A roller-coaster week

It’s been a real roller-coaster of a week, with emotions running high and the mood music swinging both ways. Tuesday was the day set aside for my father’s funeral a sad but, as I will describe later, moving and uplifting occasion that allowed us legally, to escape the confines of Kent and journey up to Norfolk.

With hotel accommodation uncertain, and opportunities for dining whilst away from home severely limited, this meant driving there and back in a day. This is something I’ve always tried to avoid in the past, following the experience of the umpteen trips I’ve made to Norfolk, this past quarter century.

When my parents first relocated to Norfolk, it was common for myself, and quite often the family as well, to stay at their place, but as their health began to deteriorate, bed & breakfast or a hotel room, became the order of the day. An overnight stay, or two allowed me to experience a bit more of Norfolk than the area surrounding Dereham, which is where my parents settled down.

The return drive is perfectly doable but, it is not a particularly pleasant journey and being in the saddle for that length of time does take it out of one. Needs must though, so I booked three days off from work: one either side of the funeral itself. Due to the pandemic, I haven’t used much of my annual leave, and seeing as there’s only so much we can carry over into the next financial year, I thought I might as well use some up.

We were due at Breckland Crematorium at 1pm, for dad’s funeral, so obviously not wishing to be late, set off in plenty of time. We left Tonbridge at 8.30am, and whilst the traffic was steady, there were no holdups. The usual delays prior to the Dartford Crossing did not materialise, whereas normally there would have been congestion at that time of the morning.

This was probably due to a reduction in commuter traffic, but whilst the number of cars was definitely lower, the same could not be said about the lorries. Commercial vehicles of varying sizes abounded, including a fair number of foreign registered trucks, undeterred by the border chaos caused by leaving the Single Market. How could this act of lunacy have ever been considered a wise move?

Another thing that was increasingly evident, especially around the M25, was the poor state of the road surface, with rather too many potholes, including some potentially suspension wrecking craters. This really isn’t good enough, but then if government money has been squandered on converting large swathes of Kent into giant lorry parks, perhaps not surprising.

Despite these obstacles, we made good time, following the time honoured route of M11 and then A11, through Essex, a small section of Cambridgeshire and Suffolk into Norfolk. I know this route like the back of my hand, to the extent of every roundabout, what lane to be in, and the position of the speed cameras.

Breckland Crematorium is a new addition to the local area and from our point of view, saved a journey into Norwich and its congested inner ring road. It is in an attractive rural location, close to the village Scoulton, to the west of Watton.  Rather surprisingly, it’s a family-owned concern, rather than being run by the local authority.

We arrived a couple of hours early, so after parking up broached the picnic that Mrs PBT’s had packed up for us. A flask of coffee and a few sandwiches later, we took a drive into nearby Watton, for a quick look. The Hare & Barrel Hotel on the western edge of the town, where I’d spent a night a few years ago, ceased trading before the pandemic, but there are still several other hostelries closer to the centre. Watton also seems well served by Chinese and Indian takeaways, along with a Transylvanian shop – Romanian, presumably? And good too to see an independent butcher and several bakers.

We returned to the crematorium to await the arrival of my younger sister and her own grown-up children. The pandemic sadly meant my other sister was unable to fly over from the United States, although she was able to view the service via a live webcast. Other relations, including the Welsh contingent, were also unable to travel – the latter group falling foul of the same constraints regarding hotels, as us.

Dad’s age – he was five months’ short of his 90^th birthday, meant that surviving friends and contemporaries are few and far between, so sadly it was a rather thin turnout present, to say farewell to him. We’d chosen a celebrant rather than a priest to preside over the service, as whilst mum was deeply religious, dad was far less so, and went along with the church side of things just to keep his wife happy.

It was a nice and very moving service, with the celebrant leading the introductory words of welcome, based on information about dad that I’d supplied to her, followed by me reading out some memories of dad and his life, that I’d written. I’d been told beforehand, to speak up and talk into the microphone. Fortunately, I was permitted to remove my mask whilst reading out my tribute.

It was difficult, at times, not to choke up, but I managed to compose myself for most of my talk. It was the music that really brought out the emotion, especially the introductory track “Puff, the Magic Dragon,” by Peter, Paul & Mary. This was a favourite song from childhood, and one which dad liked too, whilst my sister and I were growing up. There is something powerful about music that can really stir the emotions, and this track certainly did this with me.

After the service, we all trooped outside managing to suppress the very powerful human instinct to hug one another. We agreed to meet up, as a family, for a proper get together, once this Covid nonsense is over. Dad’s ashes will need to be interned, in the plot next to mum at the natural cemetery and ceremonial park at Green Acres, on the outskirts of Norwich, so there will be at least one more trip up to Norfolk.

We drove home via Watton, Mundford and Brandon, passing the massive USAF base at Lakenheath, where my American brother-in-law had been stationed, before re-joining the A11 at Barton Mills. The return journey was uneventful, with again no hold-ups, although traffic on the approaches to the QE2 Bridge was predictably heavy.

So, despite news reports of motorists being stopped for travelling out of their immediate location, we did not see a single police car, let alone a checkpoint. Our outward and return crossings of the Thames at Dartford will obviously have been recorded, but as I have a Dart Charge account, the fees will automatically be debited from my account.

We had a lie in on Wednesday morning, before getting ready to go out shopping. Shortly before midday, I answered a call on the landline. It was our local medical centre in Tonbridge, offering Eileen and I a Covid vaccination the following afternoon. We both of course, said yes, even though it meant me taking an additional half day off from work.

The Baptist church, at the north end of Tonbridge, has been commandeered as a vaccination centre. We took a drive down that afternoon to check out things such as parking, and then on Thursday afternoon, I left work early and collected Mrs PBT’s from her workplace.

We arrived at the vaccination centre in good time, parked and joined the queue. It was all very well organised, with an army of volunteers assisting. After checking in, we were both interviewed by a doctor, who happened to be from our own practice, before being shown into the main hall, instructed to roll up our sleeves in order for a nurse to give us that all important, shot in the arm.

We were told beforehand that it was the Oxford AstraZeneca vaccine we’d be getting, and after the injection we were given a card, with the date, time and batch number of the jab, along with a date and time for the second shot. I must admit to feeling quite emotional about the whole thing, which really is a splendid example of the coming together of the scientific, research and healthcare communities in order to develop, test and roll out this vaccine in record time.

Those driving were asked to remain seated in the hall for 15 minutes, just to check for any possible reaction, and then we were free to go. We’ve both experienced very mild, flu-like symptoms that are similar to those associated with the flu vaccine. It will take three weeks for this first shot to confer maximum protection – of around 60%, with the second injection boosting this to around 90%.

Our combined medical practices in Tonbridge have done a first-class job and seem to be ahead of neighboring towns such as Tunbridge Wells. Eileen and I only turned 65 last year, so feel both grateful and privileged to have received the vaccine so rapidly. We will need to continue complying with current guidelines of mask wearing and social distancing, until the situation is well and truly under control, but at least in a few weeks’ time we will feel more confident about mixing with others. This will be a particularly welcome boost to Mrs PBT’s.

I said it had been an emotional week!