My Salford flat was small but sleek, with a view of the lock. The city was literally being rebuilt around me, it felt like an appropriate setting to rebuild myself. I swapped my evening view of St James Clerkenwell (where I had read the eulogy for Mr D at his funeral) bathed in a pink sunset, for red lights shining on the cranes of expanding Manchester. When I arrived, it rained. Not just a bit, a lot...every day for weeks. I knew it wasn’t called the rainy city for nothing, and remembered this from my student time, but arriving in January to cold, dark, wet evenings was hard. Still I persevered, I had lots of friends booked in to stay in my tiny second bedroom – a luxury I allowed myself as a necessary survival tactic – and I was getting out and about, auditioning with bands and walking the city (when it wasn't raining, and often when it was). It was hard going, I worked hard in my new job and often felt lonely, but I was closer to my family and reconnected with valued northern friends I hadn’t spent proper time with for decades. As I got through February, the coming spring and lighter evenings started to make me feel lighter. However there had been something growing in the background, and on Monday 16 March 2020 it was announced that my place of work was to close that day due to the emerging Coronavirus pandemic. A friend had been visiting for the weekend, I dropped them at Manchester Piccadilly and went straight into work to collect my laptop on the way home. I sat in my Salford flat in shock, wondering what would happen next. On Monday 23 March the national lockdown started. My plan in choosing where to live had been sound but now I found myself in a small, rented flat with no study area or outside space – a big change from my London home with a large, private communal garden, which now sat empty (the buyer for my flat pulled out due to uncertainty around the virus). I hadn’t had the chance to establish a social network in Manchester. The funky co-working spaces for residents, and lockside gym classes all shut. I couldn’t visit my family or the couple of friends I had reconnected with. The new development didn’t have the same sense of community as my London flat, perhaps it just hadn’t had a chance to develop as a lot of it was still being built, but I didn’t know any of my neighbours. Luckily I still had my job but it was now a very different experience. I couldn't go into the new teaching space that I was helping to develop, with students and music meandering through the corridors. Instead I sat on a swiss ball at a makeshift desk, hastily assembled from Argos flatpack, in my combined kitchen/living room. All interaction was through Zoom - so very focussed and intense, with none of the casual conversation that establishes relationships. I was hugely grateful that I had at least had a couple of months to get to know the College and my colleagues, but to have it all snatched away again felt terribly cruel. After a day spent on Zoom, an evening on Zoom to connect with friends and family felt too much and I began to isolate myself. The old feelings of loneliness, injustice and despair that I felt in the immediate aftermath of my husband’s sudden death threatened to engulf me again. As the third anniversary (or ‘sadiversary’ as fellow widows call it) approached, I had a few days off, booked before the pandemic. I was supposed to save this time for moving house, but that was no longer going to happen. I considered cancelling, but I was exhausted. I was working long, inefficient hours and felt cramped from too long in a bad workspace. The sun had started to shine again, and I considered my options. Walking is always a great way to make friends. I had started to follow some local walking groups on the Meetup app. I only managed to go on one Ramblers group walk before we went into lockdown, but it turned out to be pivotal in light of what was coming. I took the tram and joined a walk starting from Prestwich, which finished up very near my new flat. Until then I hadn’t realised how much ‘green’ space I could access locally. I found out about the Salford Trail, part of which was on the walk, and started to explore the River Irwell. Everyone was very friendly, and it had given me hope of making new friends. This gave me a crucial starting point once lockdown started, even though I couldn’t join any more group walks. Across that Easter weekend the weather was glorious so I walked alone on every day of my week’s holiday. I explored other parts of the Salford Trail such as Salford Quays and ventured further up the River Irwell to Clifton Viaduct, Aqueduct and Livia Forest. I found out more about local history at Weaste Cemetery (a beautiful space with grade II listed buildings and a wildflower meadow, where Joseph Brotherton, Sir Charles Hallé and Mark Addy are buried), Kersal Wetlands (Manchester Racecourse, now a flood basin), The Meadows and Peel Park. I walked as far as I could, alone and on foot without car or public transport. Refreshing my eyes, soaking up the sun during the day, and feeling the pleasing weariness of tired muscles in the evening. I started to explore the canals and urban areas around Manchester, using the Ramblers app and suggestions from the local Facebook Group to navigate – I could see where bridges were, and make sure I didn’t get stuck on the wrong side of a canal on a long walk! I found new places such as Piccadilly Village on the Ashton Canal, and New Islington. The local Ramblers Facebook Group was a lifeline. Members shared photos and routes where they had been walking, also advice on how to safely walk within the lockdown rules. It gave me confidence to explore, as well as more route ideas. I had been taking photos of where I was walking, and it was lovely when the group featured one of my pictures as the cover photo – it made me feel part of something. The timing of such an important move for me personally turned out to be very unfortunate. Just when I needed the support of physical social networks, everyone had to shut themselves away. My parents were close by, but I couldn’t see them. I am a musician and usually make friends through joining bands, but no one could rehearse or perform any more. Being supported in walking through the Ramblers made me feel part of something, and got me out exploring my local area. It started to feel more like home as a result.
Sadly, as the pandemic has continued, I have had to give up my Salford flat and come back to London. This has been tough, however I am clinging on to my job through remote working, and I hope to be able to come back. In the meantime, I am fortunate to have some lovely local friends for weekend walks, and I pop back occasionally to top up on some hills. Many people are struggling with the financial and emotional effects of Coronavirus on their lives, friends and families. Whether it is with the Ramblers, or another group or network, walking is a vital way for me to maintain my mental wellbeing. This was originally written as a shorter piece for The Ramblers, published 24 July 2020 here https://www.ramblers.org.uk/news/blogs/2020/july/finding-my-feet.aspx
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