The Pied Piper

If there is anything good about the present crisis it is the fact that, mercifully, coronavirus does not appear to cause anything but the mildest symptoms in children.

The emergence of the virus, whilst it might have entailed a number of careless and inadvisable practices, was clearly unforeseen. Nevertheless, our lack of preparedness in the UK has been inexcusable. Austerity, after all, was not the unavoidable necessity we were told it was, but a calculated, politically-motivated policy that has been responsible for the present fragile state of our health and social care systems.

The dogma that, until very recently, has shaped government thinking — namely that unrestrained capitalism is capable of fulfilling every legitimate human need — all that is gone now, at least in a form that can be given a veneer of respectability.

At the same time, years of growing inequality and social polarisation have given rise to shocking levels of child-poverty, homelessness and ill-health - both physical and mental. Young people have borne the brunt of this and little children were to be next in line.

The recent closure of schools will no doubt affect children in different ways, according to their age and family circumstances. Nevertheless, in the long term and taken on balance, it is difficult to imagine it being anything other than a negative experience. For many children, and in particular those for whom school represents a refuge from a stressed or chaotic home, the present disruption risks leaving them further alienated from the rest of their peer group.

One also has to feel for teenagers, whose examinations have been suddenly cancelled and who find themselves unexpectedly confined to the very nests they were about to fly.

Thinking about all of this brought to mind the story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin. In case you need reminding, it goes something like this:

In 1284, the town of Hamelin was suffering from an infestation of rats. A piper appeared, dressed in multi-coloured clothing, and offered to get rid of them in exchange for a reward. The mayor of the town agreed and the piper used his pipe to lure the rats in the River Weser, where they all drowned. The townsfolk however, reneged on their promise and accused the piper of deceiving them. He stormed out of the town, vowing to return later to take his revenge. On St John and St Paul’s day, while the adults were in church, the piper returned and, playing his pipe, led the children of Hamelin out of the town and down into a cave under the mountain. With the exception of a little boy who was lame and couldn’t keep up, not one of the children was ever seen again. 

I don’t propose trying to draw too many parallels between the Pied Piper and the present pandemic, for while it is tempting to see the rats as a reference to the Black Death, this did not appear in Europe until the 14th century and, in any case, it seems the rats in the story are the result of a 16th century embellishment.

Nevertheless, old stories like this, having been retold, reshaped and added to over many years have a power of their own that is capable of resonating with contemporary experience.

For some reason (that is not particularly clear to me) the story highlights the fact that, over the coming months, our children and grandchildren will, of necessity, see their horizons narrowed and that, when we emerge from this crisis the last thing we should think of doing is to get things back to normal. 

The children who are now confined to their homes will eventually re-emerge into a world in which the air is cleaner and CO2 emissions are lower than they have been for years. They might go on to show how it is possible to live in harmony with one another and with nature without the need for grotesque excesses. The experience of taming the virus might even teach us how to confront the threat of climate change, with the difference that in applying ourselves to that task we can, once again, enjoy the power and satisfaction of working together.

Goodness - though I mean every word, I might have got a bit carried away here. There have been other occasions, after all, when it seemed as if everything was blowing up, only for us to watch in disbelief as the fragments, unexpectedly and disappointingly, assumed their former positions. 

But — as we are beginning to appreciate — this is a big one.