Last Thursday, millions of Britons stood for a second time on doorsteps and balconies, making their appreciation for frontline workers heard in cities, towns and villages. Clap for Carers began as an online call for applause, retweeted by NHS England. It seems destined to become a weekly national event: Thursday evening at 8pm has become a collective moment in which to show heartfelt admiration and solidarity. Many people will probably look forward to doing the same this Maundy Thursday.
This would be a worthwhile thing in itself. One of the major transformations in the life of a locked-down nation is the new anonymity of the days. The things which structured our daily lives – the bus journey to work; popping down to the canteen; stopping off at the supermarket to pick up dinner – have been erased. But many people have worked from home at one time or another. It is the long sweep of interchangeable days that is truly new. The weekend no longer carries the promise of a Friday night at the pub, a football match to go to, or a meal out. Sundays are no longer distinguishable from the rest of the seven-day pack. Churches are closed; sociable weekend lunches with friends are another furloughed pleasure, to be resumed with gusto at an unknown date. Coronavirus has flattened out time.
The new featurelessness is likely to be felt particularly acutely this week. Britain is a mainly secular country these days, albeit with significant religious minorities. But much of the nation still maps the contours of its year according to a Christian topography. For those who go to religious services regularly, shut churches on Good Friday – a day devoted to reflection on suffering and mortality – will feel particularly cruel in current circumstances. For the majority who don’t, bank holidays without the festive possibility of short breaks enjoying the sights of spring will be another strange landmark to add to a growing list.
Human beings need pattern, rhythm and variety to give shape and meaning to their time. In The Mirror and the Light, the gripping final instalment of Hilary Mantel’s Tudor trilogy, the author devotes considerable space to the Pilgrimage of Grace, the northern rebellion which was the largest to threaten the reign of Henry VIII. Among other grievances, the northerners objected to the proclamation restricting the number of holy days. The Henrician Reformation judged the old Catholic saints’ days and feast days to be a product of superstition as well as a good excuse for excessive drinking and carousing. The proclamation didn’t go down well. “They are asking for St Wilfried,” a courtier reports of the rebels in Mantel’s novel. “They want Giles and Swithin, and all the harvest saints. They would rather have a holiday than get the crops in.”
The Pilgrimage of Grace was brutally suppressed by Henry. For the time being, there is no prospect of relief from our own shapeless days. But the regular Thursday night applause, punctuating the middle of the week, perhaps offers a glimpse of a way forward. Many people are stoically attempting to conduct weekend dinner parties, drinks and parties online. Churches will offer virtual participation in services on Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Anything that gives an existential grammar to the passing days and weeks is a good idea. As for the coming weekend, Easter eggs are “not essential”, to use a phrase that has become overfamiliar over the past couple of weeks. But they will be deemed desirable by many, and they are definitely purchasable.
