Cathy Le Feuvre

Caution! World Under Repair

It's New Year's Eve 2020.

And if you weren't already aware, we're at the end of ... here we go ... I'll say it .... 'a very strange year'!

There - that's done! 

I could say much about the different ways we've learned to live, the things we've missed out on, the expectations dashed, the woes of the past almost 12 months during which a microscopic virus has locked us in, locked us out! Of life, of love, of the things and people and activities and experiences we love.

But I won't! Done that, been there, along with millions of others who have put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard this year!

I'll just tell you about a walk I took this lunchtime which, weirdly, turned out to be a bit of an analogy for life as we travel from 2020 into 2021. 

I live in a lovely place called Jersey - it's one of the Channel Islands, just off the coast of France, but British - and walks on the beach, or at least along the coastline, are my favourite!

One of my usual walks is from West Park, St Helier, to First Tower and back ... not more than a mile or two all told, but bracing on a winter's day!

I set out in the sunshine but we've been having a lot of showers recently and right at the start of my walk I spotted a rainbow.

Not a massive arc in the sky, but certainly a rainbow ... the kind which popped up in the early days of the pandemic in windows and on pebbles on the beach, drawn by unknown people as a symbol of hope in the darkness.

And straightaway I was filled with a strange optimism.

 

Yes, the sky was dark on the horizon, clouds still full of rain, ominous over Elizabeth Castle on the little islet in St Aubin's Bay,  but the sky above was strikingly blue.

2020 might have been full of gloom but in all that there has also been some brightness. Remember how we all pulled together in those early days, to keep ourselves safe, to keep others safe?  Remember how we kept our distance, washed our hands, wore our masks ?Remember how we clapped for our carers at 8pm on a Thursday evening, showing our appreciation for all those who were caring for us in hospitals and care homes, serving us in the shops and on public transport ? Keeping our communities working ? Saying 'thank you' to those who are usually forgotten but who, for a while, we realised were the real heroes of our communities.

But I looked into those dark clouds and was reminded  that it's not over yet. The second spike of this wretched coronavirus is hitting us hard not just here in Jersey but across the world. People are still sick, dying in vast numbers, isolating. Some people are still unfortunately not behaving like we are in the midst of a global pandemic. Some seem to have forgotten the sacrifices of the early months of this year, and the ongoing sacrifices that some are still making to ensure the ones they love stay safe. For some of us that means still working from home after nearly a year, forgoing the company of even our close family at Christmas and New Year and on birthdays and other special anniversaries. 

But as I peered into the horizon I spotted something really beautiful ... like a golden line just on the sealine, under the cloud. Just where the sun was hitting the water.

And then I looked up ... there IS blue sky overhead.

Could I equate that to the Covid-19 vaccines which are on the way ?

Perhaps! That's one way of looking at it.

But maybe it's about more  than that. 

It reminded me that when we pull together and remember that others matter as much as ourselves, maybe sometimes more than ourselves, we can get a handle on this! We did it in the spring and summer of 2020 and then we lost focus. We thought we could relax. We believed that we were invincible. We were wrong!

Along the seafront in St Aubin's Bay in Jersey the pink granite seawalls have recently taken a battering from the storms, the high seas, the winds of winter. They are hardy and strong, but even they couldn't stand the onslaught of nature.

But they are being repaired - even on New Year's Eve the guys were out doing their stuff to rebuild these beautiful defences.  It's not a job that will be completed overnight. It must be done with precision and care to ensure that the wall survives when the storms come again, as we know they will! 

As we enter 2021 I am reminded that we are in this for the long haul. Our World is 'Under Repair'!

We are not there yet. Even with the much acclaimed and longed for vaccines, we still have a long way to go. We still need to wear masks, keep our distances, endlessly sanitise our hands. There's no letting up. 

But if we all pull together, try to forgo our personal agendas and think of the wider common good, then with the added bonus of the vaccines, we may find that this coming year will be healthier and better than the last. We need to stay alert and not forget the year that was 2020. There are lessons in that there time for us all! 

The storm is still there ... over the horizon ... and it will come back I'm sure. But the blues skies are overhead! 

Happy New Year everyone! Stay safe! 

*All pictures /images by Cathy Le Feuvre

                                                                                                                                                      

 

 

 

 

 

 

Life in the Time of Covid19*

It's been more than a month now since Jersey in the Channel Islands - it's a small British island which lies just off the coast of Normandy in France - went into 'Lockdown'.

It was Monday March 30th and after witnessing the spread of the coronavirus from the end of 2019 and watching what was going on in the UK which introduced social distancing and other rules on social gatherings on March 23rd, our government announced similar restrictions to prevent the spread of the disease.

Since the end of March many islanders have been 'self isolating' in our homes, especially if they are over 65 (which, if you're reading this in 2020... I'm not .. yet!) I'm working from home because, although I am not in any particular danger, I look after my Mum who turned 90 a couple of weeks ago. We have been allowed outdoors for 2 hours a day for shopping, trips for healthcare or exercise. But we've pretty much stayed indoors.

Lots of people have called this a 'strange' time!

It is! 

As a writer I kept saying to myself 'you really should be documenting all this!' Writing a diary? At least blogging? But somehow, in all the weird lethargy of the times, I haven't quite got around to it. I did start writing something on April 1st but didn't post it because … what I wrote felt like an APRIL FOOL! You could make it up!

And then, I asked myself a second question 'what actually have you got to say?' That's because I feel like my life at the moment is incredibly BORING! I look at social media posts and everyone is being so creative - making stuff, home schooling, using their 2 hours for spectacular excursions, whether they should be doing so or not - and in comparison … I'm doing nothing. Or that's what it feels like!

Now, however, as the pandemic continues to sweep across the globe and more and more people are infected, affected and die, I feel I need to write! I realise as time goes on that being intimidated by what others are saying they are doing on social media, is worthless. Whether we know it or not, even the smallest day to day elements of life during such a strange time are worth documenting. Aren't they?

SO here goes … 

I AM working from home.  I work for the BBC local radio station (BBC Radio Jersey) and they sent me home and set me up with a computer with all the links to programmes and editing facilities, on March 31st. And it's busy.

Here in Jersey we are working our way up to the 75th anniversary of the Liberation of our island on Saturday May 9th. If you're not aware, the Channel Islands were the only place in the British Isles that were invaded and occupied by the German Nazi regime during the Second World War. We celebrate the Liberation from our Occupation every year, but  Liberation75 was meant to be a fantastic public commemoration, with masses of events planned. That's all been cancelled due to this wretched virus, although much is now happening online.

At BBC Radio Jersey, we're still planning lots to mark the day, which follows the celebration of the 75th anniversary of VE Day in the UK on May 8th. And as Communities Journalist in Jersey I'm helping to gather stories, and I've been involved in some long running projects in the run up to May 9th. So I've had loads of editing to do!

It's very surreal though. My 'office' is my Mum's dining room. No outdoor window but a couple of lovely paintings on the wall of Jersey scenes, and surrounded by family photos on the piano and mantlepiece.

Although I try not to, I find myself sitting for hours at my computer, only getting up occasionally to enjoy a cuppa, have a 'comfort break',  receive socially distanced post which has been pushed through the letterbox by the safe postman, chatting to Mum and my brother, who is also socially isolated at home (he's a Personal Trainer and he can't work right now because gyms are shut) and very occasionally, walking around the garden to get a bit of fresh air.

I've realised that at work we normally do break up our day. We chat with colleagues, we go make some tea or coffee, occasionally I have to walk three floors downstairs to open the door to visitors when our receptionist is on a break, we have meetings. And I'm missing all that … even the annoying doorbells!

I've discovered that it's very easy to become disconnected with the work programme. I have found myself becoming a little paranoid from time to time that OTHERS think I'm doing nothing here at home and I'm just sitting here waiting for their instructions. At other times I've found myself thinking 'Well they can't be doing much there in the office because it feels like I'm doing everything!' 

Both emotions are, of course, ridiculous in the extreme. But it's one of the results of isolation and if it's affecting me, someone who is usually pretty upbeat, then it must be having really detrimental affects on others who are not so fortunate of myself. 

I can go for walks. I have been for a few over the past month and they've been glorious! They've been mostly on the beach near to my home, the stretch of sand from West Park in St Helier to First Tower in St Aubin's Bay, which is fabulous! I should go for more exercise but by the end of the day in front of the computer I'm exhausted! And the weekends seem to go so fast, with an early morning Saturday shopping trip which has got earlier and earlier to avoid the social distancing long queues and cooking and cleaning and washing, and, truth be told,  just sitting in front of the TV.

By the way I have 'social mediared' some walks which I realise means that I'm part of that online weirdness that makes others feel incomplete. It's a complex world we live in.

I have a garden. Must get round to clearing some weeds soon as the weather warms up a bit.

Less traffic in the roads outside the house means I can hear the birds more clearly. I'm sure they've always been there but often we've not been able to hear them often over the general hum and hubbub of modern life. 

Meanwhile, in our beautiful island, as of TODAY we have 292 cases of COVID19 confirmed, 199 people have recovered and sadly 24 people have died with links to coronavirus.

I'm a journalist, so you might also expect me to report today on the world statistics ...  as of right now, in the UK 186,599 people have been confirmed with the virus, up 4,339 in the past 24 hours. Deaths stand at 28,446, up 315 on yesterday. Yes that daily figure seems to be falling at the moment, and 1,918 people have recovered. Across the globe there have been 3,462,682 deaths linked to coronavirus, up more than 76,000 in the last 24 hours. People who have recovered is 1,110,719 and the numbers who have died stands at 244,911 (up nearly 5,500 on yesterday).

I say 'statistics', but of course each person represents a life, a family, relationships. Every life lost is a tragedy. And, of course, people aren't just dying of COVID19. I've lost a couple of friends and acquaintances during these past weeks, of different long term conditions, and one of the awful things is that because of the restrictions on gatherings, we can't give them the send off they deserve.

But, one of the great things about this time in our lives is that it seems it's given us a new appreciation of people who make our world work. The health professionals and care workers, shop workers, postmen and women, the people who empty our bins. SO many people who until we entered this strange time, were invisible, undervalued, underpaid. Every Thursday evening at 8pm here in Jersey and across the wider British Isles, we stand in our streets and Clap for the Carers, showing our appreciation of all those people who nurse us when we're ill care for us, keep food on the shelves, help us stay in touch with each other and generally keep our world ticking over.  

We don't clap for the overpaid sports personalities and reality TV stars, the celebrities who (still) populate our TV screens, making money out of this situation by being paid to give us endless insights into how they're coping with lockdown in their posh homes and mansions! We clap for those who live in tiny homes, struggling to pay their bills.

We don't clap for the people who take home six figure salaries in the finance industry. We clap for the people who barely scrape a living in life.

We clap for what we have termed in the past  'the little people'. They are not little anymore. They are saving lives, putting their own lives at risk just so we can be safe and stay safe. 

And I pray that when this is all over we will continue to value those for whom we clap on a Thursday. That they will be able to negotiate better pay and better conditions. And that our 21st century British obsession with nonsense like celebrities who are famous for simply being famous and which currently dominates much of our culture, will disappear

And so we come to this weekend. Yesterday (May 2) some of the restrictions on movement were slightly raised here in Jersey. Now we are allowed to go out for four hours a day. We're allowed to meet others (just two) outside our own households. And our 'time out' can be for any purpose, not just exercise and shopping. Our Health Minister has warned that the change could lead to more deaths, but the government are already talking about relaxing some of the rules on the way restaurants can operate, and more. 

Yesterday and today I ventured out (shopping anda  short walk) and I've already noticed many more people out and about. People gathering in larger groups, especially young people. Although the government still advises 'social distancing' (staying more than 2metres apart) I saw many people not doing so. I read social media posts from people delighted that 'the Lockdown is over!'

It is NOT! 

It's just now we have our medical ducks in a row and will be able to cope with the upsurge in cases of COVID 19. We've seen a temporary 'Nightingale Hospital' go up in record time on a field near St Helier, our main town. It will house sick people in isolated wards. Cost? £14m! But I fear that the cost in lives will be even more devastating as people relax, mingle more and spread the dreaded coronavirus.

So how am I feeling today - Sunday May 3rd? Well, a little fearful for our island and it's people, many of whom right now are living with false hope.

And as for me and mine? We will remain locked in, socially isolated, wearing masks and gloves to go out, practising social distancing for a long while yet. Even if we slowly go slightly mad with the isolation. I'm a person of Christian faith, so that sustains me and gives me the optimism I need. I believe in prayer so I pray. And I practice some deep breathing and positive praying/thinking when it all becomes too much and I start to get a little panic attack.

But most of all, I remind myself that this time WILL pass.

It won't last forever.

Will it?

*The title of this blog post nods in the direction of a brilliant book called 'Love in the Time of Cholera' which is a novel by the Colombian Nobel prize winning author Gabriel García Márquz  (Spanish: El amor en los tiempos del cólera) … if you haven't read it … please do!

Fearless or Fearful?

Most mornings, weather permitting, when I'm working at home I try to get out and talk a walk before I start my day. Otherwise it's tempting to just roll from the bedroom to the office, via the kitchen and bathroom, and before you know it the whole day has passed and you've barely seen the sunshine outside.

I would like  to say that I jog but I don't. I would also love to be able to tell you that I 'Power Walk' but that also would be untrue. While I do try to pace quickly enough to get my heart beating faster and I often build up a slight sweat, many days my morning walk more resembles a swift stroll as I enjoy the countryside, mediate and pray, think and  try to clear my head ready for the day that faces me.

When you're working predominantly on your own, any human contact is vital, I find, to keep one sane.  So the morning walk is also a good opportunity to share a smile or a greeting with others I meet on the way, or a chance to chat to neighbours, to remind myself that life still exists outside my office space.

I tend to see the same people en route. There's the elderly man walking back from the local shop with a fresh newspaper clutched firmly in his hand.  There's the fit looking middle aged woman on her daily morning jog, earphones drowning out the world as she listens intently to her music while she pounds the pavement. Invariably she's frowning slightly and looks rather overheated, and I often wonder if she's actually enjoying herself or whether that's just the way her face is.

I pass a tennis club and meet people walking from their cars to the courts, smartly dressed in designer tennis outfits. I often encounter animal lovers taking their dogs for a morning constitutional. And there's the kindly looking gentleman who politely doffs his cap as we share a 'Good Morning' outside his house. 

I sometimes see parents/grandparents and their children and in particular one young woman, and two young boys on their silver scooters.

I turn a corner and here comes the first little lad. He's always  ahead of the other two. He's on his scooter, zipping along with confidence and a huge smile, his eyes bright with excitement, expertly (or so it seems) missing the little potholes in the pathway, and the occasional tree root.  Barely looking down, always looking ahead. Fearless and confident.  

Then comes Mum (or it might be the nanny) walking briskly behind,  occasionally calling out to the child ahead of her -  'Stop at the corner!'

And finally, taking up the rear in the little convoy, a second small boy. He's also on a scooter, but the contrast could not be more different between him and his brother, for I'm assuming that's what they are - they might even be twins, they look quite similar, although this second child is slightly taller.

He's very careful and tentative, as he slowly paddles along on his scooter, hardly taking his eyes off the path ahead, gripping the handle bars, gritting his teeth, wobbling. No flinging back of his head as he sails up the road with a grin on his face, rather a grim determination to stay upright. Fearful, cautious.

One fearful, one fearless. And it's got me to thinking - which one am I?

Do I face the world with trepidation, always anxious about what's lying ahead, looking intently for the cracks in the road which might trip me up, too afraid and careful to look up and see the road that stretches ahead of me ? Stopping at every tiny obstacle for fear that I might be hurt.

Or am I inclined to occasionally take a risk, pick up a bit of speed,  fling my head back and laugh into the morning, to enjoy the sunshine on my face and the smell of freshly mown grass? To put aside, for just a little while, the worries of life? To thank God for just being alive! To just BE, in that moment.

I'm not saying that I have to be one, or the other - I guess most of us are somewhere inbetween. We all have responsibilities and people who depend on us, but I just wonder, are we sometimes so intent on our business of living that, like the frowning jogger, we appear to lose the joy of that life? Just as the fearless little lad needs to stop at the corner to avoid getting run over in the traffic, we can't be entirely carefree, I know that.  But could we all just be a little more fearless? Take a few more chances? To enjoy life just a little more?

Of course,  I might have it completely wrong. The second little lad may just be learning to ride his scooter and I'll soon see him also whizzing along with his brother, just as confident and fearless.

I hope so.