It's the second day of June in 2020. and while, at the moment, England rejoices in one of the highest rates of covid-19 per head of population, I'm not sure if I know anyone personally who has been infected. Considering we are by no means yet out of trouble, lockdown is easing. I'm using the word, "lockdown" in its colloquial sense because we have not honestly experienced a lockdown in the UK at all. For a few weeks people were told to stay at home, but there were so many exceptions to the rule it was never going to work. The talk of beginning to ease this "lockdown" has led to many people thinking that because, like me, they have no personal experience of the illness there has been a lot of panic over not very much. This has resulted in vast numbers of people congregating in limited spaces, like some of our beautiful beaches.
For some reason Lulworth Cove has become one of the main attractions in this regard. As the name suggests it is a curved strand and is accessed by steps cut into the cliff. At one end (the eastern end if childhood memory serves me correctly) is the geological formation known as Durdle Door. The newspapers have been filled with reports of people jumping into the sea from Durdle Door, some even jumping from the two-hundred foot high "lintel", and earning themselves some serious injuries. Over the past weekend one young man lost consciousness and lay on the bottom of the sea for at least a minute until other sun-worshippers on the beach reached him and got him out. Another broke his back and still one more suffered horrible injuries to his body and a broken leg. Somehow that last man managed to get to the top of the cliff and attract medical attention before being carted swiftly off to hospital by ambulance. The other two required more immediate attention and a helicopter rescue. Lulworth Cove being the size and shape it is meant that the two helicopters could only land on the beach, the one packed with people. This is what had to happen:
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| Image courtesy of Purbeck Police |
The police had to clear enough space for the helicopters to land and that could only mean crowding the people so that social distancing was no longer possible. I should imagine that everyone who left their homes that morning under the impression that going out was now okay as long as we "stay alert" had no idea that they were going to be kettled with others on the beach so that emergency services could operate. Come to that I don't suppose the 'tombstoners" as they left home considered that, by the end of the day, they would incur life-altering injuries.
A lot of outrage and anger has been expressed about the events of the past couple of days. Does it help to apportion blame? I don't know the answer. A lot of unfortunate events coincided to spoil a lovely day at the seaside. Among these would be the number of people who considered a trip to the beach was safe and the thrill seekers who thought that jumping into the sea from a great height was safe enough. I'd like to think that we were all adults and capable of making informed decisions concerning how we behave. Clearly some of our adult decisions are better than others. I live less than an hour from some of the country's most beautifully sandy, unspoilt and often deserted beaches, but I haven't felt the need to visit. However, another layer to this event was that some people on the beach were apparently calling out encouragement to the tombstoners. Is a young man's bravado strengthened by the baying support of those who would not entertain the thought of performing any such action themselves? Is it possible that one of those injured young men might have thought better of jumping had he been there on his own? Were there jeers amongst the cheers if one of them showed a moment of caution? Accusations of being a chicken can be a powerful motivation to do something stupid. Counter-intuitively a leap into the unknown is often considered better than facing the disapproval of the mob. When the emergency services tried to create safe landing space for the helicopters they were met with some resistance, some of that fuelled by a hot day's boozing. Did that resistance result in dangerous delays for the injured? Again I don't know.
We think we have been on lockdown. We haven't. People have used all kinds of excuses for getting out of the house to enjoy the sunshine. Had there been ten weeks of rain I suppose behaviour might have been different. Where police forces have taken a decision to prosecute those who broke the rules it is the police forces that have been castigated. The prevailing dynamic is that this is a free country and we should be allowed to interpret the guidance on living in these covid-19 times for ourselves. To a degree I can sympathise. I swing strongly towards social liberalism. However along with that I carry a massive burden of responsibility on my shoulders. I know that if I can blame myself when something goes wrong I am likely to do exactly that. Because I feel that responsibility so keenly I do what I can to inform myself as fully as possible before I make a decision. Sometimes my way of living induces paralysing inaction, but experience has generally shown me that if I don't know what to do, I do nothing. Eventually a way will reveal itself. A system is only as strong, though, as its weakest component.
The lockdown we were never really in has been relaxed. We are now sending our children back to school, and more people back to work, many by public transport. New cases of covid are being reported daily. The magical R number is still very close to 1, the point at which there is no reduction in the spread of the disease. There is no cure, there is no vaccine, people still die. If members of the government and their advisors drove miles to test whether they were safe to drive or hundreds of miles to avail themselves of childcare during lockdown is it any wonder that people are not feeling fully informed? For years we have been briefed not to accept the wisdom of experts and I am one who finds it very difficult to know what and whom I should believe.
So what's the point of this rant? It's nothing to do with you, is it, Mr Kingfisher? A few days ago, someone read my previous letters to you. They've emerged as streams of consciousness, but have suffered through editing to the point where they seem to point to me being afraid to venture out. I'm cautious, but not afraid and I quite like not having to go out unless I really have to. Yes, I certainly miss being with P, I miss seeing members of my family and my friends, I miss going to live arts events, on train journeys, sharing meals and to some extent I even miss performing - however much the thought of doing it is agony. I miss physical contact, handshakes, hugs and other intimacies. I don't miss having to put fuel in the van every week or even going out in the van. I am surprised at how little I even need to go out and buy food. I don't have an underlying condition that means I need to shield myself from the virus, but I'm getting on a bit and have better things to do than become ill. In that regard I have been very, very fortunate. Two days ago I spoke to a cousin several years my junior. She, like my mother, had a stroke at the age of fifty-two. That was the age at which the wife of a friend died of cancer. Another friend was the age I was two years ago when he had a number of heart attacks and needed a multiple heart-bypass operation. My best friend from my college years has cancer. She is quite open about the fact that it is terminal. We both want to see each other before we can't. I shan't be able to see her if I allow myself to become ill. Another friend, five years younger than I am, and who celebrated her sixtieth birthday two days before my birthday last month, is a musician who postponed last month's sold-out concert tour of Germany until later on this year because of covid shutting everything down. This morning she has had to cancel altogether following a cancer diagnosis. Yes I am very, very lucky and the plan is to inform myself and stay lucky for as long as possible.
So, dear kingfisher, I am looking forward to seeing this year's family hatch and fly. I know you're there.
Love and stuff,
marsh
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