I saw a hint of the wondrous past in the midst of our grim coronavirus present

In his latest reflection on places and pathways, Will Gore finds joy in a soon-to-be-banned family gathering

The vice principal wears a PPE face shield in the playground at Greenacres Primary Academy in Oldham (AFP/Getty)

New normal”. Are there any two words which better and more bleakly sum up the mix of despair and faux optimism that have characterised our attempt to find a route out of coronavirus hell?

For a while, the new normal was home-schooling and a daily walk around the block. Then it was masks on trains and family bubbles. Then socially distanced gatherings of friends and family in the park. Each a little better than the last, but every “new normal” paling by comparison with what passed for normality six or seven months ago.

I know for sure, because for a couple of brief moments this week, I caught glimpses of the old normal and it was beautiful.

On Sunday we travelled to my brother’s house – the first time we had seen him and his wife since January. My parents came too, so there were eight of us, sitting apart but together in my brother’s large garden. Our kids raced around, exploring every corner; looking for frogs by the newly repainted summer house and following fat pigeons as they flew from tree to tree.

A couple of hundred yards from home, a faint whiff of gas hung in the air around a manhole cover: a perennial problem

Under the vast willow that dominates the place, we ate barbecued sausages and chicken, and salad brought by my folks from their garden. My children claimed that my brother’s homemade rolls were (even) better than mine. And then for good measure they turned up their noses at the date and apple cake which I’d made as our contribution to the meal.

Aside from the absence of hugs, it felt just like family gatherings of summers past. We relaxed, laughed, feasted and chatted about things unrelated to the pandemic.

A few days later, my wife and I finished work at more or less the same time and decided to pick up our younger child together from his after-school club.

My daughter Beatrix – old enough to get home on her own and by then hunched over a tablet – was persuaded to join us, so we ventured out as a three, my wife and I taking it in turns to push Tristan’s scooter so that he would have the benefit of wheels for the journey back up the hill.

Beatrix had had a good day, and she chatted away enthusiastically about the joys of being in year 6. From a distance, we saw Tristan racing across his school’s playground with a bunch of other children, obviously having fun.

When he came out, hands sanitised, his beaming white smile was a stark contrast to his red face. His blond hair was sweaty and I helped him out of his jumper so he could cool down.

“Did you see me running dad?” he asked. I nodded. “I was really fast, wasn’t I?”

“Very,” I replied, giving him and his scooter a push along the path.

The four of us trailed back home, not hurrying. The sun was warm, as were our moods. We walked past the park, where a few small kids, watched by their parents, were enjoying the play equipment. A little further on, the copper beech, which has for so many years stood sentry on my journeys up and down that road, gave a gentle, reassuring wave of its mighty boughs. And opposite, the swimming pool in the grounds of the private school was just opening for public use. It occurred to me that I should go soon.

A couple of hundred yards from home, a faint whiff of gas hung in the air around a manhole cover: a perennial problem, to which the relevant gas company has found no answer for nigh on a decade. By this point, Tristan had scooted on ahead, keen to be the first back. He left his scooter lying at the bottom of the garden steps, just as he did when scooters were permitted to be taken to school every day.

Not long afterwards I heard the government’s announcement about new restrictions – the “rule of six” – and listened to the prime minister’s very pointed concern about the resurgence in coronavirus cases; all such an odd contrast to the simple joy I had just experienced. The battleground of hope against reality – that is our new, new normal.