Day 300

Thursday 14 January

Wow, three-hundred days since we entered the first lockdown and since this blog began.

Today starts with a nod to my brother. He has been following my posts daily and has been able to add a little more to the post (day 297) about the Halifax bomber that crashed right near our house in 1943. He took what I had and quite rightly corrected an error on my part which I have now put right. Thanks, big brother.

My brother has a book that lists all of the flights during world war two, numbers of craft and the details of their brief. Why am I not surprised?

So, although we are in the depths of winter and not a lot to note from a flora and fauna perspective, there are still some pretty amazing things on my doorstep.

As well as the Halifax bomber crashing right near our house there are a number of other world war two points of interest in our village. In 1944, a V1 rocket fell on a house on the Harwich Road sadly killing the entire family of four, the youngest only 18 months. I am going to check the village churchyard. I guess it was probably a stray, or might have been heading for Boxted airfield, near Langham; the home of the USAF 56th fighter squadron. a prolific squadron of Mustangs and Thunderbolts that escorted bombers over Europe.

Lieutenant Colonel Gabreski with the ground crew of his Republic P-47D Thunderbolt, Boxted Airfield, circa July 1944. 

There are all sorts of stories on our doorstep. Tales of sadness and heartache, but also joy, wonder and mystery. Again, it’s all there, even in a sleepy agricultural village such as ours. The ghosts of the past, lurking in the landscape waiting to be found.

Day 299

Wednesday 13 January

The day started a little differently. I woke as normal at 6am to the news on Classic FM. The newsreader announcing the proposed gloomy predictions for the day ahead. Impeachment-this, Covid-that, economic doom-the other.

Dragging myself out of bed slightly later than normal to play out the usual routine. Shower, iron shirt, watch, glasses, phone. Downstairs in the kitchen it’s Radio 4; we can get a bit more real when I have my first coffee of the day in my hand. Lisa went to work and I stayed behind to take Adora for her orthodontics appointment.

I guess I like routines, but to take yourself off-piste every so often is a rare occurrence but one to embrace. A sense of guilt gnawes away at me and I have to constantly tell myself that this is just what normal people do in normal jobs and in normal times. But these aren’t normal times and every feeling just that bit more concentrated.

Into work by late morning and into the swing of it all, with that sense of guilt still there. Making me walk up the corridor faster, multi-task even more than usual, feeling like I must cram in a days worth of work into half a day at work. I don’t like feeling like that but fear it strikes most teachers particularly when they are in a senior role. Or maybe it’s just me, and my imposter syndrome kicking in, or I’m simply over thinking it?

The day was wet and grey all day, and cold too. My watch beeped late in the afternoon to alert me that Scotland were tightening restrictions further (England tends to follow suit shortly after). And also that a further 1500+ people died from Covid19 in the past twenty-four hours.

The Gentlemen’s Film and Leisure Club – great days had, but the best yet to come.

I needed cheering up and my mate Mark came to the rescue. He has put together a photo book recording the Gentlemen’s Film and Leisure Club’s journey along the Norfolk Coast Path. And he brought it round, staying on the doorstep only, unable to come in due to the lockdown. And it is a fabulous thing, every page putting a fresh smile on my face and making me feel warm grateful for the people I have around me and the adventures we are yet to have. Simple pleasures, good friends and great walks.

Day 298

Tuesday 12 January

My best mates. Andy and Jason at Wembley for the 1995 playoff final with Reading. Thanks, Andy for sharing this. Miss you both.

It’s late, and for the first time, I am struggling to muster the mental energy and focus to write todays post. It will be shorter.

The truth is that everything is stacking up and things give. It’s dark when I leave for work in the morning and dark when I leave work at night.

The day is hard work, draining. And when I get home, I am desperate for some family time and downtime. I continued working tonight, not unusual, and now feel I need some time to switch off. It comes with the territory to an extent and would be more manageable if there wasn’t a global pandemic going on.

Newsnight is on in the background. When I was a kid I used to listen to the familiar theme tune downstairs and find it quite comforting. The theme for Sportsnight was a similar soundtrack at the time and it’s putting a (tired) smile on my face. But Newsnight tonight is discussing the problems surrounding the over-populated schools that are still a hub for Covid19 infections.

Tomorrow we reach mid-week and my sights are already, dangerously set on Saturday and the ability to get out and about with Mabel, Lisa and the kids. Albeit locally for a walk or two. My world feels very small at the moment; geographically, socially, experientialy.

We need the lockdown to end and the prong to start. They cannot come quickly enough.

To cheer myself up. A clip of clips from deep in the middle of the first lockdown back in May.

Day 297

Whilst walking yesterday we passed through the Millennium Green park in the middle of the village. The plaque there set out the wartime history and notable events of the village alongside a map.

We live up an unmetered track passing fields and orchards on either side and at the end are four cottages, a farm house and the hall which gives the lane its name.

102 Squadron Handley Page Halifax at RAF Pocklington, Yorkshire. Circa 1943.

On 25 February 1943, a Halifax bomber from 102 Squadron crashed here, killing all seven crew members. Right here. Outside my door, where I sit now, in my front room, just across the lane from my window. Seventy-eight years ago, a plane came down whilst returning from a night sortie to Nuremberg, apparently it never even made it to the coast. The bodies were recovered and the pilot, Flight Sergeant Charles Bray is buried just over half an hour away in Suffolk. I will go and visit his grave soon.

As this virus thing plays out, with  more and more very sick people being admitted to hospital, it’s impossible not to feel extremely grateful for what I have every day. My family, my health, my home and ability to work. But most of all my family and the gift of being able to see them and be with them every day.

There’s a number of interesting wartime stories linked to this village.

I’ve really missed the weekend walks today. It’s always hardest straight after the weekend. It’s often the most challenging day at work too, or may be that’s just my perception? So, it’s when they’re most needed. We talked (whilst walking) how it will be good when the evenings get lighter and we will be able to walk after work. Still a way to go till then, in more ways than one.

Day 296

Sunday 10 January

One of the most welcome sights from the past year, getting to know my local patch better. New path signs provide a reassuring feeling that there are people working to keep the network open for everyone.

I am pleased when the weekend comes and there is enough time to do nothing at all. The clock matters, but in a very different way on Saturday and Sunday.

The activities of both days are plotted around key events. Saturday; football at 3pm, this weekend my car needed an MOT and service. Sunday; referee duties, visiting Dad. Then there are the domestic needs, ferrying kids to and from places, food shopping etc. But this past year has upset that a little. And now, particularly during the winter weekends of reduced daylight, the main feature for both days is the dog-walk.

So today, Adora persuaded me to go on a run with her in the frozen morning along the local lanes. Half way round we chatted about the crows gathering in the fields and on the telegraph wires overhead. I commented how I never notice them except in the Autumn and Winter, probably because they gather together rather than lead their own lives during the other seasons. She agreed, to please me. Then, I got a little excited when a kestrel launched itself from a branch above us as we jogged, twisting and turning with wings and tail movements that contorted this way and that. Negotiating it’s way through the trees and out in to the clutter free space above the frozen fields. It was all in the blinking of an eye but I am souch better at absorbing what I see, and understanding the characteristics of each bird. That joyous moment made me jog a little quicker, and our synchronised steps faltered as I slowed down to get back in check with my running mate.

Then, at midday I was checking in with Dad, before collecting Stan who had met up with his girlfriend to go on a walk they had planned around Boxted. All of this had to be completed with precision to allow enough time to complete a walk with Mabel. We started in mid afternoon with a blanket of cloud above us, and returned home with late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the flat fields of scrub and stubble.

The infinite distance of the frosted flat fields around Ardleigh this morning (thanks Paul for the photo). Adora and I were jogging around the lanes at this same time. The footpath sign is always a welcome friend.

Each walk tags on another slight detour or extension. I have certainly discovered more about what is on my doorstep in this past year than in any of the previous nineteen put together. The network of footpaths have allowed us to venture just that little bit further each time.

Whilst walking the perimeter of one of the many fields, I noticed patches of shattered ice pooling under each tree. Like the seeds or leaves that end up on the ground around each trunk, so when the ice thaws it falls too.

Lisa and I broke sheets of ice stretched over puddles on our walk this chilly afternoon. Then came across sprinkled ice chips laying under each tree and shrub where it had melted and slid off branches.

Dad was good today. We agreed that Mum was protected from any anxiety over her positive test for Coronavirus by her dementia. As weird as that sounds. She has no concept of the virus or what it can do to people, or the worrying situation in the country right now. And the fact that she isn’t worrying is comforting for us. Strange.

Day 295

Saturday 09 January

I woke this morning thinking of Mum. Right now, since we heard that she has tested positive for Covid19, each day I have new thoughts which will repeat themselves as the days pass. The infection, hospitalisation and mortality figures released each day by the government have a louder resonance for me right now.

Today, I feel for the carer (or carers) who tested positive too. How must they have felt thinking they may have been responsible for bringing the virus into the locked down home? How must the carers and community nurses have felt whilst trying to administer such an invasive test to each and every resident? I know my mum would have been so distressed with a swab up the nose and down the throat. She would have shouted and screamed and possibly become quite physically aggressive towards them. I would not have been able to do that repeatedly, I would have felt I was being cruel. Did they have to restrain her in any way?

Thoughts lead to other thoughts that I know are not helpful when trying to rationalise the situation. Right now, I need to be calm and readied for whatever news comes and hope for the best.

Peering through the trees, an old watermill, on our walk this lunchtime.

The sun was so bright, so bright. The air was cold and it was dry. As we left the ice was thawing on the branches of the trees with ice falling to the ground as chunks, chips and flakes. Some dropping like gravel, some drifting down like snow. It was unusual, the sky was clear and it was snowing in the back garden.

Such a beautiful day for a walk. Crisp and cold, and it was great to pull the welly boots on after such a full week. Obviously weekends are precious, particularly at the moment, releasing the pressure of the past five days. But it’s also time to appreciate two days of seeing daylight. I walked along today, into the sunshine with my eyelids closed, and that pink glow warmed me inside. Just knowing that things can come together like they did to day, to give such a pleasent distraction really lifts my spirits.

Everything is so dormant though. There is a noticeable scarcity of red berries on hawthorn. I can only imaging that the birds have eaten them. Fieldfare, Redwing, Blackbird and Thrush are all partial to them, as well as some smaller birds such as finches. Many sheep had been moved off the more remote fields (I guess for the colder weeks) and geese have taken up residence in their place. Especially as there are still a number of fields still flooded in parts.

The seagull didn’t join us until the end of our walk today. It also swooped across the road in front of us as we drove home. It has been a week since I last saw it, but it remembered us.

Day 294

Friday 08 January

I’ve really got that Friday feeling this evening. It’s been a really tough week and Boris Johnson’s announcement of national lockdown #3 feels so long ago.

Driving home, I called Dad. I try to check in with him daily whilst in the car. It’s a good use of the forty five minute drive and I have turned it in to a habit now. We go through a bit of a routine but it’s comfortable and reassuring for both of us.

“How was your day?”, “Have you been for your walk?”, “What are you having for your dinner?” Pretty mundane stuff but it connects us daily and this tried and trusted formula works. For us at least. Of course, tonight we talked briefly about Mum and the situation in the care home. And although we are both cut up with anxiety inside our own heads and hearts, we keep it together and speak rationally about the situation now. Not about what might be. “Fingers crossed, Dad, we will just have to what happens?”, I say.

Cygnets on the Blackwater canal running along the back of our school.

We talked about the weather and how we looked forward to the spring. It was as much a state of mind, and possibly metaphorical, as it was literal. Dad talked of how he just wanted it to get a little warmer. “I just want it to get into double figures, ten or eleven degrees will do.” I agree with him and explain how we need to be patient and just get to March 1st. Everything will feel alot better then.

But in the here and now, we will enjoy the moments that are not Covid, not Brexit or Trump. I feel that it’s time to switch off from all of that for the weekend, it will still be there come Monday. So, this weekend we will walk, enjoy the daylight hours and time with eachother. And that all starts with a Friday night fire in the wood-burner and a glass of red.

Day 293

Thursday 07 January

I’ve just heard that Mum has tested positive for Covid19. Sadly, so have many in her care home. They have done so fantastically well to avoid it till now, but undoubtedly another sign of how virulent this latest strain of the virus is.

It’s a very strange feeling and I am glad I have this blog to be able to write everything down so immediately after receiving the news. Otherwise I would be stewing over it, wondering over and over what might happen next. The truth is we don’t know. It could be days or weeks before symptoms start to show, or there could be no symptoms at all.

I tend to race ahead with my thoughts projecting what the worst outcome might be (pretty obvious) and what the best might be. My mind then quickly withdraws, like a rubber band being stretched and then snapping back. My default is to be be quite calm and stoic under emotional pressure. I think that stems from a particular incident that happened when I was growing up (I’ll keep that one to myself).

Common gorse (Ulex europaeus) and heather dominate the Dartmoor heathland and my memories of playing there.

I know that because it’s the first thing that pops into my mind when faced with a moment of potentially traumatic news. It’s like when you smell a certain smell or hear a certain sound. They trigger thoughts or feelings from the past. In the summer, I walked past a number of ripe gorse bushes with purple heather shrubs carpeting the ground space between. It was just a dog walk, nothing special, and my mind wasn’t concerned with anything in particular.

The colour combinations of the acid yellow flowers of the gorse and patchy purple of the heather were scattered liberally over the dark army green of the needles and miniature leaves. It was a warm evening and the faint coconutty smell of the gorse flowers was subtle but noticeable, even to my nose.

I was transported fleetingly to memories of (all to few) walks on Dartmoor’s western beacon, which looms over the town where I lived. I wish I had more memories of childhood with Mum. She was always working or running the house or doing community stuff, but mostly working. But I do recall her with me, holding my hand whilst walking along a track as part of a sponsored walk. At least I think it was a sponsored walk as we were walking with other families. The track was an old disused railway track scratched into the gentle slope of the tor.

The gorse and heather was bountiful that bright late-summer-into-autumn day, during or just after the school summer holidays. My mind’s eye has me letting go of mum’s hand to run ahead and squeeze the almost poppable yellow flowers and then running back to hold her hand again. Did it really happen like that? That doesn’t really matter.

Day 292

Wednesday 06 January

We may be in a new year but it is clear that the craziness of 2020 continues.

It has taken me an age to write my post this evening because I have been watching incredible scenes playing out in Washington DC. The capitol building was stormed by thousands of pro-Trump protesters. These remarkable events were promoted by Trump in a talk he gave to the crowd just beforehand. The invasion of the government buildings broke up the activities inside, hijacking the formal handover from Trump to Biden. Mad scenes.

As I write this I am watching live pictures of the Capitol building in Washington DC being stormed by protesters.

At one minute past midnight this morning, the latest (third) nationwide lockdown became law. People can only leave home to go to work if they cannot work from home, for supplies or medication, to go to school if you are in a specific category.

Today there were over a thousand Covid19 related deaths in the last twenty-four hours and there are thirty thousand people in hospital being treated for the disease. These are the worst figures since the outbreak started last spring. There were over sixty thousand new cases reported today too.

We started the rapid testing programme at work today. In full PPE, we completed thirteen tests for staff and afterwards I reflected how this professional role of teacher has adapted over time. Obviously, this last year has seen unprecedented nationwide expectations of teachers and school leaders. Staff seem encouraged by having these weekly tests and it will hopefully allow more staff and pupils to remain in school, reduce infection and/or self-isolation.

Oh, and the government have announced that GCSE and A’Level exams will not take place again this summer. Stan has mixed emotions. It’s all crazy.

I need to sign off now. It’s a ridiculously surreal time, again. I need some sleep. So, I will end with a tweet by Ben Watt to calm the nerves and ground me…

Day 291

Tuesday 05 January

I am reluctant to admit what I am fearing is th case. It’s too soon, surely? The post-Christmas, post-New Year slump. The Jan/Feb melancholy. Plus of course the lockdown which comes in to law tonight at one minute past midnight.

Over the years I have become increasingly bothered by those two calendar months that start every new year. I suppose it should be a time of optimism and celebration, a time when we look forward to the adventures contained in the 365 days ahead. But, due to my job and being a Dad, I guess this sense of a new beginning is more relevant to us in September at the start of each academic year.

And then there’s the whole winter thing that, I think, should end immediately after the Christmas break. But there are those sixty-odd days that remind me that spring is not actually around the corner after all. I have been deceived. I think it’s the main reason why there is only twenty-eight days in February, arguably the worst month of the year. “Keep it as short as possible,” is what the calendar committee agreed back in the day.

So, on this dreary, cold and bleak day, Lisa sends me a memory of moment not too long ago when there were leaves on the trees and dry ground, and a smile, and a very little Mabel.

And so, I feel a bit low this evening. It’s cold and still very dark, when I leave in the morning and when I drive home at night. And I’m back to the days without a walk in the fresh air, without Mabel and the family. No time to take in what’s around me or in front of me, or in the sky or the hedgerow. I miss the sounds and smells, finding the rare colours amongst the browns and shadows of the trees and shrubs. Watching the clouds and, and , and….

And I notice others feel the same, even if they don’t say it. Some go quiet, heads down; others get short and snappy. Some simply exude it. I wonder how few smiles are seen in January and February compared to, say, June and July? Or better still, March and April. I am so looking forward to the 1st March, it even looks good written down.

But something of note did happen today. A Little Egret wading through the flooded field at the back of our school. I caught a glimpse of it through the railings of the all weather sports fence. This did put a smile on my face, mostly because of the bird, but also because I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. Just when I needed it most.