight on green and blue against the elephant skin grey of the tree trunks, images from a children’s book.
Our garden has been in lockdown itself for the long months of winter, but now old friends are re-emerging. The daffodils have been with us some weeks and now the dusky maroon Afro of the Japanese Acer is making its spring display. Year by year, it expands, forcing one to edge past it to get down the garden steps into the kitchen. It is a reminder to me continuously in summer, of how little I know about plants and gardens. I planted it too close to those steps, but it is lovely, and I have no intention of moving it. If anything moves, it will have to be the steps.
In the flowerbed behind the kitchen, there are 13 huge electric pink tulips, which look so good set against the green of the newly cut lawn. They remind me of strawberry ice creams, piled to an Italian high. Above them is the real wonder of this garden, the breathtakingly beautiful Chinese Dogwood tree, which is slowly returning to life and green and which will shortly put out pink blossoms that will turn into a spectacular pinky white explosion and then in the autumn, produce an edible reddish fruit. At its pinky-white peak, it looks like a bride arriving for her wedding. Jan’s childhood friend Fi, a botanist who was at the Chelsea Flower Show many years ago as designer of the South African exhibit, gave it to us, and it’s been in our garden for 30 years now.
“It won’t grow in South Africa,” she explained. “But I’ve always wanted one. So I thought this was the ideal solution!”
The roses are looking good too, and about to flower in May. The front of the garden is now lilac-scented, thanks to the trees in the hedge. The beech hedges around the house are turning green from their winter brown. If one has to be in lockdown, this is the perfect time.
But the world is a troubled place right now. There are voices of wisdom and voices of anger and hate in the media.
I spot an article from the author Arundhati Roy, writing in the Financial Times:
“Whatever it is, coronavirus has made the mighty kneel and brought the world to a halt like nothing else could. Our minds are still racing back and forth, longing for a return to “normality”, trying to stitch our future to our past and refusing to acknowledge the rupture. But the rupture exists. And in the midst of this terrible despair, it offers us a chance to rethink the doomsday machine we have built for ourselves. Nothing could be worse than a return to normality.
Historically, pandemics have forced humans to break with the past and imagine their world anew. This one is no different. It is a portal, a gateway between one world and the next.
We can choose to walk through it, dragging the carcasses of our prejudice and hatred, our avarice, our data banks and dead ideas, our dead rivers and smoky skies behind us. Or we can walk through lightly, with little luggage, ready to imagine another world. And ready to fight for it.”
I say amen. One can only hope that mankind will listen to this wake up call and that all the death and human suffering will not have been in vain.
My own fears about getting back to normal plague me. At my age and health, I won’t survive the virus unless I have a vaccine, and that seems to be at least 18 months away. I’ve heard no more about the Oxford professor’s work promising a vaccine by this autumn. I call my brother-in-law, Tich Walker, a retired GP in Bristol, and he says he is as unclear about the way ahead as I am. We will have to see what the Government’s exit strategy is and make up our own minds on how much to put ourselves at risk, as the lockdown lifts sometime in May. Experts are saying that there could be a second, third and even fourth pulse of this virus in the months ahead. The only true safety lies in self-isolation until a vaccine is available.
There is something of the small child in me who, promised a party, wants the party. It would be wonderful to be able to celebrate my 70th on May 18th with friends and family, but I fear it is not to be.
This morning’s news is led by Trump’s removal of funding from the World Health Organisation because they accepted China’s assurances in January that the virus was not transferable between humans. We lost six weeks to close borders he says. I am sure that his anger is justified for once, but also know that politically he is desperate for a scapegoat, having so misled the people of the United States with his ignorance and vain assurances.
An article that gives me pause says that Ireland’s death rate is 7 per 100,000 while here in the UK it is a much higher at 17 per 100,000 of population. In Ireland, the lockdown came sooner, large public gatherings banned, including St Patrick’s Day, while in England the annual festival of racing at Cheltenham, with its crowds of 250,000, was allowed to proceed, a perfect Coronavirus infection party.
And now, epidemiologists say the virus is about to to sweep through sub-Saharan Africa and India. My thoughts fly south to my sister and her family there and a black woman whom I saw in a video yesterday which had gone viral. She was showing a reporter around her one-room shack outside Cape Town, where she lives with her four children and a grandson. Each part of the shack has a designated area for sleeping, cooking, bathing and chilling. She says that she does not rely on the economy, she relies on God’s economy which is bountiful, and has never let her or her family down. Her face glows with joy and conviction. She is a marvel, a human diamond. Listening to her I am humbled.
By way of contrast, fear, anger and hate stalk the world alongside the most incredible human generosity and bravery. How do the health professionals manage to put their lives and the lives of their families on the line each and every day?
I can’t take too much of this dire daily dirge, so I plan supper and put two pork chops into a marinade of fresh ginger, garlic, honey, mustard, dark soy and tomato sauce. Gus shows great interest in the process. It shames me to say I’ve not lost my appetite, nor has Jan, nor Gus for that matter, and for now, life goes on.
Click here for Episode 10.
