Graham Ovenden - Hampshire, U.K.
“We’re fourteen weeks behind South Korea or something, right?”
The British response seemed underwhelming. As panic mounted across Europe, British news outlets mentioned the term “herd immunity” and “Taking it on the chin”. Prime Minister Johnson appeared on the 3rd of March, bragging of his recent visit to a hospital ward, Covid-19 positive patients included. “I shook hands with everybody, you’ll be pleased to know.” His confidence left a sour taste in the mouths of many. Rushed into the Intensive Care Unit just over a month later, the video now appears less as “We shall fight on the beaches” as intended, and instead as a promise of “Peace For Our Time”.
Talking to Graham on the 20th of March, the realisation that the enemy were beyond the beaches had kicked in. Prime Minister Johnson had announced lockdown of pubs and restaurants a few hours before and it seemed the veneer of confidence had dropped. Graham guesses that they’re “twelve or fourteen weeks” behind many Asian countries. While the reality is closer to seven weeks, it shows where his head is at. When I point out Johnson’s recent turnaround, he just seems fed-up it has taken so long. “You mean we’re the dickheads of Europe” with a laugh leaning more towards exasperation than indignance. “Well no, we’re not Europe anymore.”
There’s a weight with Graham. I’m talking to him before his shift as a Senior Technical Officer at Network Rails. His job involves data analysis and inspections – the former he can do from home and the latter he cannot. He seems frustrated he hasn’t transitioned fully to working at home, and is required to be out on the job. Keeping the railways running is important “If there are no trains, people can’t get around. If they need help, they can’t get help.” but he doesn’t sound convinced. He plans to keep going as is, carrying out his shifts, but he doesn’t seem far from calling time and insisting on staying in.
Even his superiors seem vaguely aware what they’re doing is dangerous, but are trying to circumvent it as much as possible:
“The three top management have been split up, because if one goes down, they could spread it to the other two and then everything goes down.” In an office that fits forty, he says they are now down to six.
Showing some contempt, he comments that a few have already had to self-isolate, but whether they are legitimately sick or locking for compensated time off, he’s not sure – “There are a lot of tryers.”
Before logging on, he had a brief nap and dinner, cared for his son Eddie, then signed into Skype. If I were him, I wouldn’t want to be here, trying to justify or condemn the actions of a government that runs a country that is increasingly divided. He is here though, and he seems weary. He tells me he was staunchly pro-remain, and believes in Britain staying integrated with Europe, but this isn’t an opinion he expresses at work, since he’ll be the only one. “Now this hits the fan, and Europe might have info we can use, and we might have info they can use, but now that link is gone.”
“I don’t understand why people have decided they hate each other. Everyone was getting along, and now they hate each other. It’s just backwards.” He seems bewildered more than angry or sad. He avoids the issue with his colleagues, rather than try to engage, because it would just end in arguments. World-wide events had gotten worse and worse until we were now in a caricature, and the co-ordinated response of Europe seems to have alienated and left him behind. “No ones getting on.”
At home with the thirty-three-year old is his wife Kelly, and their son Eddie. He laughs when I ask if he is struggling with staying inside, and comments that’s his way of life anyway. He doesn’t go to the pub, or hang out much with his colleagues. A pirate fanatic, he amuses himself with the game “Sea of Thieves” any time he isn’t sleeping or caring for his son.
As for his neighbours and those in his town though, he senses the calm before the storm: “It’s going to hit us soon. I reckon give it a week, maybe two. Then there’ll be big quarantines. People aren’t taking it seriously. They’re going out and socialising and they don’t get it. We know not to go out. We’re making it a thing. Kelly takes the kid out every day, but now she’s doing it every other day, because it’s not worth the risk.”
He gets it – this isn’t a joke, or an overblown reaction. The pandemic is here.
“It’s surreal. It was a virus in China, and then it has suddenly swept through to us. We didn’t expect it to come over here, and now it’s here before we knew it and no one’s ready for it.”
He emphasises washing your hands. He says not to sit beside anyone on the train. If you can, hold the door open for someone rather than both touching the handle. When you do touch the handle? Do so through your sleeve. There’s a moderation - a British sensibility within his awareness.
His town doesn't seem to have felt it - “I live in Hampshire. I’m safe. It helps that this is a dead town. It’s been going downhill for nine years – there’s a whole street with no shops.” No new stores have been boarded up or shut down – they were already like that. He does mention the gated home for elderly people, which recently added a large “DO NOT ENTER” sign, but this seems to be the only discernible change in the town’s landscape.
He mentions that in Tesco or Morrisons, there has been a lack of pasta and rice, but purely from people panic shopping rather than any genuine desire to prepare “There’s an Asian market with chopped tomatoes and rice. We go there anyway, but it’s the big stores that sell out. No one is exploring to find the different stuff.” Handling the cooking of the household, he says Veganuary had recently caused a shift in their diet, and so he was largely cooking with alternative ingredients anyway – which he says there is no problem in finding. He does find it eerie though, commenting that the vibrant Nepalese community of the town – those who were out eagerly socialising – had vanished and there was an emptiness about the streets.
Inside their apartment, baby chair visible in the background, he is taking it a day at a time, and following instructions for the time being. There’s a hesitance under his voice though, a tone that doesn’t believe everything he’s told. Would he “take it on the chin”?
“If I was to get sick, it fucks up. I’m working this Saturday night, I’ve had my sleep, I’ll be back in the office on Monday. So long as it doesn’t get worse at work, I will carry on as normal. If the rest of my team have gone and fallen to it, I’ll be saying to work I’m doing it from home.”
What Graham has been listening to
Sam Cox