Lockdown blues

When the first UK lockdown was announced, on 23 March 2020, the one saving grace was being allowed to walk every day. The long walks I’d been used to were out of the question but I was sure I could live with that. After all, there were some lovely places to walk right on my doorstep. So, two days after the lockdown announcement, feeling quite optimistic, I set out to walk one of my favourite routes, along the River Itchen at Riverside Park.

It was the most beautiful spring day. There wasn’t a cloud to mar the perfect blue of the sky and the world was fast waking up from its winter snooze. When I stood at the top of the slope, inhaling the scent of the salty river, I smiled to see the grass peppered with daisies and the fuzz of leaf buds swelling on the bare branches of the trees. The world might be locking down because of the virus, the roads might be empty, but Mother Nature carried on regardless. It felt like a sign of hope after what had been a dark and lonely few weeks.

On a normal Wednesday morning, I’d have had the park to myself, but before I’d even walked down the slope, it was clear this was no normal Wednesday. There were people dotted about everywhere. Still, I told myself, the park was big enough for all of us, it would be easy to keep other people at a distance and keep myself safe. So I walked to the bottom of the slope and stood for a while enjoying the feel of the sun on my face, the cool, fresh air and the swan who came to say hello. I watched in amusement as a tug named Wyepush tried to negotiate the bridge. For a moment I thought it might have to wait for the tide to turn but, with a lot of huffing and puffing, not to mention ducking, it made it.

At first things weren’t too bad. There were people in front of me but far enough in the distance that I didn’t have to worry about them. Other people were milling about on the grass, but again, not close enough to pose a problem. I stopped once more to admire the balls of mistletoe in the tree near the play area. Then I pressed on. The plan was to walk to Woodmill, then turn and come back. It was hardly ambitious, or so I thought.

Some runners came past. They skirted round me, a little closer than I’d have liked but not close enough to be a problem. They had soon left dawdling old me far behind. Beyond the runners, though, a cyclist was coming my way and more people were on the path by the jetty. I told myself it didn’t matter. Yes, I’d rather be alone, but there was a wide expanse of grass to walk across if I wanted to avoid them. Although I’d rather have been walking along the river edge, I took to the grass.

There was a note taped to the gate of the play area. When I got closer, I also saw a padlock. The play area was closed. It seemed a shame that all the children would have no swings and climbing frames to enjoy for a while but it made sense. Lots of little hands could spread lots of germs. Closing the play area was a sensible precaution and there was grass to run about on and swans, ducks, coots and gulls to watch on the river.

Keeping to the grass, I carried on. In the distance I saw two police officers. I guessed they must be patrolling the park making sure the public were keeping to the social distancing guidelines. There were lots of members of the public about too. Far more than usual. I put this down to people working from home, or not working at all because of the lockdown. It was the middle of the morning by this time. Perhaps I should have left home earlier rather than wasting time clearing up the kitchen and sorting out washing. Looking out for other people and trying to keep them distant when they appeared to have other ideas was beginning to feel quite wearing by now.

Feeling rather fraught, I weaved my way across the grass, zig zagging away from the dog walkers, cyclists and other walkers who all seemed determined to zig zag towards me. Finally, I made it to the bend in the river by the reed beds. Around the bend there were even more people, both on the path and on the grass. Even without a deadly virus, it wasn’t my idea of a nice quiet walk. It took on a nightmare like quality. This was the point that I abandoned the idea of walking to the mill and turned back.

There is a bench, just off the path and right on the river bend. It’s a shady place with a pleasant view. I stopped there for a while, frustrated that my plan had been thwarted and feeling a little sorry for myself. A kayak and a little rowing boat came past and I watched them jealously. Then a swan appeared out of the reeds. I wondered if there were nests in there but this was most certainly not the day to have a closer look.

As I was fairly sure that sitting on the bench was not strictly permitted under the lockdown guidelines, and I knew the police officers were likely to return at some point in the very near future, I didn’t stop for long. The return journey across the park was even more of an obstacle course. More people appeared to be gathering in the park by the second. In the end, I gave up and took the path behind the model railway back to the streets. Once I got to the deserted roads I could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

It was my first proper lockdown walk and I’d learned a valuable lesson. There might be lots of pretty places for a stroll right on my doorstep but the chances of any walking alone in any of them were slim to none. Of course, as problems go, this was a fairly minor one. The parks and pretty places don’t belong to me and other people are entitled to use them. My need for solitude does not trump anyone else’s need for exercise. Even so, it was clear I would have to rethink my daily walks.