LIVING WITH LOCKDOWN
Pastime of the Past By Abhinand Sundaram
Over the past few weeks many of us, myself included, have returned to old hobbies. Perhaps you dug out your long-forgotten plethora of Lego bricks in the hope of building a masterpiece, or maybe, planning on staying active, you salvaged a beaten pair of trainers from the depths of the cupboard. Sounds good? What about when you press slightly too hard, only for your miniature bricked paradise to tumble down and give rise to the infuriating rage that rocks you like a wave battling a ship, or when you get to the end of the street feeling worse than ever and your sore legs plead with you to end the unwarranted punishment? … (asking for a friend.) Here is an example of what you might experience if you, like many others missing the strain of an everyday routine, turn to a pastime of the past.
You open it, heaving under the weight of years of song-less solitude, creaking at the brass hinges and revealing a length of monochrome keys. The white ones, once like polished ivory, then like a warm sepia, faded by years in the sun, now somewhere in between – as if during their confinement they escaped to the Arctic Circle and summoned a covering of ice.
But by bar 6 you are too excited to maintain the all-important concentration, and your left ring finger stumbles, and the music grinds to a premature halt. What was that? Slow it down. No don’t speed up. Slow down. Ok, this time left hand only. There you go. Now both hands. Oh, come on. It goes on like this for some time, but when hope seems as distant as the last correctly played bar, you play it, beautifully. Triumphantly you carry on to the next line, and the next, but then it happens again. The downcast sound of a completely misplayed bar takes a brief moment to quieten, only to give rise to your loudening sigh of frustration.
You naïvely open up that Grade 5 piano book, and it cordially opens to a familiar piece. Since your mind can barely keep up as the familiar pages take your eyes dancing along the musical notes, you set it against the piano and turn towards the first line. Then you place your hands on the keys, but your fingers are tense where they were once soft. Must be the coldness of those keys, right?
After glancing at your watch, you gently support the heavy piano lid until it shuts with an unmusical thump. You walk out of the room, but before reaching the kitchen you’ve already forgotten about the sudden urge that you had a little over 35 minutes ago to play the piano.
Once you’ve refamiliarized yourself with line 1 you press the first key, tentatively where it was once emphatic. The hammers trip over onto the strings, and the room’s walls slowly brighten with colour in spite of the bitterly minor key. Bar 1 done. Bar 2. Yes. This is coming back to you.
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Covid-19 Poem By Thomas Avant Smith
The world was a spool of people and objects, People conjured up buildings and cars, And the mobile phones and laptops made communication possible from afar. Day by day, the skies grew thicker, Engulfed by smoke till the stars and moon were blocked from view, But on the morning of November 17th 2019, It was the start of something new. Pandemonium was evident around the world, People were ushered to hospitals bedridden, And while the streets became more and more isolated, The remaining population stayed hidden. As the virus grew ever so strong, And brought about negativity for many, Lockdown was a chance of discovery, And activities aplenty. The car keys gathered dust, As they lay wistfully on the hooks, While they were yearning for human touch, People were busy reading books. Many started dancing, and singing, Some even started gardening and baking, Bad news was prevalent, So many brought about positivity in the making. The sky was empty and beautiful, The earth began to breathe, Wildlife was born all over, On the land and in the seas. But when a cure does get found, And everyone voyages outside once more, A new and creative and positive world will be upon us, Much better than the one we had before.
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Infectious Resurgence by Jonah Blake
Protruding peaks emerge tranquilly from the mist, Contrasting the pandemonium that continues to persist. Flowing winds of rejuvenation whirl away soot, As the perpetrators perceive a new problem afoot. Headlines flash, phones buzz, meetings now a crime. But it’s time to see the positives in an unprecedented time A fix to the largest problem of all of God’s creation, The hole in ozone layer in the Arctic has undergone surgical reformation. Speckled deer twitch their ears, fearing of the man from the woodshed, But not as before. Just the pitter patter of hooves on the waterbed. The streetlight frames silhouettes of forgotten creatures, While parakeets dance upon the town’s favourite features.
The Himalayas are now visible from India for the first time in 30 years.
Great rays of light fracture the murky canal, And shoals of fish return to where it had been so foul. With all the people locked away inside, The black cloud of poison would begin to subside. Gloomy faces peered out of the panes to the forlorn harbour, While the lesser spotted dolphins pranced farther and farther… The cascading waves shimmered with new life. Behold. The world without humans’ crime. As miraculous as this infectious resurgence may seem, There is work to be done to help sustain nature’s dream. Humans and the world. Living harmoniously.
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Photographic Memory By Henry Ward
I have decided to write a poem that reflects my vision of the post-Coronavirus era and that the generation still developing during this time will gain more strength and character.
His father expected him to photograph pretty trees, But he did not like images which appeared to freeze. Instead he captured the moments that no one could, The moments that he was told that no one should. The images reflected through pixels gave so much hate, Yet the pixels cannot present the pain of war at any rate. His father was interested in traditional Art, So, he compromised with a bleeding heart. But among the anguish and desperation, Pixels have the ability to show jubilation and delectation. The moment that she is growing and flying, Caught during a time where we must all keep trying. We are inspired by those with less experience and it is no coincidence, For they are the humans that will bring hope and coexistence.
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Coronacation by Frank Rahmatallah
The blissful chaos that was happening outside made time flow like cement. I checked my watch for the time. A minute had passed since I last checked an hour ago, or so it seemed. By week five I just lay, watching the blank ceiling, I needed to see people talk and laugh, wanted to listen and hear their stories. It was Easter holidays, but we were stripped of the liberating feeling of vacation. Daydreaming of cool ocean water lapping at tanned toes, whilst the sun beamed at my back turning it brown. Lockdown kills. But still, I just lay there as boredom ensued, I craved to be anywhere else.
and tarts with fruity fillings. She matched ingredients to the recipe like a professional shopper chooses clothes. Sugar fever had hit our house, glass jars with different flavourings filled the shelves, mixing bowls and cooking supplies stacked in the sink like jenga. My sister had decorated the cake like art, with hues of summer roses layered with buttercream, the aroma lingered in the air for the rest of the evening. During our “vacation” movie time was another positive. We sat down behind the TV, entranced in seas of popcorn and snacks, nestled in the couch behind an unbreakable shield of blankets. The volume was playing so loud the windows were vibrating, the only other thing you heard was the gentle giggle from within, but we didn’t care. Lying there made me feel something new, it’s as if an invisible hole poked my skin and all the tension leaked out. In those moments your thoughts feel weightless and your heart feels open. The feeling of relaxation flowed through you, warming your skin just as much as any sun on any beach.
During this time I yearned for the daily run. For me, running was an invitation for the brain to play. So I let thoughts flow without direction. This was the best part of the day, where boredom ended and ideas came. I noticed more families playing together, seeing them play in the front garden, cycling together, laughing together . There was this one family with two children, a girl and a boy. They both had chocolate coloured hair with hearts as big as sunflowers. Everyone on the street heard them laughing and dancing to crazy music. Hearing the father chase them with fingers that sent them into a pure chaos. As I went on more runs I saw more families, London filled with sonorous sounds of joy.
Upon realisation, during these current days of boredom, I am a ship upon a sun-warmed sea with sails happily relaxed upon the masts. Whilst being bored I selfsoak in my thoughts and see the richness that quarantine has to offer, community, families and time. We must cherish all this time we have as in the future our time will slowly trickle away, and the free weeks we have currently will be seen as an age that everyone would give anything to go back to.
I came home and had a sudden urge to try to bake a cake with my sister, something new for quarantine. We went shopping and I could tell baking cake was all we could think of. Little desserts danced around my brain, cupcakes with rich fondant toppings
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A satirical illustration of Life in Lockdown by Oscar Nolan (Lower Sixth)
Running in the Wild by Ollie Verny White
Since the start of lockdown I have been going for runs a lot, either every day or every other day I run 5-6k; whilst out I noticed my surroundings a lot more and saw a great contrast. Not only between the busy world most people live in and the countryside, but how we create frantic chaos in the media and in reality. With supermarket shelves empty and in rare cases people fighting over that last piece of toilet roll, this when compared to how nature deals with a crisis is a stark contrast.
Cooped up inside all day you just can’t wait to get out, What at first is just a walk swiftly quickens With just the change of a beat. No time till you’re into a sprint, Heart pumping, legs racing. Reality is a tough opponent to beat It always catches up to you. Soon the clean-cut road dissipates, Only a well trodden track remains. Lungs beginning to burn so you slow to a gentle jog, The running of water along your left side With a high fence touching the sky on the other. Soothing into your rhythm now You’re cruising, feet in time to the beat.
Lightning quick feet, dancing and prancing along, You take a wrong step. Squelch. Into the mud, The ground claims your shoe, momentarily. Till you pull free, away you run again. The light begins to break through The sun is beaming down on you, The forest end is nearly in sight Warmth flows down your back as you reach The end of the path and run onto the gravel track. Your breaths may be desperate but you’ve got to keep going. The hill begins to climb you say to yourself, ‘Just one last push.’ Upon hearing your call, Nature throws everything at you. The wind whips you hard, Slamming right into your face like a brick wall, You almost stop but manage to keep moving. Picking up the pace again you’re nearly at the top, Seizing the opportunity when Nature takes a break. Almost there, you can see the end in sight, The music is secondary now to the thumping of your pulse. So out of breath, just gasping for air. Finally you reach the point, You’re only halfway there.
Still surrounded by the creation of society you can see an escape, You quicken your pace so slightly, hoping you can make it to that break. Gasping for air you slow to a walk, you’re in the field. The sheep right beside you calls out in alarm, It’s only a whisper against the base in your ear. Careful with your step you walk across the field, Mindful of those brown mines the sheep left behind. Out the other side it’s time to run again, Into the forest you go along the damp path. Thick canopy overhead the temperature drops, Must not miss a step now.
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A New World By Freddie Haskins The feeling is inexplicable, Knowing your morning is going to be identical to the prior No feeling of suspense for the coming day Only wishing for time to fade away I stare out of the window Entranced by the new world The conversation of birds breaking the silence Blue tit, blackbird, robin Pierce the sun-kissed sky The day wears away slowly Searching for something to fill the emptiness New hobbies crowd my mind, Cooking, cleaning, anything But the emptiness remains The feeling is inexplicable
Isolation One walk a day That is all that is permitted A feeling of isolation from the rest of the country Staring out of the window, Birds appear to fly higher and happier At least the environment can prosper It’s like watching a movie unfold The birds suddenly appearing far more bold Maybe isolation isn’t so bad now the animals appear tenfold.
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Day in the life of an ICU Nurse by Sam Davidson It was 5pm, on a Sunday afternoon, when the piercing shriek of my alarm pulled me out of slumber. I slowly dragged myself out of bed and trudged to the window, opening the blinds so as to have some of the only sunlight for the day. The subtle warm glow on my chest felt nice. It reminded me of summer. A simpler time. Turning around, I pulled the duvet over the bed and fluffed up the pillows. Making the bed was always my first job for the day. It sets me off on the right path, and generally it acts like a bit of a good luck charm. Although yesterday it didn’t work. Yesterday was a bad day. Just a few hours earlier, I had returned from another night shift. It had been overwhelming. A patient who I had been treating for 11 days now, and got to know personally, woke up from sedation and pulled his ventilator tubing out, by accident. I was one of the few nurses on the ward at the time, doing a routine check-up on patients. When I reached his bed to ask him how he was, I saw him lying there, still. I’ll never know if I had arrived earlier, whether he could have survived and come through the other side, healthy. But as an ICU nurse, you feel a certain responsibility lying on your shoulders for the health of all your patients. The guilt from yesterday tugged at my chest and I turned, and left the room. All my gear was folded up on the counter, with my mask, gloves and facial visor. I reached for my clothes, as well as grabbing the preprepared porridge oats from the fridge, and waddled out of the house and into the car.
The sky was a sheet of blue cotton; there was not a single cloud in the sky and the last streaks of orange nectar from the sun seeped into the horizon. It was rather quiet and the few cars that were on the roads belonged to parents who were driving home, after grabbing dinner for their caged-in, wild children locked at home. The drive to the Covid ICU was only a couple of minutes, and so I enjoyed the final few moments of tranquility before a long night. By the time I reached the unit, it was 5:50pm and my twelve and a half hour shift started in 10 minutes. None of the usual faces were here today; my friends hadn’t been at this unit for over a week now. All of them had been transferred to other hospitals. The strain put on the NHS at the moment was extensive, and it was starting to take a toll on my mental state. There was an eery presence on the ward today. Maybe it was after yesterday’s disaster. I didn’t want to think about it. My shift started on time, which gave me a chance to stop thinking over things, and instead focus on the welfare of the patients in need. I started the night by going around the ward, checking on familiar faces and trying my best to seem as welcoming as possible. But this is difficult when wearing a mask and visor. You can’t smile, you can’t laugh and you can’t comfort your patients. Instead, you have to shout through the mask so your patients can hear you, and because you’re wearing gloves, there is no human touch.
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I really feel for the patients. The virus doesn’t care who you are. It doesn’t discriminate, and it can tear your family into fragments in a matter of days. The only way to plough through is to work together; this makes things bearable.
By the time my shift ended, it was 7am and I was drained. It was, again, a serene day. Throwing myself into the car, I turned on the engine and the car chugged away. The drive back was cordial, and there was no one about. That was one of the benefits of this job - you were always the first up, so you could enjoy the quietude of a sunrise.
The night was manageable. One patient had severe dyspnea, and as a result had a panic attack. Whilst I calmed her down, she explained that she saw her life hanging on only a few threads. In instances like this, the only thing keeping her alive was a machine next to her bed, forcing air in and out of her lungs. She invested all trust in that ventilator, but it seems to me that it all got too much to cope with. I understood her completely, and comforted her, acknowledging that she was in safe hands. Instances like these were common, and every nurse had been briefed on how to deal with situations like these, especially with the virus. I had seen it all before, but it never failed to upset me, seeing a patient in this state.
I pulled into the driveway and slowly got out of the car. In my rear view I noticed a rainbow on the windowsill of a house opposite. It seemed as if a young child had drawn it; it was messy and yet I loved it. Below the rainbow, there was a message saying ‘Thank you, NHS’. I smiled, and for the first time in a while, I was proud of who I was. My role in this crisis was an important one, but everyone working together is what made the difference. ‘Thank you’, I said.
I had two breaks that night, one at 11:40pm and another at 3am. Each time, I lay slumped in the corner, on a flimsy plastic chair which pinched the back of my spine. Everything about this job was uncomfortable. Dealing with perilous situations in a high pressure environment leaves you no time to relax. And wearing PPE meant it was difficult to carry out the simplest self-care activities; popping to the toilet meant stripping off all your equipment in the safe zone, and then being re-garbed. So I didn’t go to the toilet that night. I wouldn’t dare waste time, as well as using up the last masks we had.
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Covid-19 Haikus By Thomas Avant Smith
Hoarding is not good All I want is some flour Be respectful please Time by the dozen We all learn to cook and bake And binge-watch Netflix Board games pass the time Now time for monopoly Park Lane and Mayfair No planes overhead Bliss I can finally sleep The canals are clear The stars are brighter Way less traffic on the streets The smog is now gone Time to cycle now No excuse to be lazy Only once a day Spend all day sleeping But now I can game all night I feel bad at night We need key workers We all thank the NHS Thursday night clapping Normal in three weeks The hope of normality It kills me for days Sheer boredom all day Go away Covid-19 Who knew I liked school
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A Bird’s life by Fred Darley
This piece is about the birds and wildlife that have unexpectedly taken up residence in my garden during lockdown. It is inspired by my Grandfather, who is an avid bird watcher and frequently spends more time listening to the bird song he can hear from our garden than he does to us when we are on the phone with him. And as such I am reliably informed of all the different species nesting in the apple trees at the end of our garden.
The grim skies threaten a continuation of yesterday’s rain as they observe me soaring across the empty skies, my only witness a solitary radio mast, dominating the suburban skyline as I beat my wings across the abandoned airspace, the metal birds of men lying flightless and lifeless in their steel roosts. The piercing shriek of a crow sends me diving low, into an anonymous apple tree in an unloved garden, where I halt, safe. The tree is enjoying spring, its nondescript green foliage punctuated by dazzling blossom, the pink petals promising a bountiful harvest, the earliest fruits of which can be seen, the minuscule buds revealed as the wind carries off yet more of the flowers, freeing the crop from its colourful coat. All around me gnarled branches clutch at the damp air, the ancient arms protesting as they are battered by the breeze, ignorant to my struggle to hold on to the twisted twigs. Just beyond the tree, a depleted feeder is swarmed by blue tits, furiously pecking through the tight mesh, the sound of beak hitting peanut echoing sharply across the grove, until a squirrel approaches, its efforts frustrated by its size, and unable to eat from the nut-filled cylinder it satisfies
itself with the small seeds which have escaped the cagey confines of the feeder, glaring at the birds perched on the fence as their full beaks mock the rodent’s measly takings. Until the sudden appearance of a scrawny cat, ignored by the usually generous neighbours, its slinking form signalling the retreat of the birds in a throng of squawking in blue and green to my own apple tree, as the squirrel, still chewing, desperately scrambles up the crumbling stonework towards the refuge of an oak tree across the road. The predator, unsatisfied with terror and chaos, begins to creep around the base of the apple tree, its unwavering eyes transfixed on the hearty meal gazing down upon him. As the ginger beast begins to growl I decide that my short stay in this lively fruit tree is over, and take to the skies once more, my slate grey wings unfurling like the tiles on a roof, in the clear skies, free of the smoke and fumes which I had come to know in this gargantuan city, and I wonder how long this sudden calm will continue.
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Hampton School, Hanworth Road, Hampton TW12 3HD Tel: 020 8979 5526 Email: admissions@hamptonschool.org.uk Twitter: @HamptonSchool
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