Contrasting dreams

 

 'The Church should go forward along the path of progress and be no longer satisfied only to represent the Conservative Party at prayer'

It was hard not to immediately think of this remark - made by the preacher and suffragist Maude Royden at Queen's Hall in London, on July 16 1917 - after listening to the sermon at a church my family and I have recently started attending.

The frisson of nervous tension that shivered throughout the congregation that Sunday in October was audible as it became clear the preacher was contrasting two different versions of a dream; one belonging to Martin Luther King, the other Suella Braverman.

He began: 

'That's my dream. I'll say it again. That's my dream. Now when you hear a quote mentioning a dream you can be forgiven for thinking I'm referring to Martin Luther King's famous speech on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in 1963.

'Dr King's dream was one in which his four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the colour of their skin but by the content of their character.

'Unfortunately, however, my quote isn't from Dr King's famous speech, instead my quote comes from the home secretary.'

It was at this moment of explicit elucidation that it was clear that the sermon was focusing on what the home secretary had said days earlier at the Conservative Party conference; and at this moment a murmur of nervousness swept up and down the pews. It was followed by rapt silence and anticipation of what was to follow.

The Sermon continued: 

'In her dream, which was reported in the news this week and which she pubicly described in her own words "there is a photograph, a photograph of a plane on the front page of the Daily Telegraph. That plane is taking off to forcibly deport asylum seekers overseas".'

'So then we have two very contrasting dreams. The first dream from Martin Luther King, is a beautiful one, it simultaneously celebrates human diversity and also emphasises our universal and equal dignity as children of a loving God. At once it is both a vision of the Kingdom of Heaven and also a determined hope that this Kingdom will be realised here on earth.

'In contrast the second dream, the dream of manhandling asylum seekers on to planes and shipping them overseas, that dream rides roughshod over the dignity of the divine image intrinstic to each of us. In this second dream, there are only two responses to difference; hostility and inhumanity.'

The last line deserves repetition:

'In this second dream, there are only two responses to difference; hostility and inhumanity.'

The address has revolved around my mind in the weeks since it was delivered. Suella Braverman has been sacked and reinstated in that time. Yet, it still seems pertinent, as the government try and persist with their deportation strategy.

It's certainly true that Church of England leaders frequently clash with politicians of all sides but I don't recall such explicit condemnation of a political policy from the Sermon of a parish church during the main Sunday service.

I also don't recall a congregation following each word and sentence of a Sermon with such tenacity.

The Sermon continued for a few more minutes, delving into the parable of the ten lepers from the Gospel of Luke. All healed by Jesus, the one who returned to thank him was the Samaritan, ostracised by society but all treated equal regardless of a status or belief.

And he finished with a few lines from the poem Paul Robeson, by Gwenydolyn Brooks:

'We are each other's harvest. We are each other's business. We are each other's magnitude and bond.'

The home secretary may not have been in the congregation, but for those who were there, the message was pretty clear.

A day trip to Berney Arms

 

It was quite a relief to close the gate behind me, a much-needed physical barrier separating myself from the sizeable posse of cows that had decided to follow me as I walked across the marshy Norfolk Broads towards the Berney Arms Pub.  Before being accosted, I’d enjoyed watching lapwings flit and tumble through the air, hares bounding and rollicking among the wild flowers, the vastness of the views, where the watery flatness indecipherably merges with the huge sky.

Kevin Crossley-Holland perfectly captures the landscape in his poem Dusk, Burnham Over Staithe.

'I only guess where marsh 

finishes and sky begins, 

each grows out of the other'

There’s a handsome, solitary windmill surveying the huge landscape. Norfolk's tallest, it is currently under restoration by English Heritage, it ground cement until 1948 before finding a fresh life pumping water from the Broads.

I made the journey in June 2011, inspired to make the effort after reading about it in Michael Williams’ lovely book, On The Slow Train, calling it ‘Britain’s smallest mainline station’. And he writes:

'Once the train has clattered off into the distance, there is only the sound of a few rooks wheeling overhead and just a whisper of breeze gently brushing the grass.’

 

Normally, just a handful of services stop by request and for the few people who do visit, its miniscule scale and remoteness is the major attraction. That day I wasn't the only person to have alighted from the two coach Wherry Lines service from Norwich. Two bird watchers, identifiable by their outfits and binoculars clambered out with me. I waited on the platform until they drifted out of sight.

The platform itself is no longer than the length of one train carriage. A ramshackle wooden box offers minimal protection from the elements. It’s a strange island, floating in a sea of green, entirely unconnected to its surroundings, in a timeless landscape, almost as though it has been dropped there by accident.

This jaunt returned to my mind this week as the latest statistics on the passenger numbers of individual stations was published. Berney Arms remains firmly planted near the bottom but that year it was quite busy, with more than 1,436 visitors across the year. Last year, obviously at the height of the pandemic, just 42 people made it there. In 2021, there has been something of a recovery with 348 passengers, up 729 per cent.

Crossing the rail track, the Weaver's Way leads across the flats to the river and on to Acle. It's 61 miles long and goes from Great Yarmouth to Cromer.

With a local population of zero, relying on twitchers, rail enthusiasts, and passing trade from boats on the River Yare, it's hardly a surprise the Berney Arms pub has been closed since 2015 and it's unlikely it will ever reopen - a painfully poignant film from the BBC capturing the ultimately vain hopes of a new landlord in 2013 can be seen here.

It was something of a scruffy pub - it had a similiar air to the Old Neptune on the beach at Whitstable - but with an undeniable and friendly charm. The beer was good, food was off and pictures of wherrymen from decades before were on the walls.

 

Its closure was a huge pity as it was quite delightful with fabulous views that only change with the seasons. There is a campaign to reopen the pub but hope appears to be forlorn. An application to open a bistro on the site was refused in 2020 with councillors refusing it on the basis emergency vehicles couldn't easily reach its location. Considering it had previously been licenses for decades, the decision seems both historically ignorant and shortsighted. To make matters worse, some nearby moorings for boats have reportedly been removed, making its viability even more challenging.

It was a flight of whimsy that took me there. And according to the latest passenger statistics, last year, there were six stations which had no visitors at all. Abererch, Gwynedd, Beasdale, Highland, Llanbedr, Gwynedd, Sampford Courtenay, Devon, Stanlow and Thornton, Cheshire and Sugar Load, Powys.  

Somewhere, people are dusting down their virtual Bradshaw's and planning out how to get there.

The statues now departed

For some time now, the dishevelled, windblown promenades of Brixton station have been distinguished by items that are noticeable by their absence. On each of the three platforms, north, south and abandoned, familiar faces to regulars are no longer greeting travellers, despite having stoically braved whatever conditions have been thrown at them since they first appeared in 1986, after being selected by a panel including architect Sir Hugh Casson.

Kevin Atherton's Platforms Piece - his three bronze statues of figures associated with Brixton, Peter Lloyd on platform one, mother Joy Battick on the unused platform three and a white German woman called Karin Heistermann on platform two - has been removed pending restoration. But the process has dragged on painfully slowly with no timetable, amended or otherwise, as to when they might return.

No plaque or explanation plate has ever accompanied the statues as they have waited in their spots. Anonymous, unmistakably urban characters, they have stood, like everyone, impassively, waiting, hoping, for their train finally to arrive. Their continual presence has been strangely reassuring, anchors of serenity, ignoring the hubhub that has swirled around them. Their removal from service, therefore, was something of a shock.

They were only listed in 2016, with Historic England noting that the statues of Mr Lloyd and Ms Battick are:

'believed to be the first sculptural representation of British black people in England in a public art context, created for Brixton which is synonymous with the historical development of black British culture in the post-war period'.

First to leave - now for at least two years - was the statue of Karin, carrying a bag, taken from platform two. For a time, Southeastern put a sign up near her position saying she had been 'temporarily removed... for careful restoration'. The company added:

'We know how important these listed statues are to Brixton and to the community, and we'll replace the statue as soon as we can'.

I took a photograph of that sign on October 19, 2019. It has vanished leaving nothing in its stead, the statue hasn't reappeared and subsequently the other two figures have been removed too.

Considering how anxious some have recently been about the preservation of statues and some of the frankly embarrassing stuff said about their potential removal, with politicians absurdly warning against the 'rewriting of history', eager to protect whatever they hope is a popular conception of what is Britain's heritage, the lack of concern of the whereabouts of these geninely significant pieces, is something of a mystery.

The need for conservation is, of course, appreciated, but the apparent lack of urgency to reinstall the works, the paucity of information over what it actually happening and lack of a timetable for what can be expected, is very concerning. It may, of course, simply be that the pandemic has thrown whatever schedule that did exist into chaos.

Southeastern have said this last week: 'They were removed last year, and we've since engaged a specialist contractor to scope and undertake any repairs, plus carry out a full restoration so they can be reinstated in their right place at the station'.

Adding: 'We'll have more to say on this very soon'.

I can't wait. 

But, in the way passengers fear a train might never arrive when their services are disrupted, the complete absence of the information on the future of these statues feeds fears they may never return.

Note: This excellent piece on Brixton Blog has more on Platforms Piece and the Historic England entry can be read here

On writer's block

There is an obstacle in my mind around which I’m struggling to negotiate.

It’s quite hard to positively identify.  A combination of tiredness, a lack of patience and discipline, an imagination that struggles to spark and a fear of inadequacy, perhaps, all coagulating to clot my brain, severely hampering my ability to write critically or for pleasure.  And it’s becoming a matter of huge disappointment and frustration.

Hilary Mantel recommends getting away from the desk to ‘take a walk, take a bath, go to sleep, make a pie’ but not to ‘go to a party’.  Walks I can do, parties I already evade.  Kurt Vonnegut wondered about the fate of a writer living in ‘perfect freedom who has nothing more to say’; it’s not a lack of a things to say, it’s the ability to do so.

This piece, in itself, is a hopeful attempt to puncture the embolism.

To an extent, it is to be expected. I have two young children, six and eight, with all the inevitable demands that entails.  Fitting a full-time job around their agendas fills much of the day. For too long – especially in the early days of the coronavirus pandemic – simply reading for pleasure was something of challenge.  Even with commuting being something of a rarity – almost 50 minutes of guaranteed reading time a day – that mountain has been conquered.

And there has been wilful detachment.  For all the intensity of work, observing and writing about what has been going on over the last few tumultuous years – referendums on Scotland and the EU, political deadlock combined with rapidly changing governments, staggering incompetence, habitual lying, cartoonishly vain politicians – escaping to the family and quieter pursuits has proved something of a relief.

But, how to extract the thoughts welling up in my head and get them on to paper?

For me, the process of writing has always been about forming the first sentence.  Crafting that is the key to a whole piece.  Weighing ideas up in my mind, pacing back and forth, walking round the block, trying to construct the right opening, from which other ideas can flow and spark, that has always been my first step. 

Now though, ideas flit through my head like swallows skirting through a sunny sky, evasive, banking, fleeting.  Even grasping those thoughts for long enough to squeeze into 280 characters is frequently a step too far.

It also has become a self-fulfilled silence.  The more I dwell on it, the harder it becomes.

Just writing these few words seems absurdly self-indulgent and ridiculous but hopefully there’s an element of catharsis, the lancing of a troublesome intellectual boil. 

From where did I catch this infernal virus?

After receiving some worrying and potentially serious health news, it is inevitable one casts a tired eye back over recent history and reviews what could have been done differently to avoid such an outcome.

Where on earth, for example, did I manage to pick up the blasted coronavirus having barely being out of my house for the last couple of weeks?

Apart from fleeting visits to shops and an occasional and brief trip to a pub – both with no or extremely fleeting social contact – trips out of the house have been little more than strolls in nearby parks with the family.  For much of the rest of the time – like so many others – I have been camping in my living room, working from home.

One can never be sure, of course, but after considering all the options, the overwhelmingly likely source is the school which my two daughters, eight and five, attend.

At first, I cast my curious eye upon the girls as the most likely culprits; both have had mild colds, was that the nascent virus in our house?

But, in a letter from Public Health England in September, distributed by our school, parents were told:

‘Your child does not need a test if they have a runny nose, are sneezing or feeling unwell but do not have a temperature, cough or loss of, or change in, sense of smell or taste because these are not normally symptoms of coronavirus’

The bold passage is PHE’s so, perhaps, after all, the girls are innocent; though it must be said that the symptoms of this virus seem to be multifarious and the list is augmented on a regular basis.

But what about the daily routine of taking them to school and collecting them afterwards, where scores of parents gather, most not wearing masks and with social distancing almost impossible to maintain?

We have tried to avoid the queues, arriving late both morning and afternoon to avoid the standing around in a line along the pavement; my wife and I have always worn masks during these trips and we try and stay two metres from other parents. But, with the nature of the buildings and busy roads and the behaviour of some other parents, sometimes getting closer to other people than one intends is unavoidable.

It is this gathering of people, the majority of whom we do not know – and we know even less about the risks to which they are exposed – that must be the mostly likely root of my infection.

I received my positive result 51 hours after an in-person test was taken on Friday 16^th.  I had been feeling really unwell the day before – too unwell to walk uphill for ¾ of a mile – but was grateful that there was a testing site not too far away.  I was told that, if I received no results after 48 hours, to ring and chase.  And so I did.  During this phone call, I was informed that I need not try and pursue my result until 5 days had elapsed.  I had to wonder just how many people I might infect – and how many more might they infect – were I to get on with my life normally for those five days.  This certainly hammered home the uselessness of large-scale testing if obtaining results and tracing contacts lags so very far behind.

Fortunately, I did not have to wait for five days.  The next step, after receiving the bad news, was that I had to complete the government’s test and trace questionnaire. 

There seemed no obvious place to record ‘gathering at the school gates’ as a ‘new activity outside your home’. There is an ‘add workplace or school’ section but again, the inevitable gathering of crowds of parents outside school gates – visible close to so many primary schools in particular, whilst the children are being slowly and carefully funnelled into their classroom bubbles – is not mentioned.

It is possible to work around these constrictions and, under ‘other’, I submitted the queue as the most likely source of the virus.

But without a dedicated channel, it surely makes it much harder to gather the statistics and  monitor whether schools are the likely source of infections?  This couldn't be a policy decision by any chance? 

 

We were thrilled when the children finally returned, full time, to school in September after six months of being stuck at home, but the potential risks of infection through school have been consistently downplayed by the government.

Test and trace boss, Baroness Dido Harding, told a Commons select committee, that no modelling had predicted there might be a surge in cases as schools went back in September.  Blaming the government advisory group SAGE for the modelling, Lady Harding told the science and technology committee:

'I don’t think anybody was expecting to see the really sizeable increase in demand that we’ve seen over the course of the last few weeks. In none of the modelling was that expected.'

At which point, a weary nation guffawed in unison.  Whoever imagined that, with hundreds of thousands of children and young people criss-crossing our roads and transport system, and flocking to new towns and cities around the country, there might be – there would inevitably be – an upsurge of infections?  

I am not suggesting that the great return to education should not have happened.  But, for many, it is hard to stomach that there sometimes appears to have been so very little planning for this exceptionally important and predictable development.

Daily risks have to be taken; schools and universities must stay open; but everything should be done to monitor the movement of Covid-19 if we are going to learn to live with it.  Unless test-trace-isolate works as a triumvirate – the three in one in indivisible union – then there will be no chance for us.  And unless we recognise that daily life – including the crowds gathering at the school gates – is, for many, a very likely source of infection, then we may as well give up.  

Surely we are weary of boasts about numbers of tests and panic about pubs and must recognise other obvious threats?  Otherwise, we are surely in danger of listing our possible sources of infection according to whether or not they might be politically awkward.

Note

I should say that it seems we have escaped with an exceedingly mild version of the virus as I suffered from unpleasant symptoms for just a day, have now only a slight cough and the rest of the family doing even better. 

Now we are planning lots of games, films and books for the next two weeks and thank you for all the lovely comments

Is it last orders for Britain's pubs?

Some may believe that the pattern of this government during the wretched coronavirus pandemic has been to announce measures with impressive vim and vigour only for their intentions to be let down by a failure of having done the vital legwork and consultation beforehand.

It’s not for me to make any judgement, but it is clear that the pub industry urgently needs a statement providing clarity and direction unless the entire sector is to be irredeemably damaged.

July 4 – the earliest date the government has said the hospitality sector could reopen – is just 16 days away yet operators are entirely in the dark as to whether they will be able to do so.

Pub operator Oakman Inns has today unilaterally decided it will reopen on this date as owner Peter Borg-Neal has clearly been driven to distraction by the complete failure of this administration to give him information.

If he is to open by this date, he knows he needs to make it Covid secure and that requires time and work.

The British Beer and Pub Association, alongside several pub operators, has pleaded with the government for a decision on reopening dates and the 2-metre rule by today – Friday June 18.

We know a person is more likely to catch the virus when closer than 2-metres yet most other countries have reduced this measure and are opening up. The number of cases in this country remains stubbornly high but is falling and deaths – especially in London and a couple of other areas – are very slight. There is obviously a balance of risk – this is well known; the lack of a decision, though, baffles many.

This evening, I’ve received a set of demands from the Campaign for Pubs - an organisation run by former Liberal Democrat MP, Greg Mulholland who has worked over many years fighting to keep pubs going.

Here are the demands - will the government help at all? One can only hope.

The full list of the 10 Points to Save Pubs is: 

1. A definite date for opening NOW! (by Friday 19^th June)

2. Social distancing of 1 metre - not 2 metres (or most pubs simply cannot open)

3. Clear full guidance for pubs and insurance companies to be issued by Friday 26^th June – pubs need real clarity about any physical infrastructure requirements, and also about specific responsibilities and liability issues, so that they can be properly insured under fair policies which will be honoured 

4. Relaxation of licensing restrictions where extra spaces would help smaller pubs operate more viably and safely 

5. A strong mandatory Covid-19 rent code of conduct including a statutory right to a rent review for all pub tenants 

6. A rent-free period for all pubs, and an extended period of protection from landlords if rent cannot be paid

7. Continued financial support for staff – extended fully-paid furlough where pubs are unable to viably/safely trade due to continued Government restrictions  

8. VAT to 5% for at least 12 months - the only sensible way to help with reduced margins, as any price increases would reduce trade even further

9. Business rates reform - announced now and implemented in April 2021 – and rates relief for all pubs until a reformed system comes in

10. A 12 month ban on all change of use for pubs – pubs need protection in the planning system now even more than ever

Living and learning from lockdown

When the lockdown began, as the government instructed people to stay indoors but for fleeting occasions, the prospect of dark empty streets was somewhat unnerving.

It may have been a natural middle-class reaction, thinking that while I’d carefully obey instructions only the reckless and dangerous would flout such restrictions, given that the threat to our health comes in the shape of something as intangible as an invisible virus.

Fears of societal disintegration, as in Golding’s Lord of the Flies came to mind; or would the dystopian chaos of Cuaron’s Children of Men or even Mad Max – with marauding gangs of eco-warriors, freedom fighters and bounty hunters – be made flesh by the Covid-19 crisis?

Any such fears were not just misplaced, but wholly nonsensical of course. But, perhaps something more remarkable has occurred. Far from creaking and failing around us, social structures and the strengths of communities – at least from this corner of south east London – appear remarkably resilient.

The most obvious signal of this coherence is the week’s social highlight when neighbours emerge from their houses to clap the NHS each Thursday evening. It’s clearly not just our streets, the noise echoes all around. Indeed, every week, someone is, hopefully safely, setting off fireworks to celebrate the efforts of doctors and nurses. Despite my reticence towards such publicly emotional displays, it’s impossible not to be moved and get involved.

Support groups have spontaneously appeared in every community, offering the elderly and vulnerable support. Within minutes of signing up for one on behalf of some relatives who live elsewhere, we were inundated with messages offering to help with shopping, deliveries and other assistance from complete strangers.

This perspective, however, inevitably comes from something of a position of privilege. Our two daughters are young enough for their school absence not to be significantly detrimental. They have a garden in which to run around and we have secured relatively safe and secure ways of getting enough food. We are working from home and it is a tight squeeze; but we are still working.  As far as the girls are concerned, they can still construe these weeks – in the sunshine, with Spring emerging, with a smattering of school working continuing but not overwhelming and access to wider family and friends available via social media – almost as a holiday. It’s a time that may long linger in their memory with a fondness.

How one copes during the lockdown is a measure of entitlement. Less than a stone’s throw from my house, there are flats where the occupants have no garden at all, where venturing into the spring sunshine for anything other than exercise or dog walking risks at least a reprimand from the police. Unless one is living under such circumstances it is very hard to truly imagine how hard such conditions are.

Labour MP Karen Buck has regularly posted about the domestic challenges some of her constituents are facing. Just today she wrote about an appeal to her from an NHS hospital worker living in a one bad flat with her husband and three children

‘She can’t self isolate, she’s terrified for her family and it’s impacting on her mental health’.

It isn’t the fault of any cabinet minister that they may have more than one comfortable home and garden but instructing people such as those above, who are in such tight circumstances, to remain indoors, must be exasperating and angering.

At times police have appeared heavy-handed in their handling of the lockdown rules but they are learning how to operate in a strange new world as are we all.  But we haven’t seen great confrontations between the authorities and anti-lockdown protesters, as has been seen in the United States and Paris. The country has taken to the grim challenge with perhaps surprising success.

It’s all the more imperative, then, to make the effort to recognise how exceptionally difficult life is for many at the moment; and to sympathise – even if we cannot truly empathise – with those whose lives have been thrown into chaos, confusion and desperation.  We must really work hard to ensure that, when these exceptionally strange times are over, we remember who kept our lives going, which roles are ‘key’, which workers underpin our sense of community and who are the most vulnerable people in our society.  Where would we be without doctors, nurses, healthcare assistants, carers, volunteers, transport workers, shop workers, rubbish collectors, delivery couriers? Our democracy is only as good as the lives of those who have not got sharp elbows, or a house and garden, or a supportive family, and who may not always be able to look after themselves.