What times these are. If anyone had said to me even three months ago that this is what the world would look like come spring, I wouldn’t believe them. Staying mentally healthy as well as physically keeping ourselves safe has been a huge challenge for us as a nation.

I don’t know about you but I have been through the full gamut of emotions in these last few weeks, from fear for my loved ones to immense gratitude for all I have; from a quiet contentment pottering about, to terrific guilt that I’m not doing enough; from anger at those I feel are being cavalier with our safety to grief at the losses we have suffered.

I want to educate myself so avidly read and watch the news, then try and avoid it in order to stay calm.  I want to do everything and be everywhere, delivering food bank parcels, shopping for vulnerable people, becoming a Red Cross volunteer: I’ve had to learn and accept that sometimes the heroic thing, especially if you have dependants, is to stay at home. I don’t want the shocking figures to be normalised. I want to honour each and every person who has lost their life during the crisis; whether they be key workers or care home residents.
 
One of those incomprehensible numbers was my old teacher, Martin Cosgrif, who taught me, and so many others, drama and performing arts at Accrington and Rossendale College back in the 80s. Martin was a wonderful man and a brilliant and instinctive teacher.  I’ve talked about him many times over the years, as someone who inspired so many of us to pursue a career in performance.  He had been an actor himself for many years, so knew the industry, and helped us - a bunch of primarily working class kids from East Lancs.- to believe that a life in the arts was indeed for “the likes of us”. So many of us, over the decades of him leading the course at Accy College, applied for and got into top drama schools under his guidance.

When I went to the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art in 1988, there were five of us from Accrington there at the same time, three of us in my year of about 25, rubbing shoulders with the offspring of Maggie Smith and Brian Cox and the alumni of Eton and Harrow. Joe Alessi, Connie Hyde, Mina Anwar, Sushil Chudasama, Lee Ingleby and Dominic Brunt were all students of Martin’s. Connie and I had been chatting about him the week before he became ill, Connie randomly texting me to ask: was it her imagination or had Martin organised for Sylvia Simms to come and perform her one-woman show for us at the college back in the day?

She hadn’t misremembered: Martin had indeed laid that on as part of our learning.  Nothing but the best for his students. We went on trips to Manchester to see great plays performed by iconic actors, and some of the best theatre companies of the period came to perform for us in the black box studio on Blackburn Road where we cut our teeth as actors.

This chance exchange with Connie prompted me to get in touch with Martin and we had a flurry of emails between us that week.  He had settled in Stratford-upon-Avon after his retirement and was living his best life as a tour guide around his beloved Shakespeare’s birthplace and as an actor and director at a brilliant local theatre.

It was a huge shock when his nephew contacted me to tell me that Martin was in hospital with Covid 19, and a group of us rallied to put together a little video of us reciting the “Oh, for a muse of fire” speech from Henry V, recorded a line at a time in isolation. It has been a great comfort to me that we got it to him before he passed away; a little thank you from some of his former students to say thank you for everything.  Martin died on Easter Sunday aged 74, one of the 717 confirmed cases that day.  He was, like all the other victims of the virus, so much more than a statistic.
 
Martin’s passing affected me deeply and has made me take stock of the people who have influenced and inspired me in my life, and during the last month I have made it my business to contact anyone who pops into my head or heart, just to check in.  And to thank them for who and what they are to me.  If Connie’s text hadn’t prompted me to contact Martin that week, or if I’d merely thought about emailing him but didn’t get round to it, my sense of loss would undoubtedly have had a different dimension: one tinged with regret that I hadn’t been able to say the things that needed to be said.  Mainly:  THANK YOU.  For changing my life and opening up my world in that way that only a great teacher can.

So as these weeks of reflection perhaps gear up to ending, I encourage you all to take stock, to spend time thinking of those who have made a difference to your life, in the past or during this period of isolation. These extraordinary times have taught us to appreciate everything more: our friends and family, art and culture, good music, films and telly, the natural world and of course the incredible key workers and NHS staff who have continued to work to keep us healthy, safe, fed; who have emptied our bins and delivered our mail.
Some of whom have lost their lives in doing so.

And our communities. Our neighbours who have called in or picked up our prescriptions or done a shop for us. Moving forward, I hope we can continue to be grateful for what we have, and - long after the Thursday evening clapping stops - appreciate those who have helped us along the way.

Sending a big virtual hug to you all.  Stay safe.

Julie