The last light of summer

Evening light.

Beneath me as I write is the sweep of the sea on the western tip of Wales. I’m sitting in the van, my whippet curled beside me, the sky paling to the thinner evening light. It’s been a bright day; the beach was busy with trippers, the campsites fuller than usual. But soon, the sun will arc to the horizon, and the last light of summer will be gone.   

My grandfather used to insist that autumn proper began with the equinox – I have his sundial still in my garden. At junior school, we marked the turning of the season with a harvest festival later in September. And I suppose horologically at least, British Summer Time will be with us till October.

But for me, the rituals that mark the transition are more secular and less scientific. The other week I put away the garden furniture and somehow knew it wouldn’t come out again. Then there’s the buying of school uniform, the ordering of an academic wall chart, the sense that September – not January - is when the year should begin. 

This summer has passed too quickly. 

My grandfather would point out that such a notion is nonsense; that the world turns at a constant speed regardless of our desires. Yet, when I saw small copper butterflies on the Coast Path today, it seemed only weeks since the first brood in spring.  And according to a birder I met, the linnets are departing, and an osprey has arrived on the Daugleddau. 

Jane says she likes the autumn and in theory, I do too: the prospect of crisp leaves under steel skies, of sloes and hips and haws, of turnip lanterns and penny for the guy…  In Northumberland, where I grew up, the season is typically dry and cold – crisp, we’d call it. Here, it brings September swells, a greyer light if warmer sea, and for me, an intangible sense of days that can never come again.

Of course, the seasons are not as rigid as our calendars or meteorologists would have them. Nor would nature regard autumn as either beginning or end. The last light of summer is no more than a poetic metaphor, resonant to a darkening sky and the lamentations of a writer no longer in the flush of his youth.

My friend, the author Jim Perrin, described the west as the landscape of loss; as where the light dies. He was drawn to the Atlantic coast in unspeakable grief at the deaths of his son and wife. As a child, my school overlooked an eastern sea; a pink sky in the morning was a fisherman’s warning, we were told. Here, all is reversed.

So as I sit and watch the clouds redden over Ramsey, I’m mindful that fair weather will follow. That the troubles of this year, its fears and fall outs, its sunshine and showers… as they say, this too will pass. I hope so, and not before long.

For in truth, I have loathed the lockdown, and all that came with it: the shrinking of our lives, the sub-surface tensions, the fibs we tell each other and ourselves to hold it all in check. If ever a summer was craved, it was this one, and yet at times, I would gladly have slept through it all. That’s somewhat dark, but it’s also truth to power of how I’ve felt and in so being, a little lighter to bear.

Tomorrow my youngest son returns to school. The world will no doubt spin as always, and the geese and fieldfares will follow it in their turn. I have builders at my house, a new study to construct. Somewhere, if I can find them, a book or two to write.

In Welsh, the word cynheaf means both autumn and harvest. That we reap what we sow has been an aphoristic earworm to my year. I worry that our pickings will be thin, that in focusing our minds, we’ve narrowed our perspectives; in our terror of the dark, we've ironically dimmed the light. 

It’s cold now. The sea is nearing and the glow from the laptop is all that remains. I should move on. My little whippet is restless, unnerved by our evening sojourn in the van. He too misses the warmth of the sun.

The last light of summer?

Coronavirus - Wales and the five mile rule

Social distancing this week above Pontypool

Today I was quoted in a piece by Jude Rogers in the Guardian looking at the different approaches of Wales and England to the Coronavirus crisis.  The impact of devolution has been greater than most of us expected and is perhaps the subject of another post, but for now, I want to expand on my concerns over continued 'stay local' message in Wales, its impact on health, wellbeing and our civil liberties.

The rule and its impact.

Unlike in England, the Welsh Assembly Government has allowed only limited relaxation of the restriction on travel for non-essential purposes.  As a consequence, after thirteen weeks of lockdown and some of the lowest rates of infection in the UK, the people of Wales are still required to limit any travel to a radius of five miles from home. The so-called five-mile rule has been widely criticised by many in rural communities and indeed some informal concession has been made along the lines of  'use common sense', but despite increasingly urgent pleas from the tourist industry the Welsh Assembly Government remains stubbornly resistant to changing its 'stay local' message.

The impact of the rule is far reaching - not only does it discriminate against those who have relatives outside their immediate community, it continues to minimise access to the countryside despite all the evidence that the outdoors is the safest environment for us all.  Aside from the detriments to our health and wellbeing, it is also an immense restriction on our civil liberties. That policymakers seem increasingly oblivious or unconcerned about this speaks loudly - and worryingly so - of the extent to which we and our freedoms are being psychologically manipulated by this crisis.

Why the rule is absurd

It is quite clear that travel does not transmit the virus, nor does it magically increase in strength the further we get from home.  Staying local, in and of itself, does not reduce transmission - if anything quite the opposite.  That is why we have food delivered safely to our stores and yet suffered an epidemic in care homes. What matters is not the distance we travel but our behaviour when we arrive - it is staying APART which keeps us safe, and any rule should ultimately be a means to this end.

Currently, however, we have the situation where the 330,000 residents of Cardiff are free - and supposedly safe - to socially distance in their virtual cage, but a family there cannot travel to the empty hills above Pontypridd for a walk in the fresh air.  Yesterday a friend of mine wrote to moan that over the last 13 weeks he had walked every combination of the five-mile radius from his house in Newport - the canal he complained was rammed even in the early morning and the few parks nearby were the same. And yet by driving ten miles up the valley he - and his neighbours - could walk that same canal in much greater safety - or perhaps visit Wentwood forest which opened its car parks yesterday but under the rules is only accessible to a tiny number of people.

This is not only absurd and damaging to our mental health and wellbeing, it is also an opportunity missed in promoting the countryside of Wales as a resource for safe recreation. As we open up non-essential retail where do we think is the safest for a family to spend their leisure - St David's Centre or St David's Head; Roath Park or the Rhinogs - at Cardiff Ikea or Cadair Idris?  The answer is plain as a pikestaff.

So why does the government persist?

The Welsh government's refusal to explain its reasoning in scientific terms is telling -  the reality must, therefore, be that the rule is a proxy for managing other concerns. Here we get into the shady world of politics and its inevitable withholds, but my own conclusion is that the real reasons for maintaining the stay local message are threefold.

The first is a fear of what we might call geo-spread - the notion that visitors to the countryside will somehow bring the virus to rural areas and that local facilities would be overrun.  These fears have been exacerbated by a widely publicised letter earlier in the crisis from doctors, the whole public hysteria over the NHS and some sensationalist press reporting of gatherings at hot spots in England - frankly, the good weather hasn't helped. The logic for this fear diminishes daily and yet the concern persists with ever more desperate attempts by some communities to justify why it's not safe to come here quite yet.

This plays to the second concern - a political fear of those few loud voices in rural communities who take a fortress view to the crisis, regarding city folk as an invading plague who cannot be trusted to socially distance - as if this virus and the higher infection rates in urban areas were somehow their fault!  The recently introduced concept of 'community consent' is effectively a stealth addition to the tests set for the easing of lockdown and is clearly not relevant to the science - nor is it a justifiable reason for restricting our civil liberties, but that's for another time too.

And lastly - the really big unspoken - there is a fear of people coming in from England. Ultimately, I believe the 5-mile rule is now primarily a proxy for closing the border! I say this because we can't seriously be so concerned about the level of infection in Wales alone or indeed the adequacy of our preparations for a second wave - if so, we really do have a warped view of the importance of our freedoms and the needs of our economy.

How should we go forward?

Ideally, the government should remove the five-mile rule immediately. More realistically they should prepare for its removal at the end of the next three week review period.  In parallel, we should take two further actions.

First - despite my view that the attitudes of some in the 'stay away' lobby are somewhat shabby and ungenerous, there is clearly work to be done in reassuring local communities that a return to free movement is not to be feared.  The government should help in the provision of Covid -Secure facilities and work to promote best practice guidelines for those who would visit the countryside.  There has been much good work in areas such as the Lake District and we should take the lessons from this and apply them to Wales.

Second - there is a massive opportunity to launch a 'Get Outdoors' campaign that would have long term benefits for health, wellbeing and the tourist economy of Wales.  Rather than restricting people to their urban environments, we should promote our vast natural resources as among the safest environments to spend leisure time.  Our national parks should open as soon as possible and we should encourage people to visit less known areas rather than the traditional hot spots. This isn't about satisfying mountaineers and kayakers like me, it's about encouraging families and people of limited outdoor experience to see the opportunities and benefits of their own countryside - it's about pride and thanksgiving for the resources we have on our doorsteps and actively sharing those as widely as possible.

Conclusions

We all of us have concerns and fears in relation to this crisis - and each of us will stack and collate those in different order.  I actually have much sympathy for the difficulties politicians and advisors face - this is not easy and it's important that we try to be objective rather than simply pursuing our own interests.

But when it is clear to any intelligent person that the rules are not logical; when we have a tourist industry that is screaming to be heard - and when we have such a divide between England and Wales that it undermines our sense of nationhood - then we must think again.  And although throughout this piece I have been relatively light on the impact to our freedoms and human rights, I  suggest we should not regard their curtailment so lightly or be so trusting that they will return anytime soon  - at the very least they deserve more explanation than slogans which do not stand scrutiny.


I would like to acknowledge the influence of Nick Kemp and his excellent website Parkswatch Scotland in my forming these views - in particular, the Stay Apart slogan came from his suggestions and I would encourage those interested in these issues to follow his blog - in most part it is easy to substitute the word Scotland for Wales as the issues are much the same.

The role of the countryside in helping us through this crisis.

Snowdonia - above the Glyders.

The events of the last few weeks will be with us for decades. Economically, there’ll certainly be pre and post Covid eras, and socially, though evidence shows we swiftly revert to our norms, most commentators expect there to be some adjustment. I wonder though, as I reflect on the ‘Stay Away’ sign that’s appeared in a lane near my house, at the deeper changes this shock to the system will bring, and the attitudinal legacies it may leave?

Somewhat to my surprise, I’ve coped well with the restrictions of the lockdown. I suppose that being an introvert, I was always going to be less affected by the lack of social interaction than I was by the limits to getting outdoors. In the event, I’ve adapted to that too, finding new ways to explore, making a virtue of what’s local; dwn ei filltir sgwar, as they say in Wales – a man of his own square mile.

But for all that I’ve found solace on my doorstep, there’s also been sadness – not in the landscape or the shrinking of my horizons, but in narrow minded insularity which the sign in that lane so typifies. Walk two miles from where I’m writing this and you’ll find others of similar ilk: Stay Home, Caravans not Welcome, No access – the internet is awash with much the same and worse.

Fear, of course, feeds our darker instincts. In the first grip of a pandemic (that very word is so emotive) we want action that keeps us safe - we don’t care about fancy pants reasoning or the niceties of whether this or that restriction offends against our individual rights.  And actually, I agree. Over sophistication would risk undermining the core message – especially when there are sections of society who seem to be determinedly irresponsible and selfish.

But that doesn’t mean, we shouldn’t call out attitudes and behaviours that in any other context we’d be quick to condemn. Of course, an urban exodus to Tenby beach or Pen Y Fan should not be encouraged – and those who flout the rules should rightly be penalised. But when the call to stay at home starts to morph into a more general ‘outsiders not welcome’ then we risk crossing a line. Last week, the tires of suspected ‘visitors’ cars were slashed in communities across Wales; there were farmers calling for footpaths to be closed, there were people posting pictures of suspiciously parked vehicles – and there were keyboard warriors glorying in the Easter stay-away, not as a regretfully necessary measure, but as a statement of neo-tribal identity.

If this were just a few individuals then perhaps I could shrug it off. But regretfully, some of those who should know better have acted poorly too. The posts on social media by the Pembrokeshire National Park for example - with their sideways digs at caravaners and second homeowners - are ill thought through, reinforcing an undercurrent of ‘us and ‘them’ that no afterthought of ‘you’ll be welcome when it’s over’ can ever mitigate.  In part, that’s because it isn’t going to be ‘over’ – at least not for a long while, and not in a clean cut way.

The real sadness in all this is that rural areas have – at least potentially - an important role to play in helping us come through what will be a messy and imperfect emergence from this crisis. If we think of those few environments that can relatively safely allow for exercise, wellbeing, families to be together – then the outdoors must come high on the list.  This week, it was reported that the Government is considering the restarting of construction projects on the basis that working outside poses a limited risk – then surely walking, or mountaineering, or surfing or sailing…must be even less so. 

On Thursday there was some clarification that the current legislation allows for a short drive of up to five minutes in order to take a much longer period of exercise. To many – myself included – this makes a huge difference to their horizons - and ultimately their mental health. We should welcome the clarity rather than feigning confusion or retreating to the comfort of inflexible prescriptions. For these are exactly the types of baby steps we will need, helping us to move beyond slogans without compromise to safety or leaping from one extreme to another. I’d like to see our National Parks (and other similar bodies) start thinking – and communicating – along similar lines, rather than promoting the blanket closure of our precious natural resources.  

But most of all, I’d like to see a change in an underlying attitude of ‘us and them’, which if not universal is worryingly to the fore. Those of us lucky enough to live in rural areas – and especially those with the ability to influence others - must come to terms with the reality that there will inevitably be some risk from visitors arriving from the city – just as those in urban areas are now taking daily risks to supply us with food and medicine and telecoms and building materials…  We live in an interconnected and mutually dependent society and the idea that its ‘our’ local health service or ‘our’ landscape or ‘our’ footpaths and that these regional assets are most definitely ‘not yours’, is not only wrong in its reasoning, it’s shabby in sentiment and actually, bad for our future too.

Last week I was struck by a simple Facebook post from my friends at Alpine Action Adventures - they were offering key workers a substantial discount on any holiday they might take this or next year. Sure, it’s a marketing device; but what a fantastic and creative gesture. They have other offers too and are responsibly encouraging guests to think ahead without the need to risk large deposits or inflexible commitments. What they are saying is Come and stay, we’re grateful for what you’ve done; we’re happy to share some of our good fortune - and these are people who live in France!  Let’s have more and similar gestures from businesses and public bodies here in the UK.

My grandfather, who lived through the great depression, was fond of the saying ‘we reap what we sow’. These too are seminal times, and we should grant some leeway for the planting of a few bad seeds. But in a few short months, the communities and the landscapes of rural Wales will have a golden opportunity to show – and share – the depth of their value to us all. In so doing, they can make a huge contribution to our national wellbeing and play a vital role in shaping some of the few positive legacies of this pandemic. Rather than putting signs on gates (either literally or online) we ought – right now - to be thinking of how we might embrace that challenge, even if the ways to do so are not immediately obvious.