Look at the rainbow, and praise him who made it;
It is exceedingly beautiful in its brightness.
It encircles the sky with its golden arc:
The hands of the Most High have stretched it out.”
Ecclesiasticus 43: 11-12
This was the beginning of the first reading at Prince Phillip’s funeral. For me, and I’m sure for many of us, these words are given even greater poignance when we reflect on the highs and lows of the past year. The restrictions imposed on our lives, in our battle against the pandemic, have forced us to reconsider the things that are most valuable to us. We have been separated from loved ones, we have grown tired of solitude, we have sighed at the news and seethed at covid’s sorrowful significance. Many of us may feel that our lives have lost their colour. However, now, as we reminisce, I think we can better appreciate that it is the combination of the rain and the sunshine that gives rise to the rainbow. And now, with restrictions lifting, we can appreciate the more colourful moments of the past year. The moments that have brightened the gloomy clouds of covid.
Lockdown started at the beginning of last year, and we weren’t quite ready for what was about to hit us. Suddenly thrown into this new way of living, we were told how to behave, as though we’d returned to childhood. What had we done, we wondered, to deserve this punishment? But when children are confined, they spontaneously create ways of entertaining themselves; they learn how to play. I once saw these words inscribed onto a chestnut doorway in an adventurous garden, “We don’t stop playing because we grow old, we grow old because we stop playing”. We began to enjoy the blissfulness of time; a time that began to tick at a different pace. A time not occupied with plans and routine, removed from distractions of the outside world. We played cards, board games and trivia, and we found new ways to play. Whether we played by stacking loo roll, styling 80s mullets, dancing to TikToks or baking banana bread. We discovered new ways to enjoy our time and we lived in the moment.
There was something wonderfully British about the new lockdown way of living. Socially-distanced queuing, for one, becoming the norm. Our willingness to go on long walks, in wind or rain, waving happily to passersby. We picnicked two metres apart, reluctant to acknowledge a turn in the weather. We had a reinforced appreciation of a single cup of tea, and our love for teatime would sometimes occupy a whole day. Formal handshakes were replaced with elbow dabs, air hugs, and eyes ‘smiled’ more when mouths were hidden behind masks. Our glorious English countryside burned more brightly and more beautifully than ever before. The Spring began to blossom, and wildlife flourished. The birds sang, and the roads slept. We reconnected with our neighbours over the garden fence, we used our local businesses and our communities were even stronger than before. We celebrated the things most important to us in Britain: our NHS, our pubs and our post. We clapped our hands for the NHS every Thursday at 8pm. We smiled at our neighbours and whooped with overwhelming gratitude. They were our hope; they were our rainbow in a gloomy sky. Our pub quizzes turned to ‘zoom’, and with family and friends, we argued and giggled. Arranging times, hassling over meeting ID’s and talking over each other. Conversations were no longer strung together with “Where have you been?” or “Where are you going?”, but instead, we spoke in the moment, “How do you feel? What are you doing? How are you coping with it all?”
We have had a lot of time to ourselves this year. We realised that we could do the things we usually put off until later or hadn’t previously found the time for. We wrote poems, painted, cooked and did exercise. Joe Wicks. Yoga. 5k runs. Reading. We wrote letters to our loved ones. We figured out what we loved and what our skills were. We learnt about our mental health and that of others, now people speak about it more openly. We learnt how to cope with loneliness, the thoughts in our heads and how to be patient. Through solitude that was ‘shared’, we found solidarity. Distanced from our loved ones, we made a bigger effort to close the gaps and check in more frequently on those who were alone - physically or mentally. We recognised more keenly the vulnerability of the elderly, especially those who live alone. We thought of people whom we had been too busy to think about before. Trying our hardest to brighten their days by sending hampers or just giving them a call. Captain Tom epitomised the stoicism of the elderly; as well as raising an astonishing amount of money for the NHS, he reminded everyone to do their bit in helping others and to have hope.
Undeniably, the past year has for millions of people been very tough - a year in which their resources and self-reliance have been stretched to the limit, and I hope I haven’t offended anyone in painting too bright and positive a picture. But do let’s cling to the benefits of being hopeful. Let’s remember the positive things that have happened. And let’s not forget the splendour of the rainbow. For the rest of our lives, when we see a rainbow, we will reflect on this strange year, and our hearts will leap up when we remember that no matter how dark our days have been, we have all been in it together.
We will never walk alone.
by Florence Butt