A mother’s love will conquer all

One of my proudest possessions when I was a teenager was my Afghan coat. Wearing one was all the rage at the time. The Beatles and Jimi Hendrix favoured them (younger readers ask your parents who these folk were). Wearing it, I thought I was the bees knees! It was long, almost reaching to the floor, and was embroidered with brightly coloured threads. I don’t think it actually came from Afghanistan, (although many did in the late 1960s) - mine was probably a cheap copy originating from Turkey or Iran. Sadly, I no longer have the coat or pictures of me wearing it. Although you can still buy these coats today, most are made from faux sheepskin and are almost guaranteed not to have that unique smell the originals had.

In my hippie days I would have loved to travel to Afghanistan, but since the late 1970s, it has not been a particularly safe part of the world to visit. Today, it is even less so. I’m sure like many others, readers of this blog will have been affected by the developments in the country following the withdrawal of Western troops. It’s not the place of this blog to challenge or defend the decision to withdraw our troops, that is for others to do, but I don’t understand what it is we are doing. I find the reality-denying responses from our government deeply disturbing.

The images of desperation, fear, anger and panic have filled our TV screens and newspapers all week. It’s been heart-breaking to watch. People whose lives had been relatively stable suddenly finding themselves in the middle of an unrelenting living nightmare. It is hard to imagine what people are going through. The fear of what life might now be like under the Taliban has given rise to chaotic scenes at Kabul airport. The sheer desperation of people trying to reach safety has been agonising to watch. What has made it all the more difficult to witness is the knowledge that many of those trying to flee will simply not be evacuated to safety.

The most upsetting images for me was seeing mothers handing over their babies and children to the Western soldiers in an attempt to protect them from a life under the Taliban. That has to be an almost unbearable decision to take. As a man, I have no idea what a mother’s love for her child must feel like. I have often witnessed such love, and in the main it is powerful and unconditional. It was the bestselling US author Kristen Proby who once said of her child: ‘No one else will ever know the strength of my love for you. After all, you are the only one who knows the sound of my heart from the inside’. Those mothers in Afghanistan, who made the heart-breaking decision to give up their children to others, knowing they would be most unlikely to follow, absolutely showed the power of a mother’s love.  

I saw a mother’s love in a couple of very different contexts last week. The first was in a report of the start of a successful Covid vaccination programme in Bolton for young people aged 16 -17. Over the last two weeks in England, when the green light was given to start vaccinating these young people, 125,000 16 and 17 year olds have had their Covid vaccination. Up to yesterday some 3,550 young people under the age of 18 had received their jab. What I thought was amusing about the approach were the reasons some of the teenagers gave for getting jabbed. It wasn’t anything to with promises of a Deliveroo discount, or cheap Uber rides or eats. No, it was mums. One (unnamed) 17 year old girl explained that she had had the vaccination because her mum had told her to! A different kind of mother’s love, I guess. Likewise, Arsalan Azhar (aged 18) said he was just obeying orders from his mum. He said ‘I would have liked to have had some incentives, but it was due to my parents, who will be more relaxed now’ which I think is a quite remarkable attitude for a young person of his age.  

Well done to all those involved in getting things moving so well in Bolton. Let’s hope other towns can do the same. The other story last week was from work. One of my colleagues brought in some pictures of her son. He is a toddler, about the same age as some of the children handed to soldiers in Kabul. My colleague was justifiably proud and her eyes shone with love as she showed the photos to us. In one of the photos the little boy was playing with those stacking blocks that children can use to build a tower. I have never yet met a child who, upon learning how to build the tower, doesn’t immediately then knock it down. I have played this game endlessly; children thankfully grow out of it. Build it up, knock it down, build it up, knock it down. It is such a simple toy, but such a clever one too. It teaches children a range of skills, colour recognition, co-ordination, counting and spatial awareness. Building up and knocking down blocks is also great fun.

Which brings me to Beales. Yes, Beales the department store. I know what you are thinking but bear with me. I’m building on building blocks and possible new ways of providing health care services. Beales have agreed a deal with the NHS to convert the top floor (some 17,000sq ft) of its store in Poole into a clinical area for tests, screening, and vaccinations. The plan is to provide orthopaedics, dermatology, ophthalmology and breast screening departments as well as space for those folk living with long Covid. It’s a clever idea, which also makes sound business sense, as the store anticipates an extra 150,000 people coming through their doors each year. I don’t suppose these days that it’s possible to still buy an Afghan coat from Beales, but never mind, what an inspired idea. I hope other places follow this approach.

The story resonated with me for two reasons. (1) what a great way to bring our fading high streets and town centres back to life: (2) my mother and father went to Poole for their honeymoon and one year later I was born. I have enjoyed my mother’s love ever since.