Digging for Victory

Yesterday morning, enjoying a restorative cup of tea after doing the daily mountain of washing up with the partner of all my joys and sorrows, he enquired what I was writing about this week. “Floyd, Stein and all those chefs I used to know,” I replied. 

“But it’s VE Day on Friday – what about that?” Quick as a wink, I changed horses in mid-stream, like a young gazelle leaping from crag to crag, very nearly tripping myself up on the similes and metaphors piling up all around me.

VE Day is far too important a milestone to ignore. I’ve bumped the chefs to next week.

My esteemed spouse is a chemist by profession, but having spent the last 26 years manacled to me, quite a bit of my writing know-how has rubbed off.

“How about comparing World War Two to lock down?” he enquired, drying up a plate.

“On it!”

“You could talk about the similarities between then and now. You know, digging for victory and all that.”

“Yes, I could! Good thinking.”

Covid-19 has put paid to national plans to celebrate VE Day, but tomorrow is still going to be a big day. Locally, both Pettistree and Wickham Market have plans to decorate and celebrate. Our resident bagpiper, Jim, will be marching up The Street playing (probably in shorts, displaying his handsomely bronzed limbs) and many of us will decorate our houses and gardens. Even in these difficult times, we can all pull together. Perhaps especially now.

Since this all began, there have been acres of newsprint devoted to the similarities between the war and the pandemic. Loss, fear of the unknown, a deadly killer and heroes emerging to keep us all safe. There’s been an outpouring of creativity, too, people writing songs, poetry, learning new skills in their enforced quarantine.

Many of us have started digging for victory. A number of our friends locally have dug up parts of their lawn and started putting in potatoes, carrots, beans, cauliflowers, courgettes, tomatoes and suchlike, all of which grow beautifully in our light Suffolk soil. Waste is right down. Every scrap of our household waste (banana skins, orange peel, eggshells, teabags etc) goes into our new expanded empire of compost bins along with grass cuttings and the resulting compost will help our veg to grow.

There is a sense of everyone pulling together in our communities. I am a member of the Pettistree WhatsApp group which is full of helpful suggestions, offers to go shopping, beautiful pictures and inspiring words. One of our number has gone out and bulk bought flags and bunting so that we can all decorate our houses and gardens tomorrow. A lady halfway down the High Street in Wickham Market who has been growing and selling plants for twenty years has made over £400 so far this year which she is splitting between Marie Curie and the Suffolk Wildlife Trust. As we chatted at a safe distance yesterday, she told me how lovely it was that she was meeting so many new people.

I was born to relatively old parents for the time (36 and 40) in 1966. There were still bomb sites all over London, gaps in terraced houses and a very real sense that the war wasn’t that long ago. Both my parents lived through it as children and young people. My mum told a story about their precious egg ration which sounded like something from another culture at the time, but now makes a lot more sense.

Mum lived with her mother in the East End of Glasgow. Her father was a Captain in the Merchant Navy so was away much of the time. Thursday was the day that they received one precious fresh egg on their rations and Thursday team time was looked forward to all week. The egg was gently frying on the stove and Mum (aged about 11) left the kitchen to go and lay the table. Suddenly, there was an almighty crash and the house shook. She ran back into the kitchen to find that the ceiling had collapsed, weakened by the nightly bombardment. You or I would be upset about the state of the kitchen, but the first thing out of my grandmother’s mouth was: “Jean! The egg!! Is it all right?” It was duly extracted from the mess, dusted off and enjoyed before the task of tidying up began.

Before the pandemic, I’ll be honest. I was careless. I didn’t value what I had as much as I should have. I didn’t waste food and I wasn’t profligate with money (chance would be a fine thing), but I wasn’t as careful as I might have been. Since lock down, we have been recycling, re-purposing and re-using like mad. And quite right too. The wartime spirit of, “make do and mend”, “dig for victory” and “lend a hand on the land” is back with us, today, in 2020.

So many gave so much to buy our freedom. VE Day is important every year, but perhaps this year, even more so. I will certainly be thinking of all those who bravely sacrificed their lives so that I could live in liberty and it seems to me that it would be only respectful to continue growing fruit and veg, cutting right down on waste and building on community spirit long after the pandemic is over.

 Whatever you’re doing tomorrow, join me in stopping to think a while on what they gave for us, and what we in turn can do for our descendants.