To understand my generation of 40-somethings, it’s important to understand the climate in which we grew up.
We became aware of “politics” in the final years of the Thatcher tyranny. By all accounts, this “Thatcher” was a creature to be scared of – a job-devouring, handbag-swinging demon summoned from the darkest depths of Finchley. We also caught the tail end of nuclear armageddon – MAD, hide behind your desk, screenings of Threads, all of that. This was also scary.
But then everything changed. As we entered adulthood all of these dangers simply melted away. We swanned through our 20s in the aftermath of the Berlin Wall’s fall and the collapse of the Soviet Union. We were living through something that was being touted as “the end of history”, for which we took full credit.
Nice, educated and full of ourselves
We were probably the last generation that could afford to buy a house. We regarded ourselves as less prejudiced than those who had come before – pro-gay rights, pro-immigration, anti-racist. Life expectancy was soaring, higher education (still free) was becoming almost a right, the economy was booming and the good guys were now in charge. This exciting new Labour government was introducing the minimum wage, doubling the overseas aid budget and writing off the debt of the poorest countries entirely. Inflation was low, employment was high and Scotland was getting its own parliament.
Get us: we were nice, we were educated, and now we were going to damn well run the place. We were also full of ourselves. Various wars, economic calamities, an unravelling planet and a Brexit or so later, things aren’t looking quite so rosy. Sorry about that.
All of which is to provide some context for the collective yowl which currently splits the air. Scotland’s 40-somethings are getting their first Covid jab. And we don’t do pain.
We were promised jetpacks (and we still want them)
Our fathers and grandfathers did. Whether fighting the Germans or working in heavy industry, they understood the gradations of suffering – from the daily descent into the bowels of a coal mine to the march across North Africa in pursuit of Rommel; from getting a limb entangled in some unforgiving piece of machinery to finding themselves in the dole queue in their 50s.
Our main concern has been developing a nasty case of Twitter Finger or PlayStation Thumb
Our main concern has been developing a nasty case of Twitter Finger or PlayStation Thumb. We worry about the vast influx of petrodollars into the Premier League and whether our inheritance will be frittered away paying for the care of our ageing relatives. We remain impatient for jetpacks.
The Covid jabs have been a struggle for some
And so, indulged as we are, we haven’t taken the Covid jab at all well. One family member took to his bed for two days afterwards, like an affronted Victorian virgin, to be waited on hand and foot by his wife and daughters. A friend quizzed the busy nurse for a full 20 minutes about the various types of vaccine and the differing reactions he might expect, before grudgingly baring an arm. Yet another got his 80-something mother to drive him to the vaccination centre then spent two days plumped up on pillows in her spare room, being fed broth and Lucozade.
Me? I was determined to buck the trend and endure the process with the kind of stiff upper lip that would have drawn a respectful nod from General Montgomery. I smiled nonchalantly as the nurse ran me through the process, only interrupting to ask her whether she’d use my left arm rather than my right because “it’s got a bit of metal in it.” I stared stoically out the window and just a solitary tear fell as the needle went in. Afterwards, when the nurse told me: “You’ve been very brave”, I walked from that building a few feet taller.
The next day I was a bit fluey and decided to stay in bed, just in case. I woke in the afternoon much refreshed, and told my family: “I feel much better now”. My wife pointed out I was just in time to watch the football. A happy coincidence, no doubt.
Pain is easier to endure together
I also realised that in the past seven days I’d had my vaccination and voted in the Holyrood election. As someone whose life doesn’t intersect with social provision all that often, both events had left me feeling a little emotional. Those rare moments when we come together as a society to care for one another, and to take responsibility for one another’s welfare, mark the best of us.
As the world around us darkens a bit – whichever generation you belong to – we should remember it’s easier to endure pain, whether of the existential sort or just a brief nip in the arm, when we do so together.
Chris Deerin is a leading journalist and commentator who heads independent, non-party think tank Reform Scotland
