A reflection on the background and experience of two walks over the Easter weekend 2020.
Note: it is not my intention to write pages like this one with any level of frequency or regularity. Even after deciding, after our walk on Good Friday, that I wanted to write about my thoughts following this walk in the light my reaction to wider events, I had not expected to want to say any more after our walk on the following day. But I did.
I'm a physicist and an educational researcher and thus I deal in verifiable facts, logic and reason. At work I'm responsible for a fair-sized University School, so I "manage": people and things. The Covid-19 Coronavirus pandemic has brought new challenges in that role and stretched me to the limit...and I fear there may be worse to come. But yet I am constantly being brought up short by people's kindness towards each other and their support of me.
The week before Easter had been tough, and the long holiday weekend which, unusually, I took completely off, was a wonderful release from the tension. I did some gardening whilst Richard painted one of the bedrooms of our house in Norfolk. But we also managed rather longer walks than was possible on working days. We had only followed the route of our Good Friday walk once or twice before and - amazingly - we'd never previously followed the route we took on the Saturday. Both these walks were very special, but why? For all my scientific background, my emotions and senses are very important to me, and these were walks which enabled us to get close to nature through our senses. What I see - and the images that my camera captures of that - has always been important to me. On these two walks, what we heard - or on occasion what we didn't hear i.e. the "sound of silence" - was also important. Many people have commented on the way in which the pandemic has made usually busy places quiet, because of the absence of traffic and aircraft noise. Because we already live in a relatively quiet place - and the planes from RAF Marham are still coming over occasionally - the change has perhaps been less noticeable for us than for those in the middle of a city. However, the Coronavirus pandemic has brought me moments of deep peace amidst the horrors of what is going on.
Our walk on Good Friday was Walk 3 of Jordanwalks' "Coronavirus walks" and the photographs taken on that day are here. When we walked this before, almost exactly 11 years ago in April 2009, we had been anxious about the exit to the south of Whin Common and - although I didn't write about this at the time - the route between the River Great Ouse and Sluice Road (over the Impounding Sluice) felt somewhat like trespassing. But in both of these places, and indeed for the entire walk, the route is now clear and there are indications that walkers are welcome. However once we were off the minor access roads (where we passed occasional dog walkers, and were passed by cyclists) we didn't see another soul.
I first became aware of the special sense of peace and silence when we past over the Impounding Sluice and reached the confluence of the River Great Ouse and Relief Channel by East Bank Moorings. There was a swan on the water. And nothing else. Deep silence.
As we walked along the Great Ouse towards its confluence with the River Wissey there was, in contrast, a real cacophony; an area of Silt Fen is being allowed to flood and has become an overwintering refuge for birds - when we passed there were hundreds of black-headed gulls here. Then we returned to the peace and quiet.
Walking back towards Denver through Fordham my phone beeped to tell me of an incoming Gmail message. The conductor of the choir I sing with - and given the age of many of the members there must be huge uncertainty over when we'll meet again - has been supporting me as I've returned to playing the piano, and he'd sent me a new piece of music. Thank you Roger. For the music and for reminding me of the kindness of others.
Our walk on Easter Saturday was Walk 4 of "Coronavirus walks" (photographs here) Amazingly, the stretch of this walk along the Relief Channel was completely new to us. We'd thought it might be boring, but it was absolutely delightful and incredibly peaceful. We'd passed a nesting swan by the Cut-off Channel yesterday and there was another one here, much closer amongst the reeds. And no other people.
The fenland landscape close to our home might be flat, and by the time this crisis is over I suspect I will be bored of some aspects of our daily routine, but the sights and sounds of the West Norfolk countryside in spring are very special. Had we been able to walk further afield I might have forgotten that.