Lifestyle

Meet London’s new emergency services



When this is over, London will owe a debt to its frontline services so vast we’ll probably have to bake them that massive Wembley lasagne just to say thank you. They are some of the important key workers keeping the city moving — as are a new emergency service: the delivery drivers. From taxi drivers shuttling doctors to the frontline, to food couriers feeding the city, never have so many been so dependent on so few.

We spoke to five members of this new emergency service.

Anthony Francis, 51, FedEx delivery driver

People are ordering more loo roll and hand sanitiser than I’ve delivered in 30 years. Today I made 98 deliveries in total because demand is that huge. While I usually start work at half past six in the morning and finish around half seven, they’ve asked us to come to the depot in Crayford two hours later to separate us from the night staff, then allow them to disinfect and reduce the chances of transmission. They’ve also issued us with antiseptic spray and gloves, but I wear my own, as well as a £14 mask I bought in Decathlon.

My other half worries about me going into work now that she’s at home with the kids and I’m the only one going out. She’s not left the house for eight days now. I do feel like I’m on the front line, you know, because one of my colleagues has gone down with the virus, and is fighting for his life in King’s College Hospital. Then there’s money, which I worry about like every other person in this city.


My normal delivery target is 65. If I do anything more than that I get paid more, but more companies closing might mean fewer parcels to deliver. Most of us who wok at the depot are technically self-employed, so I’ve been listening to the Chancellor on the van radio. But I don’t think I’m going to be out of work.

Rachael Barker, 31, Co-founder of florist I Think That You Are Magic

Rachael Barker florist

We were delivering British spring flowers before this virus, and we’re going to keep delivering them for as long as possible now. We’ve got 65 orders this week which is mega, really.

Bunches are £30, but £10 from each bunch sold goes to local charities supporting vulnerable adults and children, so £700 for them is a cheering thought. We’re OK for stock, so we’ll be on the road as long as people want flowers and we can break even. A bunch of flowers arriving on your doorstep, sent by someone to someone else, is a real act of kindness and thoughtfulness.

Usually my partner Hannah Bishop and I deliver together on Thursdays and Fridays, but to keep ourselves and everyone else safely isolated, she’s doing deliveries solo, while I’m at home tying up bunches of ranunculus, anemones, tulips, fritillaries and lady’s mantle. It’s important to spread joy, safely, in these pretty sobering times.

We’ve been asking people if they’d like us to deliver children’s drawing materials, or any other little bits and pieces that will keep people happy while they’re shut up. If we help each other, we can do this. And if you can make someone feel happy for a even a little amount of time, then that helps.

Razma Nur, 32, Uber driver

Razma Nur is an Uber driver.

I’d already signed up to the NHS Volunteer Responders scheme, so I’ll mainly be taking people who have recovered from the virus home from hospitals and delivering medicine to their homes from pharmacies in my spare time. Uber have also committed to at least 200,000 free trips for NHS staff, so they just need to link their account to their NHS email address.

It’s all about the little help you can offer. I’ve got a friend whose daughter works in the NHS as a nurse, so I’ve been taking her in every morning at 8am, and picking her up at 8pm. She’s doing an amazing job and, of course, there’s no charge. Some passengers are very silent, and most are now wearing masks and gloves. They greet you and try not to talk. Others, though, talk about what’s going on, how everything has changed, the boredom, and what they’re doing inside.

As soon as I drop someone off I wipe my door handles, the seat they’ve sat in, and the seat belts. I have old parents whom I live with, so as soon as I get home I wash my hands, wash all my clothes and try to stay away from them. I’m not nervous, frankly. If I get it, I get it. If I don’t, I don’t.

Pete Kazmierski, 33 Deliveroo cyclist

Pete Kazmierski, Deliveroo cyclist

The Deliveroo jacket means freedom to cycle around London on lockdown. So I put up signs in the lifts in my block of apartments where I live in Southwark explaining that I work for Deliveroo, and that if any vulnerable or self-isolating people needed help with shopping I could to do that for them as a key worker. Two days later I got a phone call from a lady who was self-isolating. She had a very weak immune system and couldn’t leave the house, so I went to Royal Chelsea Hospital to pick up her medication.

On the job we’re getting a lot more of all the usual orders, too, plus the odd solo order for a bottle of wine.

I don’t really get nervous out there. Protective masks and gloves have been promised to us, and Deliveroo have provided £20 for sanitising products. As a rider, when we open the app it prompts us to follow all the public health advice.

At some restaurants still getting used to delivery-only services we’ve got to worry about social distancing, just because of the queue of other couriers. Also, chefs who are used to cooking for packed restaurants understandably look like the joy has been drawn from their livelihoods in these lonely times. You’d miss the audience, wouldn’t you?

It’s the NHS who are the real heroes, and we’re all pretty stoked the company has promised them half a million free meals. I was dropping off a burger at 8pm last Thursday and the whole square burst into applause. I had no idea about the NHS clap at the time. I just thought, “This is a bit much for a burger.”

Luis Marques, 35, Natoora delivery driver

Luis Marques is an Anatolia delivery driver

We used to do deliveries of fresh, seasonal food to restaurants, but they are closed so we’ve concentrated our business on doing home deliveries to the public. We do 30 to 40 drops of fresh produce every day, so my job at the moment is making people smile. When I arrive it means they don’t have to queue for hours at the supermarkets.

Of course I feel scared, especially when I’m delivering to people who are self-isolating or infected. Some have signs on their doors with warnings, so I’m cleaning everything in my van within an inch of its life. We ring the bell, drop the box and then take four big steps or more backwards. We’re not allowed within two metres, and we’re not allowed to take any of their used delivery boxes away.

Although we’ve started wearing masks and gloves provided by the company for our own safety and for customers, I’ve noticed that people were friendlier to me back in the days when I didn’t wear either.

I feel happy though, and valued by London. In the past delivery drivers were looked at like dodgy road hogs. It has put a smile on my face that we are considered key workers now. Also, the roads are so quiet that I can make the journey from north to south London in 20 minutes, when it used to take me an hour.



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