A National Moment

Why I clapped at the door

I’m not normally much of a joiner-in. I had a cast iron excuse when my colleagues invited me to a virtual round of drinks earlier in the evening (unspecified “family duties”). I have a lengthy debate with myself before I even stand up for the national anthem. However, 8pm this evening saw me with jacket on, waiting behind my door ready to join the national bout of clapping for NHS workers (now extended to be a show of support for delivery drivers, care-workers and others on the C19 front-line).

Of course, this being the repressed UK, most people were hiding behind the doors waiting to see whether the neighbours would appear, which would embolden them to put in an appearance. Not too early and not too late is the right way. Last week this occasion passed me by, and I was racked by worries that they would think I just didn’t care.

This week, I stepped out boldly, not the first and not the last, and gave it a good minute of self-conscious clapping before retreating back inside. I didn’t see any doors where people didn’t appear, though to the best of my knowledge no NHS staff or delivery workers live on our street.

I recognise a national moment when I see one, and this definitely qualifies. During the day everyone is focused on just getting through this dreary period. We are all monastic now, having forsworn cinema, bars and human company outside our immediate family. But tonight the kids were banging pots and pans and the adults were clapping and cheering, and I even heard a few fireworks. This is the nearest we are going to get to a party for quite some time, and it touched me emotionally in a way I didn’t quite expect.

Is it possible that adversity fosters a greater community spirit? Those few remaining souls who have been through a war that touched the homeland would undoubtedly say yes.

I have noticed families pulling closer together too, even though they may have to communicate with new-fangled technology. Ancient aunts have been mastering the nuances of Whatsapp. I’ve been in touch with siblings and children in a way that makes it feel like Christmas. We are all just knuckling down and toughing it out, though for much of the time sitting in my chair working or Netflixing doesn’t seem too tough at all.

But underneath it all there lies an anxiety which I’ve only just put my finger on. Number one son, he of the magical present-choosing powers, is one of those now-revered front-line NHS staff, and has just moved over to a nightshift on the Covid ward. I tell him to stay safe, and I know he will take all precautions, but I will fret until the whole crisis is over and he can return to the relative safety of the Accident and Emergency Unit.

Fingers crossed, spirits summoned and prayers uttered that it will be soon.

Many thanks for reading!

More heartfelt family ramblings below.

#500Race