Today’s instalment for the Letters from Cardiff in lockdown series comes from 86 year old Betti. We’re looking for your stories, so please contribute to Letters from Cardiff in lockdown!
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I live in Splott. My brother and I have been shielding since March 22nd.
We are classed as vulnerable and until June 1st we were not allowed to leave the house.
Now we can go out for a walk each day.
At 86 and 94 years old we have been relying on neighbours and we have one in particular who calls every day and does our shopping. The Next door neighbour site has also been a great support.
We try to keep busy but some days see us very low in spirit.
I miss going to Church each week but thankfully I can watch the services on line and even be part of it by recording the lessons which modern technology has made possible.
Also being able to Zoom in to coffee mornings allows friends to see and chat to one another.
I have been busy baking cakes and so far have made 34, which friends have collected and enjoyed.
Since Lockdown I have realised how much a phone call helps and try to keep in touch with people who may be lonely.
I have also realised how little we really need and how we can manage with, and I will certainly shop less when allowed.
I love to read and again I can give away books that I have read to others.
The community spirit here in Splott is wonderful and since we have been allowed out and walked around the park everyone has been so considerate and kept a safe social distance.
I don’t know how life is going to be in the future but now will just obey the rules and thank God for the blessings we have at this time when there are so many heartbreaking stories, so many lives sadly lost.
Helia Phoenix has been trying to write this Letter from Cardiff in lockdownsince March! Better late than never. We’re looking for your stories, so please carry on sending in your letters for our series …
Cardiff Bay
Early lockdown was extremely unsettling.
In weeks beforehand, we watched the death toll mount in other countries, while still being encouraged to go out and about our business, like nothing was wrong. My last outing in the default world was watching Jon Hopkins at the Forum in Bath – the tickets were a birthday gift last year. We deliberated hard on whether to go – I’m glad we did, I think. It was an amazing show, but with a strange, sour edge to it. The chat all around – in the loos, at the bar – everywhere – was virus related, in hushed tones, the early scenes from a 50s B-movie. “They think someone in Frome has caught it. It’s only a matter of time before it gets here.” After we came home (a week before anything was announced), I stopped going out. Unofficial lockdown began.
Socially distanced trolleys, Asda, Ferry Road
There was no stockpiling in our house. But I definitely added an extra couple of ‘essentials’ to each shop. Lentils, rice, UHT milk, that sort of thing, just in case. I tried to keep calm waiting in queues at the shops. People who hadn’t grasped the two metre rule stood too close to me. I felt breathless in my mask, bringing on panicky thoughts about infection, which made it even harder to breathe. Early lockdown was a strange and eerie time, where the radio and TV were still advertising shops being open and events taking place, like nothing had changed – except everything had changed. Shops were closed. Everything was cancelled, just like that.
I’ve been working from home since my office in the valleys was flooded back in February (remember the floods?? Storms Jorge and Dennis?? Ah, a simpler time). I’m essentially a desk monkey, so no frontline stress, but work was still hard. I forgot Mother’s Day. I ran out of meds. And I couldn’t drink, as I was on antibiotics. Like everyone, I think, I was a bit of a mess.
Different running route – Curran Road Industrial Estate
The one constant thing that’s got me through (and has got me through many other things in the past) was/is exercise. I found the fitbit I abandoned last year, and I walked, and I ran. I was actually originally going to structure this piece like a running route. But then I realised running was just one thing I’ve done during lockdown. I have done a lot of it, but again – it’s only one thing. I’m grateful for how AMAZING exercise is for everything – mental health, appetite, sleeping. If you’re feeling like crap and you don’t exercise, PLEASE consider doing something. If you want to run, I recommend doing the NHS couch to 5k. It’s a wonderful plan and hardly takes any time out of your day.
When it first starts, suddenly lockdown opens up the roads – for walkers and runners.
Once I exhausted routes around the Docks, I headed to town. Queen Street was empty, quiet, and creepy. Suddenly the rough sleepers are hypervisible. They’re not hidden in doorways, or confined to benches along the edge. They’re the central attraction, because they’re the only people still there.Neil Cocker wrote about this in his Letter from Lockdown, the first one we published.
Gwdihw
On my runs through the city centre, I started changing up my route so I could pass by some of Cardiff’s clubs. Places I spent so much time in, through my life. Gwdihw and the other buildings are just facades now, hiding the scaffolding and gaping nothingness behind. Fuel has a heartfelt note on the door. Undertone. We will be back.The Moon – how many more times are we going to have to save The Moon??
Fuel
Clwb Ifor Bach
The Moon
I run past clubs long gone: the Hippo, now some offices; the Emporium, still empty; Club X, unrecognisable; Apocalypse / Vision 2k / Top Rank / The Forum / Astoria, depending on when you went there, which is now Matalan; and Dirtbox (remember Dirtbox??) – nothing more than skeletal remains – a stack of deserted slipper limpets, attached to the side of the good ship Clwb.
Dirtbox
Venues close, venues open, promoters make money, or they go bust. People have a gutsfull, move away. Younger people are hungry, move toward. But right now, the universal outlook clubs and pubs everywhere is bleak. I sit on the Cardiff Music Board, and our first Zoom meeting is just as you’d expect it to be. Many venues aren’t set up for anything other than mass gatherings – they can’t reinvent themselves to sell food, or do drink takeaways. Some have no outdoor space at all. Without gigs, how can they survive? The scene in Cardiff has been through a lot in recent years. How is it going to survive this?
I scour the news impatiently for information about mass gatherings in other countries. There are legal, socially distanced raves in Nottingham. There are illegal raves, ravaged by troublemakers, like the ones at the weekend in Manchester (the headline is so grim it’s enough to put you off forever – ‘Greater Manchester illegal raves: Man dies, woman raped and three stabbed‘). A socially distanced festival (the No Art Hotel) in Amsterdam is engineered, promising a clinical clubbing experience with limited social interaction and DJ sets streamed to hotel bedrooms, to limit chances of viral transmission. Sounds weird as hell to me but it sells out regardless. Whatever people are doing elsewhere, we’re still a long way off any of that, here in Cardiff.
Washing day, Cathays
As well as being extremely unsettling, the first few weeks of lockdown were a revealing time. I, like all of you, I imagine, Zoom-fatigued myself on video calls with many people – work meetings, family, friends, my therapist. (Not even joking about the therapist part although it does sound like the punchline of a bad Woody Allen joke). A lot of them were people I hadn’t seen or spoken to in a long time, and it was wonderful to catch up. But none of that matched the wild ecstasy of genuinely accidentally bumping into friends when out on one of my walks. That is, I suppose, the beauty of Cardiff – you can’t swing a cat without smacking someone you know. We only stood and spoke for about five minutes – we were all mindful of the rules, and didn’t want to mix, even socially distanced, at that early time. But just that five minutes was enough to totally revive me. That’s the thing about face to face contact, to actually being there with someone. Nothing can beat it. That’s why watching streamed gigs, or plays, or anything, is never as good as being there in person. Humans vibrate together. We charge the atmosphere. Bodies in a place, taking up space.
This idea of ‘bodies in a space’ is something I think about a lot through lockdown. Firstly because of the mass gatherings thing – and my love of music, and working in tourism, I guess you could say my life revolves around mass gatherings of some kind. Secondly, because George Floyd dies after being arrested by police in America, and the world erupts in anti-racism protests.
Black Lives Matter protest, Cardiff Castle, 31 May 2020
Cardiff had its first socially distanced protest on the lawns at the front of Cardiff Castle. The speakers were invited from the crowd that gathered. They encouraged people to join unions. They denounced racism. And although some people questioned why we need these kinds of protests here, because “we aren’t America”, two mothers spoke about the systemic racism their children have faced in the UK, and continue to face, on a day to day basis – being pulled over in cars, stopped and searched, about how their families were targeted and abused and beaten by police when they were younger. One woman was in tears talking about how she worries daily about the safety of her son. Younger people spoke about being racially profiled and denied entry into clubs here in Cardiff. It’s sobering.
I spoke to a number of friends who support the cause, but don’t go to the protests. Some have young children, or other caring duties, and are worried about taking their charges with them, just in case something happens. Some are frontline workers, in social work or healthcare. Some just don’t feel comfortable protesting during a pandemic. Because so many people can’t, I feel it’s important that I do. I appreciate that I experience a lot of privilege, being a light skinned Middle Eastern person. My parents were born in Iran. We are an immigrant family. I walked to the BLM protests, a 20 minute stroll from my house. I wore my mask, was diligent with the hand sanitiser, and stayed socially distanced from people, as did everyone else I saw there. Listening to the speakers was a humbling experience. I’ve had plenty of racist stuff said to me over the years, but I’ve never felt like my life was in danger just for the colour of my skin. No one should ever have to feel like that.
Photo from the BLM protest in Bute Park by Lorna Cabble
As well as my first socially distanced protests, the lockdown has given me a couple of other ‘firsts’. I’ve always been grateful for where I live – a quiet but friendly street down the Docks (I am chastised constantly by people who’ve grown up here when I call it Butetown or Cardiff Bay). During lockdown we have our first socially distanced street parties, where I learn the electric slide. A swan gets stuck on our road on one very hot day, and me and a group of us usher it down the street and back into the river. Some enterprising neighbours set up a Whatsapp group for our street, and we are now all in an endless dance of lending tools and swapping plants and gifting books and baking cakes for each other. I love it.
Socially distanced street party
I also cook Persian food properly for the first time. There’s a point during lockdown where I’m feeling really low and I just want things my mum used to cook for me when I was a kid. I’ve never been an eat-your-feelings person, but suddenly that’s ALL I want to do. I want to consume comfort from the past, gorge on an illusion of proximity to my family through herbs and naan lavash and citrusy stews. I cook for my household and cook extras for friends, thinking maybe we could all do with a bit of comfort food.
I feel so much and so hard for all the people living alone, struggling. People who have no one. I scour the internet for recipes and cook things I never thought I’d manage. I make tadig, for cripes sake! You can keep your sourdough starter. I got these zesty rice pies on the stove. (All the recipes I cook are from Persian Mama and come highly recommended.)
Zereshk polo and khoresht bademjaan
I start growing things – sunflower seedlings (they’re my favourite thing to grow) until the house is overrun with them. My partner and housemate request a plant amnesty, so the plants find a new home at the Salvation Army Hostel on Bute Street, where a couple of residents are looking to improve the grounds. (If you have any you’d like to donate, they’re still looking for plants). I borrow some kit from Keep Grangetown Tidy and hit the streets, picking up litter during my walks.
Also I eat my first Michelin starred birthday cake from Restaurant James Sommerin. It is delicious. (They’re still doing them, and so I suggest you go get some). I do my first online workouts. My favourite one is still Fridays at 5pm, when my kitchen becomes a dancefloor for the Bristol Drum & Bass workout.
Plant takeover
Michelin starred cake!
I also give blood for the first time, which is one of the most insane things I have ever done. I ask if I can touch the bag before they ferry it off. IT IS STILL WARM, and it is a complete trip for me. I’ve been there for ten minutes, they’ve extracted a pint of blood out of me, given me some biscuits, and I’m essentially totally back to normal.
Giving blood at Cardiff Met. Gnarly.
If anything, trying to write something coherent about my experience of lockdown has just proved how impossible it is to describe it as a cohesive experience. Because it hasn’t been one. I’ve loved a lot of things – the lack of traffic, working from home. I’ve hated not being able to see or hug people that I love. Queuing is annoying. Also, I’m really glad this happened in the spring and summer and not during a bleak wet winter.
Also, it’s made me really think about all of those times we get told that things just aren’t possible. It’s not possible for you to work from home. It’s not possible for us to “solve” homelessness. It’s not possible to do anything about child poverty. It’s not possible to curb our fuel emissions. Somehow these were all unsolvable problems, wrapped up in immutable systems.
So I guess that all those things were always possible. The will to do them just wasn’t there. Think about that. And please, next time there’s an election of any kind, GO AND VOTE, for the things that are most important to you.
Twelve weeks into lockdown. Our rules are relaxing. Reality is flexing. So before anything else happens, and I have to rewrite this entire thing again, I want to finish this off. Here it is. The end.
(For now.)
Cathays Park, Cardiff City CentreQueuing for the bank, Death Junction
Also, I have to mention my doggy, Zelda. She’s a disabled greyhound. (She broke her back a while ago, it was a whole thing). She’s old and a bit knackered but she still gets around. Look at that smile. I love her.
SOUNDTRACK.
I’ve put together my ideal lockdown 10k running soundtrack, from looking at the songs I’ve played most often while running since the lockdown started. Spotify playlist – Phoenix Lockdown Rundown
SHOP LOCAL!
I also want to give a BIG shout out to all the local independents that have kept me fed and watered during the lockdown. It’s great that the bigger chains are opening up again, but don’t forget to shop local, and support the independent scene!
Today’s instalment for the Letters from Cardiff in lockdown series comes from Alison Powell. We’re looking for your stories, so please contribute to Letters from Cardiff in lockdown!
Time
I peer with curiosity and confusion at those people rummaging around to find things to do during lockdown. When I see people churning out ‘Tik Toks’, devouring season after season of a Netflix drama, or consuming weighty tomes that have been on their ‘to read’ list for years, I cock my head to one side and wonder. Only for a moment though. Everyone has their very different lockdown life, their challenges and their triumphs. But also, I don’t have time to pause for long and ponder on what others are doing and how they are finding the opportunity to do it, because time, or a feeling that I am lacking it, has been my overwhelming lockdown preoccupation.
Life was busy pre-lockdown. On my own with two children life was a whirl of activities both in and out of school; meeting up with friends and family; work; the gym; writing my next novel; the life admin stuff plus accompanying chores of maintaining a four bedroom house and all the emotional and mental aspects of raising children, oh and carving out time for fun.
There was a cell inside me that watched Boris announce the lockdown that did wonder if this was the enforced full-stop on my life. Maybe this was a moment when all of that self-imposed pressure to be, to do, to go, to act, was now having a strip of sticky tape stuck on it with ‘Stop! Do not enter, do not go, do not cross!’ emblazoned on it. Maybe this was the rules, the law, the government saying, ‘Stay home and whilst saving the NHS and protecting lives, just breathe…’.
But immediately came home-schooling. One person I know made the valid point that the ‘home-school’ nomenclature in this instance is nonsense. Those who make the decision to home-school in a pre-lockdown world do so for a variety of reasons and provide a full and rounded education for their children. I liken what I have been trying to provide for the last three months as an educational holding pen and seeing my two chicks confined in it has induced waves of guilt, anxiety, frustration and sadness in me. I’m no longer reminding about homework whilst driving across Cardiff and the Vale to get the kids to different activities or parties,
I am now trying to develop and stimulate their active minds and fill their curious souls with knowledge whilst also still trying to work, write, clean, cook, ‘virtually’ meet up with friends and family, road run rather than go to the gym and provide perhaps more emotional and mental support for them and for my myself than was ever required before mid-March. I am exhausted.
I haven’t read a whole book since lockdown began, but I have three that I have dipped in to. I haven’t done any craft with the kids or finished writing a novel or got really fit. I have nagged about how long the children stare at their phones; I have refereed who’s turn it is on the X box; felt bad that bed times are later than they were in February and eaten way too many pork scratchings.
But I also know that there are some friends that I have connected with on an even deeper level than before as each conversation is about how we really are. We have asked the question, how are you and we have answered honestly and with greater candour. I miss my parents and friends that live away, but thank goodness that we are fortunate to have technology to support connection.
In helping my daughter with her school work, whilst I have realised I am no further forward with geometry than when I was 15, we have had some searching and serious conversations about whether war is ever justified and the effects of WW1 on women’s freedom and ultimately, suffrage; I have talked to my son about poetry, cars and football and encouraged him to practice his guitar more regularly; we have baked cookies and carrot cake together, learned how to make onion bhajis, did a delicious tea for a VE day living room party and my son has learned to cook pesto pasta. We have discovered new board games, drunk a lot of tea together and dunked a lot of biscuits. We have laughed and chatted and just been around each other in a way that in the past was interrupted by the need to be here, there, everywhere and somewhere else.
We have all had a wider education about the world, each other and ourselves.
So, whilst time feels in short supply in some sense, this time has also proved valuable, illuminating, interesting, precious. Not wishing to tempt fate, but fortunately we have not been ill with Covid-19. But, we know that as the country gradually opens up our new normal, to use the new phrase, will bring with it more change and uncertainty and potentially illness to ourselves or those we care about. But for now, in this moment, my little immediate family and me have much to treasure and be grateful for and that is maybe one of the greatest lessons we can all learn.
Alison Powell is author of children’s book ‘What’s a girl to do?’, columnist for The Penarth Times, recipe writer for Buzz magazine, passionate about travel, food, family, friends and kindness. Often found barefoot in the kitchen, musing on the history of hummus and listening to 90s R&B.
Today’s instalment for the Letters from Cardiff in lockdown series comes from student, MSL. We’re looking for your stories, so please contribute to Letters from Cardiff in lockdown!
Lockdown week one: “All exams cancelled!? 6 months holiday oh what freedom this will be. No responsibilities sounds good eh?”.
Lockdown week 5: “I’m starting to get quite bored…. I’ve already done a full clean out of my room, read and watched the whole Lord of the Rings trilogy, tried to learn guitar and piano again but to no avail….”
Lockdown week 10: “What am I doing…? I miss my friends. All I do is watch endless streams of YouTube videos and play Candy Crush all day.”
Lockdown has turned me into a potato.
The song “Mayday” voices the feelings of many:
“Awake or asleep
Drowning in my own thoughts
It’s alright, it’s not too bad…
I need some excitement
Everything’s so frustrating
I just want to be comfortable
But it’s harder than it should be
Nothing’s wrong
You know, the stress
What’s wrong with me
I did absolutely nothing today but I’m exhausted
Why is it so hard to just relax, mayday
Somebody help me, mayday”
Everything seems to be disconnected nowadays. I’m no longer living my life but simply waiting, killing time. Just a couple months ago time was all I needed but now there’s too much of it. It seems to go so slow, yet I look back and already 12 weeks have passed, and what have I done? I should have gotten my driving licence by now, I should have been able to earn money for university with my part time job, I should have gone to theatres, concerts, gone on holiday with my friends. But I couldn’t. It is so frustrating to see myself trapped at home watching time slip through my hands when I should be living out the prime time of my youth! It shouldn’t have been like this…
Relationships with others seem to be slowly deteriorating. Friends that I used to see every day, our busy lives in high school cut short, making rushed goodbyes. No high school graduation celebration, no prom, that’s just how it all ended. A flashback to when we made false promises to call every day; we barely call once a month. We should call more. Can’t blame anyone. I do really miss them, but just never quite reach out.
In terms of academics, should I still be studying? Theoretically yes, in practice no. With no incentive, there is no motivation and studying drops far down my list of things I could do. Every day I go without opening my books neatly piled in the corner of my room, all the knowledge I crammed into my brain over the past year fades away one by one. It is a constant internal fight between my laziness and the fear that by the time university comes around, I will be the one unable to adapt to the high-tension learning environment. Feelings of my lack of purpose also chase me. Has the goal of my life really just been studying? I’m sure other students will be experiencing similar feelings of uncertainty and stress during this time particularly regarding exam results and university. Yet again all we can do is wait.
I know that I shouldn’t be complaining. I’m blessed with a good house, good family and good health. For some that is all they would wish for. I know there are people out there that are really struggling physically, mentally and financially. I should be grateful, and I am, but I still find myself stuck at home doing nothing. All I can do is pray for them and volunteer where I can.
It hasn’t all been bad. Taking my “Daily Walk” as a means of exercise as well as a reason to escape the house and refresh my mind from all the stress and worrying news in the media. I’ve done a bit of gardening, baking, lots of scrolling on Instagram and Twitter (not helpful but kills time).
It’s quite sad that my past 3 months can be summarised in less than a page and a half but hopefully things will get better. Perhaps my 2021 will be a bit longer….
Today’s instalment for the Letters from Cardiff in lockdown series comes from Grace and Paul, who almost ended up on lockdown in Lisbon. We’re looking for your stories, so please contribute to Letters from Cardiff in lockdown!
Lockdown happened on my Birthday.
My boyfriend and I had just returned from a five day trip in Lisbon which had been planned for months; Portugal and all other parts of Europe had started their lockdown before the UK and we were well aware we were lucky to have been even able to fly at all. On the first night we arrived, we heard about all bars and restaurants being closed in neighbouring Spain and, sure enough, the following day Portugal followed suit. Don’t get me wrong, we still had a lovely time away, but we spent the vast majority of it walking up and down deserted streets, and with a curfew of 9pm in place we spent most evenings in our airbnb drinking cheap sangria and eating crisps.
Without the insight of seeing what lockdown actually looked like, I don’t think we would have believed it; police enforcing the curfew and breaking up large crowds of people, long queues outside supermarkets and an eerie atmosphere surrounding the local areas.
Of course, whilst all this was happening in other parts of Europe, the UK were more or less carrying on as usual, except for panic buying a years supply of toilet roll.
We flew home on the 18th March, the whole time wondering what lay in store for us when we returned home, all whilst being very grateful that we were able to get home before all the borders shut. It seemed a lot had changed in those five days away, and it was very strange to return home and for everything to feel unfamiliar and alien. Despite not landing in Bristol airport until the late evening, we drove home via a 24 hour supermarket to stock up, following the advice of our friends and family that the shelves would be bare. In actual fact, we actually bought a four pack of loo rolls home with us from Portugal – the most bizarre souvenir of a romantic break away and a definite bumpy landing back to reality.
The following days were all a bit of a blur; we had intended to go out for the evening for my Birthday with some friends, however this was the day Boris said all pubs and bars would shut and before we had all become more accustomed to keeping in touch with people via Zoom quizzes and “Houseparty” booze-ups. My boyfriend and I had discussed moving in together whilst away on our trip however this became more of a necessity with the announcement that two households were unable to mix, and with all “Man with Vans” also on lockdown, I moved the majority of my worldly possessions (and a highly strung cat) in the back of my Mini from Cardiff to Caerphilly.
Whilst moving in together was most definitely the best decision we both made, the impact lockdown has had has been challenging to say the least. We are both sociable characters; regularly meeting up with friends and family after work and at the weekends, going to the gym 3-4 times a week and usually love nothing more than going out for dinner a couple of times a week with a few G and T’s.
However, without all of those usual activities, and with the added bonus of entertaining a very energetic four year old in the confines of four walls, home schooling and home working it has definitely been tough on occasions.
I have never been more grateful for my job as a nurse and being physically unable to work from home; continuing to attend my shifts on a regular basis has been the only slice of “normality” I have been able to enjoy over the past three months, and as you can imagine, it has been anything less than normal.
I cannot take any credit for caring for those desperately unwell with Covid, however, the whole hospital has been shuffled around and has borne the brunt of this virus. My colleagues and I spent the initial few weeks discussing on a frequent basis the general feeling of “impending doom” and our workload changed massively. I work as a Mental Health Nurse in the Emergency Department and for the first few weeks the A&E department was like a ghost town. It was a very surreal situation to log in to the system at work and see ZERO patients in the unit.
It was eye opening to see exactly how mis-used A&E is on the whole; people with stubbed toes can miraculously manage at home on their own when there’s a global pandemic to contend with who would usually demand an ambulance and an X-Ray.
Fast-forward twelve weeks and it is most definitely no longer a ghost town. The impact of lockdown on Mental Health is now clearly rearing its ugly head and my fellow mental health colleagues and I will be fighting this virus for a while to come, even when the number of reported cases continue to fall. An increase in alcohol and substance use and a decrease in social contact and support is a recipe for disaster when it comes to your mental health and the number of people we are seeing who are seriously unwell when they have previously had no issues with their mental health is astonishing.
On a more positive note, the virus seems to have made everyone pull together and I have never previously felt such a strong sense of community spirit and gratitude for working in the NHS. Socially distanced street parties, exchanging puzzles, toys and DIY items that are no longer needed amongst other local residents have become the norm. Not to mention the “Clap for Carers” and the sheer volume of donations of PPE, Scrub Bags and food from local hotels and restaurants has been astounding.
If we can take anything away from the devastating impact that lockdown and the pandemic has had on both our physical and mental health, it’s that we are all in this together and will hopefully make us all appreciate the little things when normality returns. Whenever that may be.
Today’s instalment for the Letters from Cardiff in lockdown series comes from Sara Williams. We’re looking for your stories, so please contribute to Letters from Cardiff in lockdown!
Lockdown life for me has been full of contradiction. The very nature of quarantining is a contradiction. There is a global pandemic (one which the world has not seen the likes of since the Spanish flu) people are dying, the economy is in turmoil; but unless you are classified as a key worker the most useful thing you can do is stay in and sit on your arse?! It’s a world of anxiety and fear versus the boring and mundane.
The first six weeks went fairly well. I work for an international development charity and our chief exec had been proactive around preparing the organisation for the impact of COVID-19. We shut our Cardiff office before lockdown was announced and decamped to work from home from the 16th March. It was a busy time – my role is focussed on managing partnerships and also fundraising; so I was focussed on disseminating information to the partners we work with in other countries on how we as an organisation were adapting to the pandemic and asking corporates and previous donors for funds towards our COVID relief fund.
But after a month of working from home; it suddenly felt not so busy. Our partners and country programmes were now in lockdown themselves and all the donors that were going to give to international rather than domestic causes at this time had given. I began to think furlough was inevitable – the not-for-profit sector is always at risk in these situations and our organisation runs to a very tight budget so it seemed like the right step to take for the long term future. Sure enough I with the majority of staff (leaving 6 out of 19 behind) were placed on furlough for May; this has now been extended into June.
It has been a humbling experience, to realise that the most value you can bring to your job right now is to just not work.
I definitely agree it was the right thing to do and will give the organisation (along with many others) some breathing room around its reserves and long term survival. But all the same it’s a dent to the ego! My partner is still working from home as are a lot of our friends and when I announced I was joining the nine million on furlough – there were a lot of questions about what I was going to do with that time and I felt a lot of pressure to fill the time wisely…even though it wasn’t a planned sabbatical but rather an enforced paid leave of absence(!).
So I did fill the time. I got in touch with my old work; another charity that supports unpaid carers across Wales and offered myself as a volunteer. They were happy to have me; carers are put under even more strain than normal at the moment as loved ones are being discharged from the hospital sooner that they would be usually due to the risks of being in hospital and transmitting COVID. I am a qualified yoga teacher so I have put together yoga videos for carers as well as running interviews with individual carers about their experiences as part of a Carer Aware project – again that has been humbling. In our home it is just myself and my partner, we have no children or family members to care for and with me taking home 80% pay and my partner still working we are comfortable financially.
I decided to use my buying power to help in this situation too, it started off with supporting local businesses; suddenly ordering a takeaway felt like a civic duty rather than being self-indulgent!
It expanded to donations towards women’s refuges upon reading about the increase in domestic abuse and how lockdown isn’t a safe haven for a lot of people. And in the last week my focus has been donations to the George Floyd memorial fund and the Minnesota bail out for protestors; to be in solidarity with the black lives matter movement.
It has made me realise that even on lockdown we are so connected – with our neighbours, with people in Cardiff, with people across the UK and then globally. My partner has long been involved with Extinction Rebellion and has used lockdown time to support their call for a citizens assembly and run a local save the northern meadows campaign.
If we can be this united around coronavirus, can we become this united around climate change?
I took a flight free pledge for 2020 and weirdly this has become the year for the majority of flights to be grounded; but will we take this behaviour change with us after lockdown easing? Will we still stand in solidarity over racism when normal everyday life takes hold? I hope so.
The final contradiction of my own personal lockdown experience has been health and I am fighting opposing forces here! I mentioned I practice yoga regularly as a teacher, but my cardio is sincerely lacking so I decided to get into running – I have just finished the couch to 5k and intend to carry on to 10k. I have also been taking part in an online yoga nidra (guided mediation course). So feel I am covering physical and emotional wellbeing….
But then on the other side there has been a big upswing in the drinking and the baking. I have definitely been partaking in the ‘furlough merlot’ (a “quarantism” that I love) and I have never baked as much in my life as I have in the last 10 weeks. I haven’t got into the banana bread or sourdough starter phase (yet – there is still time), but I am all over peanut butter chip cookies, courgette and beetroot cakes! The cakes and biscuits themselves are definitely a comfort but I think there is something soothing about following recipes too? There must be considering the national shortage of flour going on?
I am looking forward to seeing my nanny and grampy from a distance this week with the news we can see one other household in Wales.
I am also looking forward to the five miles limit eventually being lifted as I have to say I am sick of the sight of Bute Park and the Bay. It is interesting how such small things like these can be so exciting. I hope that I take that appreciation back out of lockdown with me but perhaps leave the over enthusiastic appreciation of merlot behind …
Today’s instalment for the Letters from Cardiff in lockdown series comes from musician and producer Lee Marshall. We’re looking for your stories, so please contribute to Letters from Cardiff in Lockdown!
I’ve always been someone with a sense of inherent contrariness hard wired inside me, something I think is common to most. The moment I sit down in a plane seat, is the moment I desperately want a cigarette, when the lights dim in the cinema is the time I suddenly need the toilet. When you are told you can’t do something, suddenly you are far more interested in it than you conceivably would have been at any other time. I’ve found myself wondering, how much of missing the outside world is my genuine desire to sit in a coffee shop with my kindle, just letting myself exist in a space with people around me, or be in a club, dancing and letting myself go, is just a factor of knowing these are things I can’t currently do, as lockdown has put out the lights in the communal spaces we shared.
I have a fragmentary relationship with the outside world at the best of times. As someone who lives with bi-polar disorder, and anxiety, I can go through extended periods where being in an outside space, or being in a social situation is something that seems overwhelmingly difficult.
Not just in it giving me a sense of terror from no real source, just rushing adrenalin and your heart struggling in your chest,
constantly expecting some disaster that has no basis in reality, but also living with the fear that you are presenting as manic, speaking out of turn, or coming across as “weird”.
You start planting judgements on yourself, whether or not they have any basis in the responses of those around you. The trouble for me with anxiety and social phobia, is that it feeds on itself.
The more you avoid the situations that cause you that fear, the worse they get, until just making it to the local shop to pick up basics seems like a herculean task.
I sincerely hope that those who live with mental health problems have been finding ways to put joy into their days, getting out, even just for a walk, finding ways to chat digitally, play games with friends, just to not let that connection to the outside slip away. You’re not wrong for hurting, and you’re not ever the only one.
Being under lockdown has taken any decision making about going outside or socialising out of my hands, and when you live with generalised fear anyway, the idea of a killer virus taking lives is easy to turn into something that occupies half your waking thoughts. The minutia of daily life has a soothing quality. Keeping busy, or just travelling to work, grabbing some food, meeting a friend, all of the things that we never give a second thought normally, take up space in our heads. Locked up at home, staring at the walls, it’s easy to let your thoughts turn completely inward, especially if you are prone to introspection and self analysis. I’ve found myself turning back to events from years ago, wishing I’d made different decisions, said different things. I’ve watched my usual level of self criticism soar.
The silence of your own thoughts can be a terrible place, and it’s been photos or videos from friends, webcam calls, a card in the post or an email that have kept me holding on.
Bikes have always been a lifeline for me, even as a kid, just heading out the front gate and riding as far as I could, sitting in sun drenched fields far away from everything that left me upset or confused.
I’ve always felt so grateful to live in a city where we have so much green space, Whether it’s Castle Grounds and Pontcanna Fields giving us a swathe of nature that allows you to walk or ride across a lot of the city without ever having to see a road, the Taff Trail winding through the trees, or the fact that you’re never far from the countryside, the woods or the mountains. Where I live in the North of the city, it’s only half an hour walk to be in the hills, and looking down over the city to the bay.
Cycling is one of those private things, where you are in constant motion and it feels like nothing around you can touch you, leaving your thoughts behind, until you just feel like a being of pure movement, where the only thing that matters is going faster and taking turns better. It’s been great to cruise down quiet roads, cars few and far between, idling down the Taff Trail, watching the shadow of your wheels spinning in the seemingly endless sunshine, the sound of the birds seeming so much louder with the usual din of the city dimmed.
I’ve found myself wondering what the lack of planes, the reduced traffic and the limits on industry have been doing to our planet, actually letting the air clear, hoping against hope that perhaps businesses, governments and councils can find ways to keep some of the reduction.
Even simple things like watching the grass verges get overgrown, and nature start to creep in where corners are untended has given me a little internal joy. I know it’s madness to hope that human beings will sacrifice convenience over the long term health of our spherical home, but you can dream when you look down on an empty motorway.
I feel like we all have memories of childhood, of summer days that seemed to never end, holidays from school that went on and on. I wonder if the young people of today will remember this as a time of fear and paranoia, or just the sun drenched days of no school. It’s hard to not fear what the long term affect of closures will be on independent businesses in our fair city. We’ve already seen small shops, restaurants, bars and venues closing, or struggling to remain above water over the last few years, even vital music spaces having to transition to non profit enterprises, and I dearly hope that enforced shutdown doesn’t see us return to a city that has lost vital parts of its creative heart and emotional identity. It’s been heartening to see a lot of small businesses working hard making essential deliveries, and making meals for the vulnerable. Maybe people will think a bit better about where they spend and vote with their wallets in future for the local shops and services that give our home real value and diversity.
If there is one thing I’d like to take from this period, it’s that I don’t want my life to go back to “normal”, or to what it was, but to actually look at what I’d like my life to be going forward, not just in what I choose to do with my time, but in how I treat the people around me, and in my attitude to what I see and how my behaviour affects those around me. I’d like to put more of my time onto learning, and studying. Making my future better than the present, instead of being complacent. More time into making connections to make up for the burnt bridges of the past. I hope that the sense of fragility that covid has lent our lives isn’t completely erased as shops re-open, and bars, clubs and social spaces return. Many of us are so used to the people we have around us, I hope that this time away from loved ones and friends allows us to truly treasure how important those relationships are to us, and maybe we will be a little kinder, a little more patient with people when we need to be, and to maybe think of those friends who we haven’t heard from for a while, who have become left behind and find time for them. It might be that just a text or an email could make a massive difference to their day.
Today’s instalment for the Letters from Cardiff in lockdown series comes from Barbara Ann. We’d like to give her an extra special thanks for sharing this with us. If it chimes with you, we urge you to contact Live Fear Free, or another of the organisations mentioned at the end of the post.
Everyone deserves to feel safe in their own home.
Lockdown may have eased slightly, but for many their situation is still one of fear and unease. Domestic abuse is suffered by many people, men and women, and their children too. My heart goes out to those whose situations have worsened because of being trapped with their abusers throughout these circumstances.
I grew up in a household of domestic abuse. My father was violent, abusive, a bully. We lived forever walking on eggshells never knowing what might set him off. Christmas and holidays especially were always a fraught time. I dread to think what me and my family’s experience would have been if we had had to go through these times living with him.I still remember walking in on my dad with his hands around my mum’s neck strangling her as, in between chokes, she begged me to call the police. I was ten.
He didn’t kill her that day, but it wasn’t the first or last time he put his hands on my mum like that. Nearly 30 years on I’m still haunted by those images and many others that I witnessed of the emotional and physical abuse towards my mum, and the mostly verbal wrath he exerted towards me and my brother and sister. He’s dead now, and my mum lives a very happy life as she moved on a long time ago, but the memories of the abuse lives on.
I am in a loving relationship with a very supportive and caring partner. I would say I’m very lucky to have someone who is not abusive, but I shouldn’t have to feel lucky because that is how things should be. But I am grateful for not having to go through an even worse situation right now because I don’t have to worry about the threat of domestic abuse.
This was very difficult for me to write as it’s not something I’ve ever really spoken out about before except in counselling, it was always kept hidden and secret in the family, but I feel it is so important to highlight such a major issue.
I was also going to send this in anonymously, but then I thought twice: I haven’t done anything wrong, and there is nothing to be ashamed of, and I certainly didn’t want it to come across that way to others who may be going or have been through something similar.
If you are a child or young person, or an adult experiencing domestic abuse in your household, you are not alone. There is help out there for you. You do not have to stay silent. Organisations such as Women’s Aid, RISE and Refuge are available. Please get in touch. Everyone deserves to feel safe in their own home.
Today’s instalment for the Letters from Cardiff in lockdown series comes from writer, blogger and storyteller, Nadia Ali. We’re looking for your stories, so please contribute to Letters from Cardiff in lockdown.
I’ve always thought of you
As a quiet city,
One that is quiet enough
For a quiet person
Like me.
It’s exactly what I need.
But, now, in the quiet of lockdown
I realise that
You aren’t so quiet at all.
And I miss the noise of it all.
Of the crowd chanting cheering roaring
Singing the anthem with pride,
“Gwlad!”
“GWLAD!”
Representing the flag
Through the good times
And the bad.
A sweet symphony of music;
Sounds being plucked on multiple strings
Footsteps and raindrops
Seagulls swarming for food scraps
From the bins.
The familiar smell of fish and chips down chippy lane
Or alley? Doesn’t matter really
What you call it
Because the chips still taste the same:
Legit.
A market filled with wafts of fragrances
You can’t decipher
Because they’re all merged together,
And winding arcades full of vibrant shops
And vacant windows to check out your reflection
A change in direction and shortcut towards
Your next destination.
#cardiffcastle.
It beats at the heart of the city
Pulsating with tourists
Burning holes in their pockets.
A snapshot of our history
Reduced down to a photo and hashtag
On Instagram.
You keep scrolling.
The buses line up on Westgate Street
Crowdedovercrowdedovercrowded
Busy buses over
Crowded trains
Rumbling screeching whistling to a stop.
It’s always the same.
The next stop is
Cardiff.
But I call it home.
I’ve always thought of home
As a quiet place,
One that is quiet enough
For a quiet person
Like me.
But it’s not quiet,
And it never has been.
Even though the streets are much
Quieter now than they were
Before
They still remain full of colour
Full of community and
Full of life.
And that’s exactly what I need.
Nadia is a Cardiff-based writer, blogger and storyteller. Having lived in the same district of Cardiff her entire life, she practically lives and breathes this city. She graduated from Cardiff University in 2018 and now works full-time at Cowshed, an integrated communications agency based in the city centre. Follow Nadia on Twitter @scorpioreads.
Today’s instalment for the Letters from Cardiff in lockdown series comes from writer, tutor and mentor Briony Goffin. We’re looking for your stories, so please contribute to Letters from Cardiff in lockdown!
On the 22 December 2019, I sent out a tweet. “To whoever decorates this tree every year, I love it! Thank you for all your efforts and the daily delight you bring Roath dwellers, particularly me and my family.”
In just a few hours, this tweet had gained 295 likes. A community converged in expressing its reverence for this annual ceremony, for this Ninian Road spectacle, for this beautiful twisted hazel, dripping with its coloured orbs.
Several months on, and I’ve been thinking again about ‘ceremony’. Ceremony as a comforter and as a unifying force. When time has felt blurry and boundaryless, save for the CBEEBIES schedule (our house), and minds have been consumed with death, statistics and when we’ll have chocolate back in the cupboard (my mind), it’s in the little domestic ceremonies that we find joy and security.
In our family, during these last few weeks, we’ve really honed the second breakfast, the afternoon tea, the choc-ice on the front wall (yes, much of our rituals are food-based) and, recently, the early morning walk around the back alleys of Roath, swooning in the scent of jasmine and pale apricot roses tumbling over red brick garden walls.
Some rituals have evolved, some have fizzled out; some have been deliberately cultivated and some have been discarded. For all those rituals those that have persisted, it seems the essential ingredients are pleasure and predictability.
A week before lockdown, I had already decided to place a pause on the Sunday Writing Sessions. These creative workshops, held in Chapter and MADE, had been running on the second and fourth Sunday of every month, since 2012. These workshops are built around a kind of warmth and comfort that is intended to encourage writers to take creative risks; to produce new writing that is raw and truthful; to share this writing aloud, before their fellow writers; and to have a whole lot of fun along the way. A sense of safety and security is everything in this process and, in the current circumstances, I no longer felt I could offer that.
In the gap that the workshops left behind was born a new weekly newsletter. I wanted to offer my students continuity and connection – a way of keeping up the writing but, most importantly, a way of keeping up the contact. Each Sunday, I would pull out nine words from my ‘word bag’, a handmade-for-purpose (by my mum) drawstring bag, containing around eight hundred laminated words, and place these words amongst our family treasure (mainly seashells and small plastic toys) in an old wall-mounted printer’s tray.
The invitation would be to choose a row of three words from the nine word grid (either side-to-side, up or down, or diagonally) and let these words inspire a piece of writing, which could be poetry or prose, fiction or autobiography, or a mixture of any of these things. For those writers who wanted to, they could send me their writing and a week later I would compile an anthology and send it back out. To date, these anthologies have amassed 78,568 words, 247 pieces and included 76 contributors, with many more joining in behind the scenes at home.
I cannot speak on behalf of my students but, for me, these weekly newsletters have become one of the most joyful ceremonies of lockdown. I revel in the planning, the choreographing and the curating. I photograph the whole process, from picking out the words, to assembling them on the printer’s tray. We have a ‘photoshoot morning’ in our house, I dress mindfully for the occasion (lots of colour and a big bow in my hair), I wear makeup (the only time in the week), and I might even take off my slippers, which is quite the gesture, given I’ve even been wearing them for my daily exercise around Roath. I tidy up a small corner of our terrace house, sweeping toys, half-baked craft projects and empty amazon boxes out the way. In general, I try to make things look as pretty as possible.
I wanted the newsletter to feel like a weekly treat in the inbox of my students, visually appealing, familiar and, hopefully, inspiring. Across the weeks, it has become more eccentric and more theatrical. I wanted the word bag to feel like an object of desire, with its own stage sets and photoshoot, building anticipation for the ‘big reveal’. My lipstick has got brighter, there has been the odd wide-brimmed hat, and my children have started to wander in and out of frame to ‘help’ mummy with her ‘work’.
Despite a slight air of daftness, the intention remains a serious and heartfelt one. The process has given me a sense of purpose and hopefulness at a time when I could have easily felt lost and low. Like all ceremonies, those properties of beauty and predictability are a sincere expression of love and commitment to my friends, students, colleagues and community. As of 1 June, the newsletter will be going to a fortnightly edition, to keep the format fresh and sustainable in the longer term.But my dedication is unwavering and I know that original frisson of pleasure will still be aglow as I press, ‘Send to Audience’, every other Sunday morning, for as long as we all need this in place.
A link to the latest newsletter is here, where you can also subscribe to future newsletters, as well as reading back copies. Everyone is welcome, the more the merrier! The Sunday Writing Sessions – newsletter.
Today’s instalment for the Letters from Cardiff in lockdown series comes from Mags, aged 70. We’re looking for your stories, so please contribute to Letters from Cardiff in lockdown!
Before I sleep at night I often stand with my head and shoulders out of the skylight in the top bedroom. I look out over the very heart of the city, the city where I was born, where my father was born as was my grandfather and my great grandfather too.
I am a Cardiff girl to the core and I feel it.
At the tender age of 70 I went into isolation with my husband and cat and here we have stayed.
My husband is an architect and since I retired I have been his right hand woman, running errands, filing paperwork and all the other vital things a Girl Friday is required to do.
We live and work in one of those inner city Victorian shops with living accommodation above and a large (for inner city) garden. In fact from top to bottom it goes like this:-
Cellar,
Office, shower room, and large room leading to the garden.
Kitchen/dining room (with stair case to garden), living room, bedroom, bathroom.
Attic bedroom and bathroom.
It is a cosy arrangement and we love it and as you see we never have an excuse for being dirty.
Work has never stopped for us. It has been easier, it’s true. No sudden phone calls from builders and smaller jobs which call for close contact have been shelved and although not furiously busy, work has been steady.
It has been hard to see those around us, neighbours, friends etc ., with no work and no immediate prospect of it. Rents and mortgages to be paid, food to be put on the table, nothing in the bank. That is hard.
Initially I volunteered to help out in the community, ok I’m 70 and should stay in but I don’t feel 70 and am fit and didn’t tell anyone my age. It seems to be quite common that people volunteer and never hear again and so it has been with me.
Thank goodness for tech. Social media has been great for keeping in touch. Saturday mornings have been our morning for elevenses with our youngest son and his wife…video link obviously though you soon forget that as the chat starts to flow.
My eldest son has also kept us in touch with our toddler aged grandchildren and we often get to ‘virtually’ bath them of an evening or at least chat with them while they splash and sing songs. When the video calls with the tinies are over, o/h and I high five one another and sink into the relative peace of our own home with a cup of tea.
Walking and standing is a problem for my husband at the moment. He has a back problem and would have had corrective surgery by now had it not been for lockdown.
So for exercise he makes do with the green house and has heard this week that his surgery has been rescheduled for September all being well. I have my fingers crossed. I do the shopping, I do anything that needs walking and standing and it’s been fine.
Like many others I have been catching up, not just with people but with things.
I have painted a wall, I have darned socks, I have made bread of course and I have a sourdough starter in the fridge. In my defence I did harvest the yeast for the starter from an apple that was sitting in the kitchen so it’s an apple yeast sourdough starter and my goodness has it got a lot of go in it!
My brother who lives in the Australian outback, totally off road and miles from anywhere and doesn’t usually call or move from his normal position of dog at his feet, gun on his lap and whiskey at his elbow has been moved to message me to find out how I am. It has been fun trying to find out what he’s up to, but he’s very closed and gives very little away.
It’s a start though and he was worried that this virus was about to carry me off so how cool is that?
Before I sleep at night I often stand with my head and shoulders out of the skylight in the top bedroom. I look out over the very heart of the city, the city where I was born, where my father was born as was my grandfather and my great grandfather too.
I am a Cardiff girl to the core and I feel it.
Watching the ISS appear west of the moon these last few nights and spin eastwards until it leaves what I can see of the sky takes me out of the city too, but I always want to come back again. I am never really isolated.
I don’t believe any other city or place would have made me feel quite so lockdown contented.
Today’s instalment for the Letters from Cardiff in lockdown series comes from Mark and Rachel of Treganna Gin, who have given us the first Lockdown Cocktail recipe of this series! We’re looking for your stories, so please contribute to Letters from Cardiff in lockdown!
We are Mark and Rachel of Treganna Gin, a micro-gin distillery that started-up in Canton in 2019. We have been turning to nature in lockdown to keep us sane.
We’re used to living a city life; spending time in the parks and museums, joining the crowds watching the rugby and eating as many Salkaara curries as we can get our hands on.
Lockdown has forced us to live very differently for the past few months. We have stayed close to home, only venturing out into the garden or the little lanes around our house.
Getting out into the countryside has given us the chance to grow an appreciation of nature, re-establishing a connection which is almost totally cut-off by modern urban life. We have watched the gentle progression of spring; the buds appearing on trees, wildflowers blooming in hedgerows and the arrival of the migrating swallows.
On the back lanes around Cardiff, nature has taken over whilst the cars and council lawnmowers have stayed home. Have you noticed the abundance of wildflowers this year? The charity PlantlifeUK estimates that there are only 85,000 hectares of species-rich grassland in the UK. When you compare that with the 238,000 hectares of roadside verges you start to see how important these little mini-meadows are.
Above all, getting out into nature has helped with our mental health.
Lockdown has been difficult in different ways for almost everyone. For us we have found the chaos of working and looking after three children the hardest; it is exhausting and relentless. We miss our friends and family, the ones who come around and bounce the baby for five minutes or share a drink and laugh with us on a Saturday afternoon. Getting out once a day into the countryside instantly quietens the noise; the shouting children, the emails and the pandemic news all disappear. For an hour everything is ok again.
Spurred on by the resilience nature around us, we have used lockdown to start to learn more about the different uses for the plants around us.
After only two months we have learnt so much. Even the children have shown an interest. Our two year old can already recognise stinging nettles, sticky-willies and wild garlic!
Us adults have taken an interest in the edible plants, taking advice from books and online advice to make sure we don’t poison anyone! The wild garlic down by the river smells fantastic and makes the best pesto. Nettles are surprisingly delicious when you sprinkle them with oil and roast them like crisps. The Ribwort Plantain that sprung up outside our house is edible, but mainly it’s a natural antihistamine and fantastic for nettle stings picked up during said crisp making!
En hommage to the nature which has kept us sane these past few months, we’ve used our gin in a ‘forager’ cocktail. The drink includes forget-me-not and lilac flowers which can easily be found in gardens and verges around Wales.
Please remember! When foraging, always make sure that you can identify the plant accurately. When in doubt, leave it out! Seek expert advice if you are unsure. Please use common sense when foraging for ingredients. Leave one third for wildlife, one third for sustainability and one third for foraging.
Cardiff Foragers Gin Cocktail
Ingredients
50ml Treganna Gin
100ml quality tonic (we used Fever Tree Mediterranean Tonic)
25ml fresh lemon juice
20ml sugar syrup (we used Monin Lavender syrup)
Edible wild flowers for garnish (we used forget-me-not and lilac flowers)
Method
Fill your glass of choice with crushed ice, Treganna gin, lemon juice and sugar syrup
Stir and fill to the brim with tonic water (add more gin or ice if you prefer!)
Gather your foraged and washed flowers or herbs and decorate
We Are Cardiff 