Mother is in a light brown raincoat and a faded Dior headscarf, clutching a shopping fibre bag printed with the smiling faces of her grandchildren.
Sheโs obviously decided to go out to the shops. Old habits are reasserting themselves, like weeds in a garden.
โDo you want anything at the shops?โ she asks.
My wife, son and I are chewing in different corners of the kitchen. Cows in a field. Itโs lunchtime.
โThe lock down is still in place, mum. You canโt go out,โ I say.
โYoghurt?โ she asks.
Clearly Mother has forgotten that Going Out is dangerous
Itโs hard to know if sheโs asking a second question or just misheard my reply to her first. She doesnโt wear her hearing aid often, so a misunderstanding is most likely. Clearly, sheโs forgotten that going out is dangerous, possibly deadly.
If she goes out and contracts the virus, the chances of her getting referred to hospital for treatment are currently slim, according to her GP. She would be a low priority in any competition for medical resource. A possible victim, if thatโs the right word, of triage.
โThe Government recommends you shouldnโt go out at all, at your age unless it is essential.โ
โI thought I could go shopping if I have a special note. Or did I hear that wrong?โ
โDo you have a special note?โ
โNo.โ
Thereโs a brief pause.
‘I went out more often during the Blitz.’
โI went out more often during the Blitz, you know,โ she says, almost gladly.
Weโve had several discussions about the Blitz, the War and the parallels with Covid-19. Motherโs conclusion is itโs only those who didnโt live through the War who talk so frequently of the parallels.
Working a large cud of homemade vegetarian sausage roll to the side of my mouth, I reply.
โItโs frustrating. I know.โ
โWhen will it end?โ
I shrug my shoulders. This seems to be the 64-million-dollar question which no one has an answer (or not one they want to share, at least). She looks down to the floor and, for a moment, is motionless.
โI donโt care. Iโm going out.โ
She wants to shop because it is her way of exercising. She wants to buy something because itโs her way of making a contribution to the household economy. She wants to get out to prove to herself sheโs still independent, in some small way. Most of all, she wants to doโฆsomething. Anything which would break the dull cycle of ironing and movie repeats sheโs trapped in.
โYou canโt go to the shops because other people are there. But how about a walk to the shops? Or up and down the street?โ asks my wife.
Iโm surprised she is suggesting this. She has been the most conscientious of us in following government instructions since February. Sometime in the last minute, though, sheโs decided the psychological benefit for Mother of getting out of the house, if only briefly, far outweighs the remote chance of her contracting covid-19.
โYes, that would be nice. Iโll just go up and down the street once. Maybe twice.โ
โShall one of us come with you?โ says my son.
โNo. I want to go myself. Itโs lovely and sunny.โ
I am reminded of Captain Oates…
My son opens the door for her. I watch her paused in the doorway, like an astronaut hesitating in an airlock. The sharp sunlight may have dazzled her or sheโs just steadying herself before plunging into the street. But sheโs paused there for a few seconds. Suddenly I am reminded of the image of Captain Oates, at the doorway of his frostbitten tent, heading into the Antarctic blizzard. Should I stop her?
โIโll watch her from the front wall,โ says my son.
A while later, she comes back in. Sheโs happier and looks around the sitting room to see if the ironing board is up and a full basket of laundry nearby.
โIs there any ironing to do?โ
โIs the Pope a catholic?โ I smile.
โTime to keep calm and carry on ironing, then,โ she says.
The Man in the Middle writes our funny, thoughtful blog series. Musings from a middle-aged man living with his aged Mother and the Family.
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