We gave the last clap for the NHS and key worker heroes tonight. I remembered what I'd written back in March about how this one simple thing had brought a frightened nation together in an act of unity.
I know there are some people who find it politically charged. I know there are people out there who refuse to do it, and sit indoors behind their keyboards demanding a world in which those workers are paid better. I get it, and I agree - if we applaud them as heroes, we should pay them as heroes too. But it does seem a little hard-hearted not to do either.
The organiser of (I think it's called Clap for Carers) suggested that after 10 weeks, and the country now on the fading edges of the lockdown, it's enough to call this thing at 8pm every Thursday to a halt. So for one final time, we gathered on our doorsteps and clapped loudly into the air with the nation behind us.
It was dark back in March. There were fireworks and warm doorways that leaked light and warmth into the cold. We stood with our breath condensing into the night air while the sound of applause rippled around the houses.
Tonight though it was bright, warm, and sunny - winter has become spring, and spring is turning to summer. So out there in the Close, my neighbours and I stood in the golden sunset under a pale blue sky. I was in shirt-sleeves; some were in shorts. One elderly neighbour was in trousers and a string vest, throwing his hands together by his wheelie bin. We cheered one last time and went back into our houses.
I don't know whether I was right about a powerful wave of hope sweeping over us. We made it through the peak, and indeed, we did flatten the curve. Our heroes in scrubs did that; we did it too by socially distancing, and the surge of cases they feared having to deal with never really materialised. There were no stories of hospitals having to decide who gets a ventilator and who gets the corridor - well, none as far as I know, anyway. There was no real need for the thousands of extra provisions in the Nightingale hospitals as well there might have been had we not done this. In one sense, it worked well.
But thousands of people, perhaps as many as 60,000 are gone. And so many families are missing loved ones at this side of the peak - and many of those from political decisions. It's a very real thing for them tonight, and we should never lose sight of that. Never.
But if we do want to keep this warm national appreciation of our heroes going, then I hope we do in some way. The truth is that they were risking their lives long before we were bothered about it - a quick trip to A&E on any given Friday night should be enough to tell you that. They're not just heroes who stepped up to a challenge (though undoubtedly they are that); they're heroes regardless - they always were - and they ought to be recognised and rewarded and remunerated much more than they have been in this new, kinder world we're entering.
And as I wondered ten weeks ago, we may look back on this time and think about whether this country changed on Thursday nights - whether it was a moment of golden unity after three and a half years of wintry division.
I don't know that. I just don't know. I can only hope so.
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