I'm a creature of habit. I believe routine helps octogenarians maintain their tenuous hold on life even when black-shadowed Plague is not idly deciding who next to strike down. When he is abroad I want him (He's surely a he.) to think: "Nah, not that old geezer with the wavy white hair. He's too ordinary."
Thus I reserve my news gathering for the TV News at Ten, late evening. I am under-informed during the day.
So it was VR, facing our living-room windows, who announced a degree of action among our otherwise non-existent neighbours last night as it got dark. "They're getting ready for the hand-clapping," she said.
I was shot through with guilt. Hand-clapping on our own door-steps, as a tribute to our much endangered National Health Service and health carers, has become a nationwide tradition, 8 pm, Thursday. I'd missed it the previous week because of my news habits. I rushed out in my stocking feet.
Not much was happening. I shouted to L, emerging with her kids: "Looks as if we're going to be lonely." But I was wrong. Other front doors were opening, often poignantly disclosing a singleton widow or widower. R who is neither, who lives opposite and who has loaded us with kindnesses, played Land of Hope and Glory, someone else blew a whistle, the rest clapped.
The nearby houses are all detached which meant clappers were somewhat dispersed. But unity may arrive less obviously. Dupuytren’s Contracture has curled my little finger inwards and I’m a lousy clapper. But I adapted. Back indoors the TV revealed larger crowds, countrywide, making more noise. We were understated, very British, no adjacent TV cameras.
I’ll do it again next week. I urge participation, even if you’re alone. I promise: you won’t feel a fool.
We have clapped along with our neighbours and certainly not felt foolish. When I put the recycling out for Monday I'm going to stick a "thank you" notice on it.
ReplyDeleteYour title reminds me of the old Fred Trueman cliché when he bowled out one of the higher bread opposition who said to him "Good ball Fred" - Fred's reply "Aye, it were wasted on you" as is your title which could be a good line in a poem instead. I thought it may be a quote.
Sir Hugh: My promise was addressed towards anyone who found themselves clapping alone.
ReplyDelete"I thought it might be a quote." I'd be interested to know how you distinguish between "a quote" and something I've written. Did you think it was too good for the latter?
No real distinction. If it had been a quote that would more than likely mean that it was notable and singled out and well regarded by you - my perception of your phrase was also that it was notable (to me at least) and therefore would have been on a parr with something regarded as notable by you if it had been a quote, so the fact that it was your invention, in my thoughts puts it at least on a parr with something you would have regarded as worthy, but as it was your invention (again in my thoughts) makes it even better than resorting to the words of a.n. other - something to be savoured and saved to be used in a more valuable context.
DeleteWell that makes some kind of sense to me and I hope it does also to you.
I love knowing that you participated in the Thursday clapping there. We have howling here at 8:00 pm on Thursdays. We have participated as well. It was pretty easy for us, we're always howling about something. Hope all is well there. Stay safe and healthy.
ReplyDeleteOh no Robbie, I would not of called you a lousy Clapper. I actually thought it was very elegantly done, by both V & yourself. From your door you seem to have a central position on the street, so I think you had the full effect from the applause.
ReplyDeleteIt does seem that each week people get a little more adventurous with their "clapping techniques". I wonder how the Whistles & Saucepan banging will be outdone next Thursday?
Its just so nice to see people out on the street joining in. Faces you never see on other occasions & some you didn't even know lived near you. However we are all in this together & we will stand together to see it threw.
With all this appreciation so evident - even your politicians, including those who have been itching to privatise the health services into oblivion have made a good show of it - is there any chance of better safety equipment, better working conditions or even decent pay for nurses and care workers etc. in the end? Only asking for a friend who has been flat out working for weeks now and is still expected to return to "Europe".
ReplyDeleteHonesty, I do hope something good will come of it. Because this as heart warming as it may feel in the moment this is not enough.
Sir Hugh: That's a sentence 124 words long. Proust readers would disagree but there comes a point in prose when weighing up the later qualifications erases the earlier ones. The possibility of exhausting one's reader should be considered. Are you familiar with the horse-racing term DNF? Cruel but mercifully concise.
ReplyDeleterobin andrea: When it was all done I mulled over the future possibility of contributing a song. Since the most distant clapper was a hundred yards away it would have meant singing at "full chat" (a pleasing phrase relevant to motorbike racing; unused these last sixty years). In the open air and unable to take advantage of any local resonance. Let's file it under "Unlikely"
In any case, what song? Perhaps an old Welsh melody and a plea for tranquillity:
Sleep my love and peace attend thee, all through the night.
Guardian angels God will lend thee, all through the night.
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
Hill and vale in slumber steeping,
Love alone its watch is keeping, all through the night.
Richy: A word of explanation to more foreign readers: Richy is the R referred to in the post above. Since I posted he's been to Tesco to collect our copy of Radio Times, which he left on our doorstep with two chocolate rabbits, an egg stuffed with Smarties and another with Rolos.
Richy, I fear Dupuytren had the better of me; my clapping was third division. I do have a trumpet but I haven't blown it since the seventies. My embouchure is shot to hell. I could perhaps kick a wheelie bin. Thanks for our sweeties.
Sabine: You must know I love you dearly but yours was the comment I cringed to receive. Germany is presently in a very commendable position re The Plague and her low death count. I was denied any response that was remotely adult and I must bear your lashes in silence. But don't discount heartwarming (all one word BTW), a centimetre forward is better than a furlong backward. And please, no more about the "itchers", they will bring my grey hairs in sorrow to the grave.
Blogland is fascinating, the image of a person that one collects based only on the written word. 'Shot through with guilt' 'feel a fool' - and you a former West Riding man! (But why renounced?)
ReplyDeleteI would love to flood our small community with beautiful music every Thursday evening. I've got a few days to work out how to do it.
Our whole estate joined in the Thursday thank you. Mrs Avus and I stood on the front step, she clapping and I banging a metal dog dish (nearest to hand) with a spoon. I have a son who works on the 111 Service,a daughter in law, retired as a senior nurse but returned again to the local hospital and another daughter in law who is a full time carer in an old peoples' home.
ReplyDeleteThey all deserve our praise, as do supermarket workers, postmen and refuse collectors
Share My Garden: RR in written form is far more inventive, charming, prone to endearing error and euphonious than the real-life version. Verb. sap. Stay clear of Hereford.
ReplyDeleteRenounced? For one thing West Riding young women held me in contempt, no doubt justifiably. I moved to London was engaged within four months and married in just over a year. The marriage has endured (so perhaps the WR women were wrong) and this year will be one of the bigger terminal-zero anniversaries.
Away from Yorkshire I decided I hated the Yorkshire male ethos: a misguidedly self-centred and parochial laddishness. From fifty onwards women have become a far greater influence in my life, especially in my four novels. I could no longer bear to be associated with that stunted masculinity implicit in your phrase "and you a former Yorkshire man!" and thus was the separation made flesh.
The music at our hand-clapping came from a hi-fi system in a caravan parked in one of our neighbours' drive. In late life music has become almost more important than reading (I take solo singing lessons) and I would love to discuss the choices you have in mind for next Thursday and beyond.
Avus: How about politicians?
ReplyDelete