When lock down started in March 2020, it was during Lent. I was involved with Bere Ferrers Lent lunches. For that week we needed extra supplies of homemade soup, bread, cheese, butter, tea and coffee. As well as our usual village supporters, a walking group of up to 20 were expected. It was cancelled that Wednesday so I was awash with 3 different soups! I needed a lot of containers to get it frozen.

I was very unused to empty days. I had been involved with West Dartmoor U3A, keeping busy with Monday walks, monthly groups including re-reading the classics, poetry, fruit and veg growing and opera. I helped at Hope cottage café fortnightly in Bere Alston, and went to a WI monthly meeting. All these came to an abrupt end.

My neighbour did my shopping for me once a week. Each day felt very long as I had no commitments, and I couldn't go anywhere. The saving grace was that we had two months, April and May, with fine weather. I set about working hard in my garden: weeding, digging, sowing seeds, reducing the size of large clumps of phlox, Michaelmas daisies and chrysanthemums. That all took time.

I went on solitary walks, starting from home, usually down to the station, along New Road and up to the village through the horse field.

My friend, who was 94, and I formed a "bubble". In the July of 2020 she fell in her kitchen and cracked her hip. That stopped her driving, and she needed to hold on to something when standing up. We played lots of Scrabble, had a short walk at Weir Quay, or had a cup of tea and a chat.

My shredder had a lot of use: bank statements, receipts etc from the last 16 years, all sorted out. My box files have more room to fill again.

My son lives in Plymouth. We met once a week (he has 2 dogs) for a walk whatever the weather: Clearbrook, Grenofen, Magpie Bridge. Sometimes I drove to Plymouth and we went around Sutton Harbour, the Aquarium and on to The Hoe. I didn't go into his house. On Christmas Day we walked at Shaugh Prior and I had vegetarian meal with them.

I was amazed how much I enjoyed doing my own supermarket shopping again. I chose a quiet time. I met a friend in Tavistock Meadows for a walk. We bought a coffee at the stall and sat by the canal. It was a real treat!

My computer skills are very limited. I hadn't heard of zoom meetings before lockdown. They became a lifeline. The church morning service, a monthly U3A meeting, lady gardeners monthly talk, re-reading classics discussion.

I had Astra Zeneca jabs in January and April. Since May17th I have visited 3 friends in their homes. Meeting indoors in large groups still seems risky. I will take each step to more socialising very carefully.

Valerie Hamer

LOCKDOWN

Seagulls soaring through the sky

Dogs are jumping trying to fly,

But I’m just locked up in a house

I’ve got one friend and that’s a mouse.

I beg and beg all day long

But I still can’t listen to the robin’s song.

If one day I go outside

I’ll swim with fish all over the tide.

I still beg from this day

Maybe I’ll be able to another day.

By Alice Aged 7

Written during lockdown

Which day of the week is it? That is a standard test for dementia. Well, I don’t know about you, but in our quiet semi-rural area, relatively untouched (thank goodness) by COVID, this was one of my major problems. Small, in the great scheme of things, but what happened to time?

I found out how much of my life since retirement had been marked by ‘events in the diary’. These had mainly comprised: seeing friends for coffee or tea, monthly gardening club meetings, flower arranging, art, or U3A meetings - especially the wine appreciation ones!

There were looked-forward-to family meet-ups and intermittent personal maintenance ones: GP, dentist, chiropodist and hair-cutting, both for us and the dog. And, of course, shopping for food essentials and just browsing; in the village, Tavistock, or a morning out.

All of this pleasurable cycle suddenly stopped on 23rd March 2020. All my daily markers gone!

How then to mark the passing of the days? A multi-pronged approach was indicated. Radio 4 fortunately told us the day of the week as well as the time. Milk and more delivered on alternate days.

I turned out a bookshelf (didn’t we all?) and found another aide memoire: an odd title – ‘The wrong kind of snow’. Opening this book I found it was actually about the weather and significant events on this day in the past. 1925, 4th July, the first BBC shipping forecast was read out at 10:30 on longwave, as this was the signal received most clearly at sea. By 1980 all vessels had radios but this daily poem of weather and sea has become (especially to landlubbers safe in their beds) a heritage theme for an island nation.

I then discovered a ‘Poem for the Day’ book. Date reinforcement! For example, April 20th: ‘What is this life, if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?’ by WH Davies; July 11^th: ‘Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow’. This finally firmly rooted me on a present day date.

Now that I knew whether it was Thursday or Friday, I started a lockdown journal.

This comprised what I thought might happen - for example milk delivery - and a list of aspirations to aim to do. Many days these were merely hopes rather than fulfilment!

‘Busy doing nothing’ seemed the order of many days, especially in the first two months of blessed sunshine. I weeded, pruned and the garden transiently looked wonderful. I decided to enjoy the weather and sit there with a book. Oh dear, they weren’t worthy or improving books - many were ‘after Jane Austen’.

The last 18 months has made us appreciate taken-for-granted things much more.

I’m not one for gratitude lists, but have taken pride and pleasure in small achievements. These are mainly in the garden, as I’m not a domesticated creature, although I had a phase of polishing every bit of brass in the house!

The end is in sight. I’m really pleased to find that I haven’t lost it completely and can actually tell you which day of the week it is (mostly).

Take care. Be safe. Enjoy every day of your life.

Frances Howard. Weir Quay.

In the autumn of 2019, our then bellringing tower captain, John Adams, stepped down and I took over. We had not held any practices for about three years due to a lack of ringers. So on January 4th 2020 we held a successful open day at St. Andrew’s tower and recruited four enthusiastic beginners. In addition, we were supported by ringers from towers such as Sampford Spiney, which helped to bring on our existing ringers. It was a great disappointment when we had to suspend ringing, as our beginners were making such excellent progress.

We were able to resume ringing in a very limited way in summer 2020. As the ringing chamber at Bere Ferrers is so small, we could only ring 3 bells for a maximum of 15 minutes at a time. When restrictions were re-introduced in autumn 2020, ringing again ceased; however, we were able to chime a few bells on Christmas Eve and I was able to join ringers all over the country in marking the passing of Tom Moore and Prince Philip.

In spring 2021 ringing was able to resume again but, due to the cramped tower, we continued ringing three bells only (and plan to do so for the foreseeable future). The good news, however, is that our novices have been able to ring again, and the 18 months gap has not dampened their enthusiasm.

Professionally speaking, the last year and a half has been entertaining to say the least. I teach Year 6 pupils at Pennycross Primary School in Plymouth. Arranging home learning was a rather steep learning curve for both staff and pupils alike, but we soon got into our stride. I had to attend school for a week in April 2020 and taught a class of Key Worker and vulnerable children aged 7-11. It was all rather relaxed and the children were generally happy. In June 2021, I returned to teach half of my Year 6 class each morning only. Although there was some relief that SATs had been cancelled, it was sad that the children couldn’t enjoy events such as a leavers’ show and trip to Woodlands in their final term in primary school.

Things looked up in September 2020 when the whole school returned on a full time basis; however, we had to keep to class bubbles and it was tough for the children when they could only see their friends (we have two classes per year group) across a barrier at breaktime!

Of course, we were then back to square one with the school closing to all but a few children from January to April of this year. Fortunately, when the children came back, they could now mix in year group bubbles. To mark the end of Year 6, we were able to have a show and a trip to Woodlands (almost called off on the morning due to a Covid scare!). Those children will certainly carry some unique memories forward as they enter secondary school!

David Pike

COVID 19. A DOG’S LIFE

All things considered, it has been a good pandemic for the local dogs. First and foremost, the quality of walkies has improved immeasurably, and I do mean in length, as a nation increasingly obsessed with its ‘mental health’ has conscientiously made the most of its right to exercise. One small snag: in a place like Bere Ferrers, where there are no pavements so no need for pedestrians to waltz at a dainty distance around each other, dog walkers do like to spend even longer nattering. The reduction in traffic has favoured this trend.

Attending the vets’ seems to be less frequent - and it has become more difficult to get your dog neutered. I leave you to ponder the pros, cons and general implications of that one. As we take our dogs there to have needles stuck in them with alarming regularity, our best friend must feel some satisfaction at us having a taste of the same medicine (at least twice) without even getting a treat from an NHS nurse.

What’s more, there has been no significant problem with doggy food supplies as pet shops have remained open: not just for essentials, but for the whole gamut of canine toys and luxuries which owners might well be tempted to purchase as it has become so much harder for them to spend money on themselves. Whilst we’re on the subject, how many of us now think of imperilled rain forest or a doughty race of warrior women whenever the word “Amazon” is mentioned?

A dog’s vocabulary (sit, stay, NOOOOOOO) has changed little, unlike ours. Alongside a host of by now everyday terms (social distancing, face covering, hospitality industry, herd immunity etc) and a clutch of acronyms, eg PPE and ICU, an evil brood of nasty neologisms has come into its own. COVID itself, of course, but staycation, eateries and that huge litter of silly cross-breed names (sired by labradoodle and selling at even sillier prices) have come into increasing vogue. Driven by demand, the price of puppies has indeed soared to an astronomic extent that even embarrasses some breeders; eleven puppies are now worth more than Tottenham Hotspur… but only if you’re an Arsenal fan, of course.

The quality of a dog’s life has also improved: less time spent cooped up in the back of a car as the owner has nowhere to go, and being boarded out has virtually ceased alongside those holidays in places that would be too hot or cold for a dog anyway. Nor are dogs being left for long periods at home due to time spent in cinemas, theatres and restaurants or down the pub; the loss of a diminutive treat is a small price to pay. And there’s another reason not to leave your dog in the back of the car: someone might pinch it. The dog, not your car, the latter having become much less valuable than the former and not just because of the gaping hole where the rear window used to be.

There are, however, minor drawbacks: the overwhelming stench of fresh paint (not in my house I hasten to add) and a lot of hacking down in the really interesting parts of the garden. More seriously, there’s a different epidemic to fear when everyone’s back in the workplace: a plague of unwanted dogs.

Roger White

OLD MAN O' THE TYNE (Written in a spare moment during lockdown)

An old ship, a bold ship,

A doughty man-o'-war;

A hurt ship, a heart ship,

Limps slowly to the shore.

'Neath sullen skies without a star

The lighted piers of Shields glow bright;

She sways across the harbour bar -

Old River Tyne is now in sight.

A sailor man of yester-year,

With sharpened eyes and leather skin,

Conceals a wisp of thankful prayer

As lanterns guide the vessel in.

He sits by day or night or more

And looks beyond the cold North Sea;

He studies close the sandy shore;

His inner heart flows gently free.

A ship sails out beyond the pier:

He sheds a tear, a tear of dread;

He deems no doubts, nor loss, nor fear,

But bids her fond farewell instead.

A ship sails in, his tear is joy:

He checks her rig and sees her turn

To navigate each safety buoy

And gain the Groyne from head to stern.

If asked his name he will not say:

He tells of sailors who have died

Below the seas of yesterday,

Their names unknown, their loss uncried.

Oft-times he ‘cites upon a theme:

That deaths are ports from pole to pole,

How, hid beneath the waves of dream,

Our hearts be simple, ageless soul.

When nights grow long and stars are ripe

He drifts in equanimity;

He lights his old, encrusted pipe -

The picture of serenity.

An old man, a bold man,

His mizzen light and free;

This fine man, this Tyne man,

This skipper of the sea.

Octogenarian. Bere Ferrers

Note: the Groyne is a picturesque, red-coloured lighthouse

situated within the harbour. It guards the entrance

to the River Tyne.

THE YEAR OF THE VIRUS

It has been a strange, long year. For the isolated elderly, like me, it has been difficult. A sentence of one year in ‘solitary’ would be excessive in any civilised society and tantamount to torture. We have, however, borne the domestic equivalent with stoicism, obeying regulations that sometimes seemed illogical and unfair. There were those who seemed to enjoy imposing ‘the rules’ and encouraging the reporting of other’s indiscretions. Most, however, were kind; neighbours were neighbourly and soon became friends.

I thought I would get on perfectly well on my own but was wrong. Restrictions on leaving the house showed up the fundamental loneliness I was still feeling since the death of Angela twelve years ago. The emptiness of the house had previously been covered by shopping at the drop of a hat, three or four times a week. Soon I became a desperate but careful rule breaker: spending time in Morrison’s and getting to know the forgotten heroes on the tills like Alex.

‘How are we this morning, sir? Living the dream?’

‘Joy unconfined, I’d call it,’ I would reply.

‘That’s the way, sir! Just remember, ‘the World is your Lobster’!’

This the gallows humour of another age. I remember as a child of the Second World War standing in pairs in the playground with thirty other five-year-olds before being led into the air-raid shelter in response to the air raid siren’s warning. The Flying Bomb, engine pop-popping 300 feet overhead, passed on towards the nearby roof-tops where the engine cut... a matter of long seconds and the wumph! of an unseen explosion, smoke rising lazily in a blue haze from the direction of Eastcote Lane. A near miss but the teacher continued calling the register. That was the day I discovered ‘irony’.

We were children of the Blitz and one flying bomb was no great shakes, but that war was a potential existential disaster too, but we could deal with it rather differently – ‘Keep calm and carry on’ rather than quite sensibly ‘Mask-up and hide away’. The ‘Blood, sweat and tears’ we were promised and duly received were taken as unavoidable but at least our contribution was communal.

I missed church and, with the lifting of restrictions, still do. Nothing will ever be quite the same again. I am a very poor but conscientious Christian, guilty, apparently, of thinking too much. (I was once ‘accused’ of being an intellectual!) Reading much and studying a good deal during this year, I have come to know our founder in his promotion of ‘The Way’ as a radical reformer of mind and spirit. Elevating the poor, Jesus would have had none of the sometimes comfortable middle class complacency common in the modern church. I am, therefore, both lost and found but changed, I think; for the better, perhaps, but lonelier.

As I said at the beginning, it has been a strange, long year...

Brian Martin