We are at war. It is not a conventional war. Unlike Wilfred Owen’s war we do not face the monstrous anger of guns nor are there any stuttering riffles pattering out hasty orisons; there are no shrill demented choirs of wailing shells, nor nightly rain of bombs.
Our adversary is a virus, our frontline troops those who provide essential services. As in any war we keep careful account of casualties; the news tells of another 385 deaths and the total rises to nearly 34,000; there is little else reported.
And at home in lockdown we make the best of it, hoping, fearing, waiting while all humanity appears concentrated on one thing, the war against COVID-19.
But there comes a glimmer of hope, the restrictions of lockdown are being relaxed, only slightly but it gives us greater hope that victory and normality is a little closer.
Looking forward to post pandemic life I think of these words by A.A.Milne:
“When the war is over and the sword at last we sheathe, I’m going to keep a jelly-fish and listen to it breath. When the war is over and we’ve finished up the show, I’m going to plant a lemon-pip and listen to it grow.”