A plan, sort of

If two abortive attempts to walk along the river had taught me anything, it was that walking along the river during lockdown was a bad idea. For almost a week , my daily exercise had consisted of various different loops of the streets around my house with the odd fraught incursion into the supermarket for necessities. No matter how much I tried to enjoy the new flowers and the blossom in the gardens, it was boring but it was only for a few weeks wasn’t it? The problem was, all the Spanish flu research I’d been doing was swilling around in my head and, even with the miracles of modern science, a few weeks of lockdown seemed a tad optimistic.

I needed a plan of some kind, something that would get me off the streets, if only for a while. The park might be crowded but perhaps some of the local trails wouldn’t be so bad. Everyone knows about the parks, after all, but surely only a select few knew about the little out of the way trails and footpaths. It seemed like it might be a plan to check them out, starting with the woodland trail across the green. To say I had high hopes would be a lie, for a start, it’s a very short stretch of woodland path with a park right next to it. It was worth a try though.

It was 8 April, the Wednesday before Easter. The trees in the front gardens were full of blossom in various shades of pink and the weather was warm and sunny. The first part of the walk was not much different to the loops I’d been doing, deserted streets, the same old gardens with the same old flowers. It was a lot like walking to work at the cruise company but without a head full of turnaround schedules and things I had to get done. Then I reached the edge of the little woodland path. There was no one about and there were golden dandelions and bluebells basking in the spring sunshine. I smiled to myself. Maybe I’d cracked it.

With a spring in my step I strolled along the curved path winding up through the trees inhaling the scent of bluebells and damp, mossy earth. It was the best I’d felt for weeks and weeks. That’s what a bit of woodland, some wildflowers and the sun shining through bright new leaves will do I suppose.

When I got to the top of the hill I could hear voices. My heart sank but I kept on walking. Maybe the voices were coming from the green and not the trail. The dappled sunlight of the woodland part of the trail gave way to bright sunshine. There was still no one in sight. I stooped to take a photograph of a clump of bright pink honesty flowers. Then I heard someone call my name.

After several weeks of speaking to no one apart from my immediate family, this was a bit of a surprise. When I looked up I saw Gigi. For a second I thought I was hallucinating, because earlier, I’d been thinking about the cruise company where we both worked. We often used to walk to work along this trail together. She was real though. In fact she was out walking her dog. We stood the regulation six feet apart and had a rather edgy conversation. Meeting friends was strictly forbidden after all, even if this was a matter of chance rather than design. It was probably the strangest conversation I’ve ever had. I couldn’t tell you now what we talked about, probably the virus and the lockdown rules. We were both half looking around expecting the police to catch us at any moment.

After a short while we both went our separate ways, even though we both live in the same road we couldn’t possibly walk back together. As I walked across the green towards Peartree Church, it struck me how very strange this situation was and how isolated we had become in such a short time. Much as I like my own company, human beings are designed to interact with each other. Of all the things the virus had done, this fear of something as simple as chatting with a friend, seemed like the worst.

With a feeling of sadness I walked alone past the oldest Anglican church in the world toward home. There was a brief stop to admire the blossom bursting on the pear tree on the green and wonder if the nightmare would be over by the time the pears were ripe.