Sobering parade of gratitude

THEY came in droves, the wartime babies. Grey and stooped, some of them. Upright and spritely others. Some on sticks or in wheelchairs. On their own or in couples. Proudly independent or in need of a helping arm.

But in one thing they were united: their gratitude.

They were grateful for the NHS and their slot in the greatest vaccination programme their country had ever seen; grateful that they were still considered worth treating, worth saving. For these seventy- and eightysomethings, the prospect of a little more life was enough.

Getting old had brought enough darkness without the hardships of the past ten months; without separation from friends and families; without the crippling isolation of lockdown.

And so they came as arranged to the medical centre for their Covid-19 vaccinations, with the flicker of hope taken for granted by younger souls who see only life’s egg-timer top-heavy.

Five hundred were scheduled for jabs that day and by the end of it, only two had not turned up.

On foot, by bus, by car and even taxi they came, all but a forgetful, fretful few ready masked, and not one of them late for their appointment – many, indeed, apologetic for arriving early.

“It’s a beggar when the best thing you’ve done in months is go for a needle in the arm,” I joked to the small queue that formed outside the surgery where I’d joined a small group of volunteers easing the flow to the medics with their magic vials.

“I’d queue all day for this if I had to,” said one old dear.

“It’s our only hope of getting back to normal, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t seen my grandchildren in almost a year,” said another.

One chap, hand in hand with his wife, wanted to know which vaccine they were getting.

On being told it was the Pfizer variety, asked: “Has that got viagra in it?”

There was no grumbling this day, just warmth for those who helped and treated them as they cleansed their hands, waited to be called, rolled up their sleeves and sat and waited for the regulation 15 minutes to check that all was well before heading back home.

I couldn’t help thinking that many among this grateful generation would be left to gasp their lives away if the coronavirus deniers and conspiracy theorists had anything to do with it.

Thankfully, their parents and grandparents are being looked after by a health service that is far from perfect but remains the envy of the world, staffed by people who are risking their lives like never before, from the nurse in intensive care to the GP’S receptionist.