When Past Memories are Demolished

Here am I in the kitchen preparing breakfast for both of us whilst Alex lies sleeping upstairs. What appears to be some kind of scuffle going on outside, I turn towards the curtainless window to investigate, only to see five masked uniformed Police officers staring straight back at me, perhaps as long as ten seconds. They then went to the front door and banged on it.

OPEN UP! THIS IS THE POLICE!

Suddenly, two of the five officers retreated and then lurched forward, breaking the door lock as it crashed open onto the wall of the hallway, making a dent in it. Then the leading officer spoke:

You're under arrest for...

"Honey, what's happening?" came a female voice from upstairs.

Two of the five officers rushed upstairs whilst the others handcuffed me in my own kitchen, just as the kettle began to boil and automatically clicked off. Presently, the two officers escorted my panicking wife down the stairs, still in her nightdress and also handcuffed. Then one of the officers spoke:

You are both under arrest for not wearing a facemask in your own home.

"What's going to happen to us?" Alex asked, hysterically.

You'll be both be taken to the station to face charges.

"What charges?" I asked.

A hundred-pound fine for each of you. Maybe fifty pounds each if you can pay straight away. You should know by now it's illegal not to wear a mask at any time, including in the privacy of your bedroom.

"BUT WHY US?" Alex shouted with hysteria.

Another officer, who looked as if on the point of apologising for the ordeal, then answered,

A tip-off from a neighbour. Between you and me, we know her as a notorious curtain-twitcher. She loves to wag her tongue at both ends over the phone at the slightest opportunity. But we have to take each case seriously and see it through. I'm sorry about all this. Now please come with us to the station.

"Let me collect my wallet of bank cards," I said. "I'll pay the fine if you allow us back home immediately."

Yes, that may be possible.

                                                                      

Is this fiction? Well, I hope so! I dread it to be some prophetic incident of the future. Maybe it might be possible to pay the fine there and then without the need to arrest us, let alone damaging the door and adjoining wall. Indeed, I'm beginning to wonder whether this Coronavirus pandemic is getting out of hand, turning our national precautionary moves into something resembling panic to the level of universal hysteria and leading on to a social environment not unlike that in George Orwell's novel 1984.

Therefore, with an excuse that our grocery stock had to be topped up, on the first day after making facemasks compulsory in all shops and stores, I made my way to our nearby Sainsbury's superstore, with a facemask tucked away in my pocket and toting a wheeled bag. After a short wait in the queue, I slipped on my mask immediately before entering. A little way inside, this uniformed figure stood tall and imposing, no doubt ready to pounce on anyone who dares enter in without a facemask whilst at the same time creating a somewhat unpleasant atmosphere.

Has all this beginning to resemble Orwell's book, 1984? Everybody in the store, both customer and staff members alike wore a mask, and not a single mouth was exposed to public view throughout. Never in my 67 years of living had I ever seen such a phenomenon like this one before. Indeed, during the two World Wars, some fighters had to wear breathing apparatus, not unlike a diver's, and during the late 1950s, I do recall having to cover my nose and mouth with a scarf to keep out the effects of Winter thick fog hanging over the whole city of London, where I recall the exterior of both private and public buildings blackened with soot. Such a depressing sight brought in the Clean Air Act of 1956, but it was a further few years into the sixties when I began to notice London transformed. Indeed, Victoria Station had never looked so clean as newly-built.

But this at present? It's a phenomenon I had never come across before, a doomsday scenario which has, in the past, kept fiction and movie writers busy, but whoever would have thought that all this would become reality? It was while I was thinking about the future and what could happen therein when a video scrolled onto my Facebook wall. It was thirty-minute footage of my old school being demolished.

Rather shocked with sudden unexpectedness, the next morning, I cycled to the site. Fortunately, the closed main gate into the school was manned by a friendly security officer whose vocal accent had made me aware that he was an immigrant. We started talking, and I explained that I was a former pupil, one who attended that school more than half a century earlier. At my request, he explained that for me to enter the grounds with a camera, I need permission from the site superintendent, and the security officer attempted to contact him on my behalf.

He needn't have bothered, because as the gate opened to allow a car to exit, I was beckoned over, and through his window, I received permission to enter the grounds providing the security officer must accompany me. And as such, I took photographs such as this one from a vantage point not accessible to the public:

The demolition of my old school, taken July 23rd, 2020.

The building which is being torn down at the moment is the classroom block. In fact, more than half of it has already gone, including the upper floor classroom where I sat for the registration before morning assembly, as well as spending part of the schoolday gazing at the blackboard in front of all of us as the teacher wrote on it using a white stick of chalk, and each one of us copying what she wrote into our exercise books using a biro. No calculators, let alone computers, existed back then!

There was a stratum of five class levels according to learning ability. For example, in year one there was class 15 for the slowest learners, then class 14, 13, 12 and 11, the latter for the brightest pupils who fell short of passing the Eleven-plus only by a narrow margin. In year two, they were class 25, 24, 23, 22 and 21. Ditto in year three - class 35, 34, 33, 32, and 31. Pupils in class 31 often attained GCE 'A' levels and can (but not often) qualify for University. Classes in the 33 and 32 in the stratum usually leave with GCE 'O' Levels (two which I have from voluntary evening college.) Those in the lower two end up as apprentices and manual labourers. Such was school life in the 1960s.

It was a classroom where I felt that it was more for teasing and outright bullying rather than for learning. Even the school uniform - consisting of a black blazer with a gold shield sewn onto the breast pocket, along with a grey shirt and a striped tie - failed to turn us into juvenile gentlemen. Instead, at the first opportunity of staff absence the boys, in particular, would become mischievous, but with enough tact to avoid getting caught and to face punishment, which in those days was usually corporal, with detention for minor offences.

The tall building to the extreme left of the picture contained the art room on the lower floor and the old science laboratory on the upper floor (the new science laboratory was opened in 1967, one year before I left school in 1968, which is not in the photo.) Also out of the picture, the main hall where we had morning assembly and also served as the lunchtime canteen with two sittings - now stands derelict and awaits demolition. Behind the hall is the old gym, with the department for technical drawing (TD) further on, and the old woodwork dept, with the old metalwork dept behind it. Running parallel is a building which housed the needlework and the housecraft (cooking) classes for the girls. The new wood and metal workshops were opened in 1967 in the same building as the science laboratory, and the new gym opened at a separate building during the same year. All now stand derelict.

Indeed, it was a big school, but in those days a Secondary Modern (later changed to Comprehensive.) It was geared for everyone who failed the eleven-plus, and therefore unable to go to a Grammar school in preparation for University. Instead, the curriculum was generally non-academic and trained pupils in readiness for vocational apprenticeships in craft, mechanical engineering, and for occupations in industry and construction. This became more apparent during TD and with science experiments. These remained on a very simple level. For example, our TD lessons would never reach anywhere near building design. Instead, it centred on a small odd-shaped block of wood with no useful purpose. And then we did not start with TD until we were into our fourth year, which for me was in 1967.

With our science experiments, we became very familiar with the litmus paper, along with creating oxygen and hydrogen gas in the test-tube, as well as carbon dioxide. And the good old Bunsen burner which heated metal to expansion, along with elementary biology. With such simplicity, it became obvious that we would never become scientists, and they seemed to have made sure of that.

It was a kind of school where although uniform was compulsory, during warm weather, boys sometimes, actually quite often, wore their shirts open-neck and without a tie, and staff usually turned a blind eye to this, perhaps unlike the strict dress code characteristic of a Grammar school. And that despite that our physical education master singled me out one morning and demanded why I wasn't wearing a tie. An easy target? Perhaps bad luck of the draw, I think, as well as during a cooler spell outside.

Generally speaking, the school taught us how to be independent bread-winners without high qualifications, although among the top pupils, it was possible to attain a place at University. It has also trained us to be good at team sports, although I was a failure at this. But most of all, the school taught us to respect our and one another's freedoms.

But as I watch the demolition site in progress, I cannot help feel a sense of sadness. A passing of something, a passing of memories, a passing of something which linked to my youth, now seemingly long gone into the aeons of the past. However, what I haven't said so far is that a brand new classroom block had just opened, a large one, and that will be the new school. It has made me realise that the closure and demolition of the original school must directly be linked to the decline of the manufacturing industry along with all the craft and trade apprenticeships which were connected to it.

School lab classic, the Bunsen burner.

Nowadays, with the advance of high technology, the school must reflect this, and train its students accordingly. Gone are those woodwork and metalwork depts, along with housecraft and needlework. In comes high-tech which must meet our present society. I guess the demolition marked the end of one era and the beginning of the next, where 1984-style (temporary) surveillance of the facemask will take over our freedoms.

The Police arrest in our homes will never happen, at least not here in Britain or Europe. But as one who claims to know God and to read the Bible, to deliberately refuse to wear a facemask in disobedience to the Government's instructions to halt the spread of the virus, is to rebel against God. And that is something I don't want to do, not after what His Son Jesus Christ went through, out of his love for us.

Therefore I will continue to wear a facemask at all the venues where it's required. After all, society might be changing, but The Lord is the same yesterday as he is today, and will be the same forever. He'll never change.

How I Long For Yesterday...

I know, all the Media is jam-packed with news about Coronavirus, and just like with me, perhaps you too have all this already coming out of your ears. Especially with these Government announcements, appearing on Facebook and other social media, along with on television, constantly repeating what we had drummed into us for the past week - stay at home, don't go out at all except for essentials - food, medicine and exercise. And oh yes, keep a distance of at least two metres from the next person and always wash your hands.

And so a dog walker drives alone to a remote spot at the Lake District National Park or the Pennines National Park, both very large natural and undeveloped areas, and he is stopped by the Police while he was walking his dog on a leash. A bit odd that is, and as a result, these national parks are declared closed to the public. Indeed, only last Sunday, crowds were seen at such beauty spots as well as on our beaches, thanks to a very unusual early Spring sunshine accompanied by a calm, balmy warmth. Such sights of crowds socialising, whether it's within the National Park boundaries, city spaces such as London Kensington Gardens, or local open spaces such as South Hill Park, just a stone's throw from our house, the sights of such crowds has sent our Government ministers into a spin. 

Lake District National Park. Last visited 2016.

Such beautiful scenery with ideal weather provides a level of distraction from these perilous times when one patient after another is rapidly dropping down like flies as the virus spreads. But as being human is all about taking our minds off the crisis should it otherwise drive us all insane. I, for one, will need some form of distraction just to stay sane. Indeed, both my wife Alex and I can be considered more fortunate in a way that we know God through faith in his Son Jesus Christ, and therefore time can be spent in prayer, as demonstrated in last week's blog.

And here I stood, at the back of a long queue slowly moving as it snaked some 150 metres to the entrance doors of our local Sainsbury's superstore. I found all this quite shocking, indeed, when considering my usual habit of "just popping in for a moment" was always taken for granted since I started going there for the last 25 years or so. But at least the queue wasn't as it seemed. Each person standing in line stood at least two metres apart, maybe more, thus fewer people than it first looked. One of the stewardesses patrolling the line and bidding us all good morning approached to where I was standing, and apparently, I was the only one in my area of the queue to respond with an audible greeting. It goes to show how just a little response is enough to lift her spirits and make her arduous day's work a little easier.   

But overall, I was overwhelmed with apprehension. It is as if all of my life flashed before me. The times I "popped in" to buy something, and this goes way back into boyhood when mum despatched me to the corner shop to buy something she either forgot to buy herself or to have run out of sooner than expected. Oh, those were the days when innocence prevailed, a happy boy skipping along without a worry in the world, memorising what he needs to get.

I woke up at about three in the morning earlier this week. I found myself struggling to breathe, although I was not coughing, neither did I have a high temperature, two of the most prominent signs of infection. It seems as though shadows filled the bedroom as my wife slept soundly beside me. I arose and opened the window into the cool night and took deep breaths. That didn't help much. This was because I was filled with fear of death. Death by asphyxiation while asleep. I got back into bed and snuggled up close up to my beloved. This was the reason for the fear. To be separated from my wife, who would not cope well with widowhood due to her own physical lack of wellbeing. Furthermore, would I enter Heaven if I was to die now? Or would I tumble into Hell, in torment, never to experience the love of my wife ever again? Such thoughts kept feeding my fears.

As I lay there, I concentrated on the Cross of Christ and quoted Scripture, mainly John 3:16 and Romans 10:9-10, 13. Whosoever shall call on the name of the Lord shall be saved. That is how the Authorised Version has it. But according to the AV Interlinear Greek/English New Testament, the stronger words -will be saved- is used, as in all other versions. Thus, I whispered aloud, Whoever calls upon the name of the Lord will be saved, several times. Suddenly I felt much better and immediately dropped off back to sleep.

But this experience has caused me to reflect back on my life. How much for granted have I taken all of God's blessings since I was born? True enough, I failed at school, which had a domino-effect throughout the whole of my working life. There were many times when I looked at the young man in a suit and tie passing through the machine shop of an engineering factory where I worked, on his way to the office upstairs. How I wanted to be like him! Well educated. Well respected. So did my late parents who wanted me to be like him too, instead, at the time they were frustrated with my lack of school progress.

But what a difference it is to know the Gospel of Jesus Christ! As everything started to improve after conversion at the age of twenty years, it becomes easy for me to start taking my blessings for granted. Like the time I saw the Old City of Jerusalem for the first time in my life. That was in 1976. Such a view from the Mount of Olives has not only brought the Bible to life but also the memories of those crushingly dull R.E. lessons I had to take back at school. It wasn't until my second visit there in 1993 when I was mature enough to allow God to speak to me concerning the city, and how I was wonderfully blessed.

Jerusalem from Mt of Olives, stock photo. Last visited October 2000.

Transatlantic flights for leisure? During the 1960s, this wasn't even dreamed of, except perhaps by a handful of well-to-do aristocrats and a few prominent businessmen and celebrities. Even back then, the thought of foreign holidays - that is, to the Spanish Costas, was only emerging as the latest progress for middle-class vacationers, the asking price of about two to three hundred guineas for a full-package holiday was astounding but in 1970 such a trip was still financially out of my reach.

Therefore to board an aeroplane at London Gatwick on both the 1977 and 1978 trips across the Big Pond to Toronto and New York respectively was something I should have taken as a great gift from God, a blessing undeserved. Yes, I did think that way, but the temptation was also there to declare these trips as my own rights. The same applied to the 1990s. It took as my own right to fly to Singapore, Australia and California in 1997 as well-deserved when I also knew full well that such Round-the-World trips would have astounded just about everybody just two or three years earlier. Such as when I was at the Travel Exhibition held at Earls Court just a few weeks before take-off. There I astonished a TV cameraman and his crew when I told them what I was up to. 

Travel aside, there are many other things I take for granted rather than giving glory to God. Besides our strong and robust marriage, this also includes going to the gym, also swimming and the sauna at will, with no hindrance. In the past, I was able to run distance races to raise money for charity, as well as compete in Triathlons and cycling tourism. Then, of course, to go shopping whenever I need to. Groceries of every form so readily available at a nearby superstore. No need for hunting trips or to travel miles to find water. 

If all this is pure boasting, then let me boast in the goodness of God who has blessed me so well throughout my whole life.

And this is what this present Coronavirus crisis has done, in a way it has brought me to my senses. The sudden change in lifestyle - staying at home in isolation, the need to queue to visit a superstore, to see all the other businesses and traders shut down, no more visits to the Leisure Centre to exercise, the end of newspaper reading at Starbucks and Costa Coffee, something I have enjoyed doing particularly since 2015, all these is a sudden cultural shock, the forfeiture of my freedom. 

Then the weekly church service. Like all the other churches, Ascot Life Church now has only virtual-meetings. That is, partaking in worship and listening to the sermon via a computer screen while I'm alone in the room, which could be anywhere in the world. I can't help thinking that this resembles a Communist country where all church meetings are illegal, and anyone meeting would suffer persecution including trial and a prison sentence, maybe even execution. I need to be thankful that our churches here in the West have not reached such a scenario and I hope they never will.

But I feel, in a sense, homesickness in my spirit. Ascot Life Church is my spiritual home, and since it isn't there, I do feel isolated, a wanderer looking for a home. This is another angle of my life this pandemic has exposed, that I love my home church fellowship far more than I thought I did. And I miss it intensely. Strange, isn't it? It can be quite easy to criticize the fellowship, how it's run, its structure of leadership and service, midweek meets and whatever, but it takes something big like this virus pandemic to expose my real feelings, my heart and soul commitment and sense of belonging.

Old Paddock Suite, meeting venue for Ascot Life Church.

A loving fellowship is not confined within the racecourse restaurant where we meet each Sunday. In the past months, even in the last few years, I had several one-to-one chats over coffee with elders and friends alike. Furthermore, a strong sense of brotherhood thrives between a doctor of philosophy, who excelled so well at school and university alike, and me who - er - didn't do quite so well at school! Thank you, Andrew Milnthorpe, for being such a great companion at the Leisure Centre, on day trips and on long weekends over the last few years. Now the crisis has forced us apart, I must admit, I miss your company.

It is my prayer that this crisis will pass, and to see all shops and businesses reopen, to be able to walk into any superstore without the need to queue up, to resume my exercise schedule, to enjoy a cappuccino coffee at Starbucks, to board a train whenever I need to and to attend church every Sunday. But most important of all, how I long to see for myself the turning of thousands to God through faith in Jesus Christ, a national and global realisation that God exists and the turning the heart to Him for forgiveness, salvation and in in-filling of the Holy Spirit. How I long to see existing churches swell in numbers and grow spiritually, and for new churches to spring up.

If anything good can come out of this dreadful time then let it be for greater awareness of God and the turning of many to him.