In Episode 36 of his new book, author Julian Roup learns that people die at home rather than go to hospital for fear of Covid-19.
In case you missed Episode 35, click here.
Life in a Time of Plague
Sussex, 10th May 2020
By Julian Roup
Today is going to be the warmest of the year thus far, with temperatures peaking at around 25 degrees. I have breakfast in the garden, and it is already warm at 9.30am, with the promise of a beautiful day ahead.
The Columbine fairy flowers (Aquilegia) that we’ve planted in the bed behind the kitchen are at their best in blues, mauves, white and violet, and have self-seeded into the grassed-over path up the garden. You never know what new and unusual colour they will come up with.
I am glad I have not mown the path this year, otherwise I’d not have known about this lovely spread of the Columbines. They are doing well in this area, as it is the most protected from the scything winds we get up here on this hill from time to time as they sweep in off the Atlantic in south westerly blows or in winter north easterlies off the Russian Urals, a blast that chills you to the bone.
Because it is going to be such a warm day, we decide to give my car a run to keep the battery charged and go and visit Traveller, Jan’s horse, at livery about five miles away. We find him alone in the huge 20-acre field swathed in his lightweight fly rug and mask, looking for all the world like a Tudor charger ready for a joust. He ambles over to enjoy the apple Jan has brought for him, mouthing it awkwardly and dropping it on the ground, before picking it up to finish it off with relish.
At the stables we find Deborah and her daughter Abbey and some of her clients, Peter, Claire and Heather, who are just back from a ride. They say they passed three other riders, and that the Forest is being used much as usual by walkers and riders. We’ve had Traveller at this lovely yard run by Deborah for three very happy years now. She is wonderful with the horses and the clients too. In our three years there she has spotted a number of eye and other issues that Traveller has had, well before us and has nursed him back to health.
We take Gus for a mile-long walk across the estate to the gate and into the forest proper, a stroll that passes magnificent trees and offers far ranging views out onto Ashdown Forest, and in the hazy distance, the hump-backed South Downs. An elegant, gracile, black dog joins us for the walk. She has huge bat-like ears and looks like the dogs one sees in ancient Egyptian tombs. She is friendly and wants to play with Gus who rather huffily ignores her and trots on, taking his own line.
Back home I rustle up some lunch of leftover sausage, diced into mushrooms friend in butter with some crisped cauliflower. We sit in the garden under the Chinese dogwood and enjoy the meal. Afterwards, a bit dozy with the heat I do something I’ve not done for a long while, head off inside for an afternoon nap. Normally on a Saturday afternoon I would watch racing, but racing has been cancelled for weeks now as has all sport. I fall asleep at 2.30pm and wake at 4.15pm feeling refreshed. Jan brings me a cup of tea in the garden.
Later, as the day cools, I grab a beer and grill a small spatchcocked chicken and we eat in the garden too, three outdoor meals in one day, not bad going for England. After supper we take Gus for a walk up the lane.
When we get back home, we watch a documentary about Michelle Obama’s 34-stop book tour of America, to promote her wonderful autobiography, titled Becoming. She is a truly remarkable human being, intelligent, charming, witty, funny, self deprecating, grounded, and wise. We are filled once more with admiration and respect for her. She absolutely exemplifies grace, and if it is possible embellishes that quality. Obama was a lucky man to find her. It is evident that she is a strong, independent woman and talented lawyer who bears the scars of her upbringing in Chicago and those inflicted on the campaign trail for her husband. She and her story are remarkable, and the power of her smile could power a small city. Surrounded as we are these days by evil pygmy politicians, we can only count our luck to have lived in a time that has produced Nelson Mandela and Barack Obama, and this woman who has every qualification to make a truly great President herself.
By happy co-incidence, I’m reading the ‘The Warmth of Other Suns’, by Isabel Wilkerson, a winner of the Pulitzer Prize. It is the epic story of America’s great black migration from the south to the north to escape the violence and poverty of the plantation life. This Christmas gift book is from Steph, our son Dominic’s partner. The book chronicles the journey north by millions of black people, a trail that Michelle’s family themselves took. She points out that her great grandfather was a slave. Four generations from slavery to the White House – now that is a story and a heritage to amaze anyone.
The news today has been something of a downer, focussing as it does on the collateral damage of the Covid-19 virus. The Guardian reports that about 8,000 more people have died in their own homes since the start of the coronavirus pandemic than in normal times. Concerns are growing over the number of people who are avoiding going to hospital.
Of that figure of 8,000, 80% died of conditions unrelated to Covid-19, according to their death certificates. Doctors’ leaders have warned that fears and lessened priority for non-coronavirus patients are taking a deadly toll.
Some sick people are just too scared to go to hospital and are aware that much of the usual NHS care has been suspended in the pandemic. “These figures underline that the devastation wrought by Covid-19 spreads far beyond the immediate effects of the illness itself,” said Dr Chaand Nagpaul, the council chair of the British Medical Association.
“While all parts of the NHS have rallied round in a bid to meet the immediate rocketing demand caused by the pandemic, more than half of doctors in a recent BMA survey have told us that this is worsening the care of non-Covid patients.”
He cited a fall in A&E visits of up to 50% and a drop by half of patients attending hospitals with heart attacks.
“Referrals from GPs are not being accepted unless for serious medical conditions, and routine investigations to aid diagnosis are not available in many cases. This means many ill patients are not getting the care they so desperately need now – and crucially, risking their conditions getting worse, and with some even dying as a result,” Nagpaul added.
Prof Andrew Goddard, president of the Royal College of Physicians, said excess community deaths from non-Covid causes had been seen across Europe. A report this week found that there had been about 11,600 such fatalities in Italy during its pandemic, including deaths from heart attacks and strokes, he added.
“Data from other countries has shown delayed presentation in patients with heart attacks during the pandemic, either because people don’t want to burden the health service at the current time, or because of fear of catching Covid-19. It is critical that patients who are worried they may be having a heart attack or stroke should call 999.”
Jan and I are only too aware of this issue. She has been nursing a cracked rib, and I keep a close eye on my various medical problems. If either of us needed medical attention right now we know we would be risking the virus if we went anywhere near a medical facility and would then run the risk of infecting each other. It is a low level, but constant concern.
But tomorrow, something to really look forward to: Boris will broadcast his ‘roadmap’ out of this slow-evolving Coronavirus car crash that he drove us into. It will be less amusing than the Goon Show. Peter Sellers, Harry Secombe, Spike Milligan, where are you now that we need you so badly? We told you we were sick!
I take refuge from the current madness as I do so often, by going riding in my head. On one of my last rides just before lockdown, I met someone special in the woods.
It was 7pm and there was the slightest breeze up on the open Forest, so I put Callum into a slow rolling canter to the top. And from there it was back down into the woods above our cottage. We stopped as usual to admire the three pigs that Maurice and Julie are raising on their smallholding along with the three red chestnut Sussex steers – all destined for their deep-freeze. Callum is happy to stand there endlessly, even though he knows we are now on the home run. He’s a bit of a dreamer this horse, not unlike the man on his back.
And then, as we moved off, I saw a movement in the tree shadowed path ahead, a small, rather ancient flea-bitten fox stopped to look over his shoulder at us. Callum spotted him too and lifted his head to peer at him hard, got his scent and walked briskly to catch up. We closed in on the fox who was totally unfazed. He trotted left off the path, up the earth bank into the woods, stopping to peer at us from behind an oak, looking like something out of a children’s book.
I said: “Good evening!” Ignoring me, the fox turned and walked another twenty feet into the wood and then like an old dog lay down and curled up at his ease on some leaf mould, a ‘Prince of the Wood’ at his leisure.
It struck me that the three of us were not that different – fox, horse and man – we all love these owl-haunted woods and know their paths and secret byways. This is home after all, and all the more precious in lockdown.
Click here for Episode 37.
