The one way of making people hang together is to give ’em a spell of the plague.”Albert Camus – ‘The Plague’
Before coronavirus changed everything, my friend and I had made tentative plans to go inter-railing around Europe for the Summer. We had agreed on a route; Prague to Krakow to Budapest – and we had agreed on all the locations and sites we absolutely had to visit in each city.
I remember the evening we spent planning it in our favourite French-style café, which we were both regulars at pre-corona.
How lucky I am that the only things I mourn in this lockdown are my holiday that never was and sitting in my café drinking strong coffee and listening to other people’s conversations.
The streets are quieter these days and everybody keeps their distance, because nobody knows when this will end – or if it will.
As doctors, nurses, politicians, emergency responders, police, supermarket workers – ie. the select few the government has decided are “essential workers” – try and keep going, the vast majority of people are grateful enough, and smart enough, to do our part and stay the fuck inside.
My housemates fled back to their parents and I, too, returned home after a few days of going slowly mad by myself in my rented house in Galway city.
It’s better at home; I walk the dog in the countryside, I do housework and I don’t clean my room. Every day at 9pm I watch the news with my parents.
One day I was talking to my Mother, telling her about my aborted holiday plans. “I suppose I’ll go next year,” I said, because I not optimistic or stupid enough to believe I’ll be leaving Ireland any time soon.
Mum shrugged her shoulders and said “You are living through history.”
She was right. She’s always right – I am living through history. We all are.
The people who lived through the 1918 pandemic started popping up in our family’s discussions about coronavirus. We can read about the 1918 pandemic online; we can read as much or as little as we please.
History never looks like history when you are living through it.”John W. Gardner
We might be living through history, but with the internet and all the other technology available to us, we have the benefit of hindsight. There is a lot of grumbling about technology and how it is destroying us and making us less sociable, but I think that even its doubters have begun to come around to the idea that in times like these our screens can act as windows to a world we cannot move freely in any more.
It is a small mercy, too, that even though we are on lockdown and we cannot see friends and family or go to work, we have this incredible resource at our disposal to record our experiences.
In a hundred years’ time, let the record show what we did and how we lived – and survived – this pandemic.
There’s the sourdough bread baking crack of dawn risers doing yoga in their front rooms. There’s the cereal for dinner at 1am Netflix bingeing head shavers. There are the Leaving Cert students waiting for an answer on when their exams will be. There are people in nursing homes who can’t see their families. There are bored children driving their addled parents up the walls. And there are heartbroken people who can’t grieve properly for their loved ones dying from this virus.
None of us know when this will all be over; all we can do is wait and hope and do what they tell us.
By “they” I mean the people we find ourselves reliant on to keep us safe. From the security guard in your local supermarket who enforces social distancing, to the nurses run off their feet in hospitals all over the world, we must respect and appreciate the sacrifices they are making for us.
Many frontline workers have already paid with their lives, and yet there are some incredible dumbasses out there who shout abuse and spit at these men and women who are only doing their best in a bad situation. And believe me, their best is good enough. I hope they don’t let the bastards get them down.
History won’t look on the bastards too kindly.
As for the rest of us? We’ll have a pint and an ice-cream when it’s all over..