The John Griff column: Never break with tradition
I hope you had a great Easter weekend. However you observe it – even if the answer is ‘not at all’ – for those that managed to take them, having a few days off from work gives a chance to re-engage with family, take a breather from the incessant and insistent news cycle of the world and maybe do a little re-charging. I think it’s fair to say that Mother Nature did more than her bit as well.
So too, I suggest, did tradition. And just like those who DID work during the extended weekend in the blue light services, the armed forces, health, public transport, education, hospitality, retail, tourism and plenty of other business sectors, maybe we owe it more than just a vote of thanks.
Bank holiday breaks are as much a part of tradition as they once were of business. Established by Sir John Lubbock (himself a banker) under the Bank Holiday Act of 1871, the aim was to give bank staff, and later all workers, scheduled time off from their labours. It wasn’t all philanthropy though. The Act formalised a process where everyone paused at the same time, reducing the knock-on impact of interruptions to trade and commerce. Imagine if the banks had declared different days off for their staff and what it would have meant to the timing of payments. Of course, these days no bank doesn’t have elements of its businesses active. It’s a 24/7, 365 business world, the vast majority of which takes no notice of breaks we might take here, nor we anyone else’s. Anachronistic though they might seem, we still observe bank holidays, but I wonder how many corporate boards and management teams view them as their own kind of interruption.
It’s here, perhaps, where tradition – as well as the observation of a hugely important religious event – makes an important secular contribution to the lives of all here. With the advent of British Summertime, we now enjoy longer days, shorter dark nights and with them the opportunity to take in whatever sunshine might be available – be it climate change influenced, or not. Emerging from long dark days makes us I think, generally a) healthier, b) happier and c) better able to take on whatever lies ahead. For the Easter break that often means the separate tradition of joining queues at the ports, airports and railway stations to get away – or a full-throated assault on the nation’s DIY stores and garden centres in out-of-town retail parks the length and breadth of the land. Here, I too was part of the throng.
Beyond the traditional service in church and easter eggs (the Christmas decorations will be out soon), I’ve always enjoyed the easter break for exactly this reason. I would never willingly go abroad over easter though. I admit to having a short temper over queueing and prefer spending my time in the pursuit of something productive (but not work-related) far more appealing. Waking up on Good Friday, I resolved that it would be the weekend (after months of prevarication) to start wrangling the lawn at our house into something more presentable than the abused, dog-ravaged patch of ground that it had become since the autumn of last year. By the end of Easter Monday I had cut it three times, scarified it once, watered it three times and resown (or oversown) the entire area with a good measure of grass seed. How well it does remains to be seen. Returfing remains my back stop plan – but I’ll give Mother Earth the best chance I can. Strangely, we’ve not had much of an avian invasion yet – I have mounted a watch over the garden and will mete out a sonic response if needs be. I have no need of drones, air supremacy or egotistical political posturing. Instead, I just need time, plenty of water (which might fall from the sky shortly) and then a little feeding. My former BBC colleague, the wonderful Johnnie Amos will confirm that I am no gardener, but I am not averse to a little tending, provided there’s mechanisation involved.
If DIY fulfilled its traditional role over the weekend, so too did the national pastime of visiting the pub. Sadly, Lois fell foul of a bug just as the break was about to arrive. She was still confined to bed on Monday, so I continued my surreptitious conditioning of our dogs to expect a short libationary visit as part of our perambulations. On Saturday afternoon I sat in the pub garden with Dottie the Dachsund taking the sun from her place on my lap while Ella the Flat-Coated cross lay on the cooling flagstones, panting softly. It was glorious and I could feel a sense of relaxation wash over me as I turned my face to the sun. It was worth way more than any break spent sitting in traffic, there or back.
Every dog should have it’s day.