Five years ago tonight, Boris Johnson told us we were going into lockdown. In the run-up to the anniversary of that historic moment, lots of people have shuddered as they remembered the boredom, frustration and horror of that strange time when we were only allowed to leave the house once a day.
Me? I’ve been looking back at it all rather wistfully. I’m hopelessly, romantically nostalgic for lockdown. I remember it fondly as a time when the sun shone nearly every day, we didn’t need to go anywhere we didn’t want to, we all cared and talked about the same thing and, just like the old days, everyone watched the same thing on TV every evening.
What I remember most is how people checked in on each other
Of course, the sickness, financial ruin and deaths of the pandemic itself were horrific. I’m aware that, as something of a hermit who worked at home anyway, my experience of lockdown was privileged compared to many. I also understand why so many people were bitterly opposed to the restrictions. The other day I stumbled upon a news story from February 2021 that reported that, if all went well, we would soon be allowed to meet up with a friend to have a coffee on a park bench. It’s so weird looking back.
But I remember lockdown itself as the most unifying time of my life, like the summer of the London 2012 Olympics but on global steroids. In these increasingly divided and narcissistic times it felt good to all care about the same thing and for it to be something that actually mattered.
There was a strange beauty in how the world slowed down. Thanks to the march of social media, digital technology and an increasingly wild news cycle, we’re stimulated to stay on high alert. But, paradoxically, during a pandemic that killed millions, many people seemed calmer.
Originally, they said lockdown would probably only last a few weeks, but it went on for months and then came back with a vengeance. I understood why lots of people’s feet were getting itchy. But each time the pressure built on the government to open everything up again there was a part of me that actually quite fancied being locked down just a little bit longer. Boris, make us free – but not yet.
The clichéd totems of lockdown are banana bread, being told we were ‘on mute’ and clapping on Thursday evenings. What I remember most is how people checked in on each other. As we waved more at neighbours, and phoned relatives and friends we hadn’t spoken to for ages, the camaraderie of lockdown began to conjure a strange sense of hope. People wondered if the pandemic would prove to be a turning point for humanity’s consciousness. There was some hope that it might usher in a golden age of kindness.
Fat chance. Five years on, we look back at that optimism with the sourest of snorts: business owners say that customers have become more rude and entitled since lockdown, everyone seems increasingly angry and the evening news generally resembles the first act of an apocalyptic horror show. But, still, what joy it was to have lived at a time when people believed briefly that something better might actually be possible.
I’m not alone in my lockdown nostalgia. A survey in 2023, carried out for the third anniversary of lockdown, found that 26 per cent of respondents said ‘they wish they were back in lockdown’. Nostalgia is often criticised. But studies suggest that nostalgic people tend to be more empathic, caring and charitable, so maybe we’re not that bad after all.
Still, like all sentimentalists, I’m probably wearing rose-tinted glasses when I look back. Lockdown felt a bit like the school summer holidays I miss so much. But, just like those long childhood breaks, most of it was probably a lot more boring and frustrating than I remember.
