How do you remember all their names?

WHEN life was normal, I worked regularly in Mainland China, spending several weeks lecturing there annually. Being a nursing academic, my audience was mainly female.

Few things gave me more pleasure, especially if my wife was with me, than to introduce myself by presenting a PowerPoint slide of eight young adults—four men and four women—and then to tell them: ‘this is my family’. In a country where family size is limited, and especially in the days of the disastrous one child policy, where everyone’s greatest desire was to have a large family, the gasps of astonishment, even turning on occasion to applause, were very moving. If my wife was present, I completed the introduction by telling them: ‘I have eight children…and one wife’ and then pointed her out. I could then proceed to lecture them on any topic under the sun; nobody was listening to me. All eyes were, enviously, on my wife who was then inundated afterwards for photographs. It is remarkably easy to be a celebrity in China.

I would never dream of showing the same slide in Britain. I never deny the fact that I have a large family. But I do wait until I am asked, and it is fair to say that the reaction to ‘eight children’ is more muted. In a country where serial relationships and children being born out of wedlock are common, my addition of: ‘and one wife’ is more of a clarification for the curious. And, from: ‘no television then?’ to: ‘haven’t you heard about contraception?’, I have heard them all. These are almost knee-jerk reactions but on occasions it is harsher such as Malthusian insinuations that I don’t ‘care about the planet’ or outright pity as in: ‘how on earth do you manage?’ My wife sometimes had worse comments when she was struggling with a double buggy and a couple of other children in tow. From people who cannot imagine not having two gas guzzlers in the drive or an annual holiday at their time share in Marbella the notion of such a large family simply horrifies them.

We are now comfortably off as I have had an excellent job which has been accompanied by plenty of international travel for me and various contingents of my family at other people’s expense. But it wasn’t always like that. A series of tied accommodation apartments and a house at The University of Edinburgh where, in addition to getting my academic career off the ground—and keeping it there—I worked as a warden in the halls of residence. We had to buy a car which was big enough to transport the tribe to school but which we could not really afford. All holidays were spent in the Highlands of Scotland under canvas with rain and midges to keep us occupied and I recall Christmas presents from charity shops and second-hand bicycles. When I eventually got my first chair at the University of Hull, we had to buy a large house which stretched our budget to the absolute limit.

This largely set the tone of most of the early years of our family life, especially for the older children. Looking enviously at the lunch boxes of other children at school, they recall tasteless yoghurts, potato crisps without brand names, anonymous chocolate biscuits and generic ‘Cola’. This is now a running joke at family gatherings and one of my sons recalls on the morning after a sleepover at a friend’s house being asked what type of breakfast cereal he would like. His response: ‘you mean there is more than one kind?’ says everything.

I was an only child, something that I would never inflict on anyone, and my wife came from a broken family. We did not set out to have such a large family, but out Catholic faith undoubtedly played a part in having one. We were determined to establish a stable home for however many children we produced. As often stated, there are no qualifications for child-rearing, but one thing is clear and that is that child-rearing is a woman’s job and the reason is, simply, that they are much better at it. Never once in our married life, when the children were at home did any one of them ever open the front door and ask: ‘is Dad at home?’ It was always, and still is, ‘where’s Mum?’ or ‘is Mum home?’ I have seen the same thing in other families.

Most of my interactions with the children were done briefly and often at high volume. I could hide behind the excuse that I was busy providing for the family. I was, often working well over 60 hours weekly. But the truth is, I was hopeless at it, and I think many men are. Of course, I came into my own in later years with the ones who went to university advising on essays and research projects. But it does not compensate for the fact that I never had time to help them with their school homework. I could have but I never took the time, so distracted was I by my work and professional responsibilities.

We are often asked when we tell people about our family: ‘Do they all get on?’. The short answer is: ‘No, they don’t’ to which I feel like adding: ‘Why should they—they are all different?’ We have a full and diverse spectrum of achievement in our family which includes an unqualified factory worker and a Major in the British Army. We have a published author, the manager of an elite gym and one running a property portfolio. One is an Advanced Critical Care Practitioner, and another has been instrumental in getting a start-up company off the ground. Our youngest daughter is a dancer. Three children have served in the armed forces and two served tours in Afghanistan. One was at the forefront of Hull’s response to the Covid pandemic and two have been involved in Covid testing. The rest have kept the wheels of industry turning and two have promoted health and fitness through their online platforms. Two were involved directly in commercial distribution networks over Covid Christmas. To the Malthusians and family planners I ask, ‘which ones would you have prevented from being born or, had our priorities been different, aborted?’

In terms of their personal lives, we have the full range from broken relationships to very stable families growing up in stable homes with loving parents. What strikes me about these families is that my sons and daughters are largely proving to be much better parents than we were and certainly, the men are better fathers. None of our children asked to be born and, while there was plenty motherhood, it was not all accompanied by apple pie. I guess most large families have a similar tale to tell. We unreservedly love all of them and, notwithstanding the range of professions and achievements, all are holding down jobs, paying their way and supporting their children, even the estranged ones. I am not sure how much I have taught any of them about life and how to live it. But now that they have grown up and are leading their own lives, they are teaching me about being a good parent and, especially, a better father.

Postcard from Genoa

If anyone who is unvaccinated is considering visiting Italy soon, I would strongly advise against it. Britain seems very civilised in comparison, despite having a run in with a BA official who questioned me about my lack of a mask on leaving the first class lounge in Heathrow, seemingly unaware that we were still on British soil. But, as reported in Sceptics passim, once the curtain was drawn behind us in BA Club Class, the masks were off and not donned again until arrival in Milan. From Milan I took the train to Genoa to work at the University of Genoa, where I teach regularly, for a week. It is worth noting that I completed the European Passenger Location Form using details from my British passport but, to avoid the queue at the border, I used my Irish passport to enter Italy. I expected to be questioned about the lack of congruence between this passport and the one used to complete the online form which, I assumed, would have to match at immigration. I was through like the proverbial dose of pesto thus indicating, beyond reasonable doubt, that the completion and submission of passenger location forms is a complete waste of time.

You may enter Italy unvaccinated after the requisite Covid tests and then a period of quarantine. But, thereafter, freedom does not beckon as, wherever you step out of quarantine, you will remain…indefinitely. No form of public transport such a trains, buses and internal flights is permitted without displaying a euphemistically named ‘green pass’ (aka a vaccine passport). If anyone from the UK wants to see what the introduction of vaccine passports will be like, then Italy is already there. And mask wearing is strongly enforced on public transport with repeated ‘mascherina’ messages over the PA system. Social distancing is requested too but the one exception was taxis where, ironically, you can be squeezed into very close proximity with your fellow passengers without the benefit of any social distancing. The situation is exacerbated by the fact that passengers are not allowed to travel in the front of the taxi beside the driver, so it was common for three people to be arse cheek by jowl in the back. On one journey I was asked to mask up in a taxi that had no functioning seat belt.

 

To be fair to most restaurateurs and bar owners, who are supposed to demand your vaccine passport, they were not doing this. And I was never asked to don a mask. In typical Italian fashion, the rules are selectively applied. But the Italians have bought into the mask mandate to an incredible degree. Mask wearing is not required outside but no self-respecting Genovese would be seen without a mask at the ready, mainly under the chin at all times, or draped on the wrist like an adornment.

Of course, being Italian, the men can look stylish in a mask and the women still look elegant, but it is the sheer mass scale anticipatory obedience on entering public buildings, bars and restaurants and the 100% compliance that is shocking. And all without any apparent enforcement. In some ways compliance is worse when it is self-imposed.

 

My small class of doctoral students always insisted on remaining masked when meeting with me but made no comment about my facial nudity. They refused to remove their masks at my request and when challenged, could only refer to ‘the rules’. Despite attending my class on systematic reviewing and evidence assessment, not one had ever considered the evidence regarding masks and, even more distressing, was their complete lack of interest. I had to wonder, Godwin-like, ‘is this how Mussolini started?’ Or am I just a bad teacher?

Postcard from Slovenia

I have undertaken a PhD viva, climbed at the absolute limit of my ability on El Capitan and deployed to a war zone. None of these was as stressful as making a short visit this week to the University of Maribor in Slovenia to pick up a Doctor Honoris Causa awarded over a year ago, before COVID-related travel restrictions kicked in. Pre-pandemic I flew at least one long-haul flight a month and have regularly clocked 150,000 airmiles annually for the past twenty years. It was novel for my wife to see me ‘in a flap’ over simple things like checking in online and fretting over the contents of my bags.

The experience of international travel and the concomitant stress is exacerbated by the additional forms to be completed. I had to complete a set of PLFs (Passenger Location Forms). For Slovenia this had to be completed over 24-hours prior to arrival but for my return to the UK it had to be completed within 48-hours of arrival. I had to be Covid tested before returning home and book a PCR test to be taken two days after return. This cost an exorbitant £70, and purchase had to be proved for the return journey. The cost is infuriating, especially given that I live about half a mile from a free testing centre in Hull which, when I pass it, is always empty.

I travelled to Manchester Airport the evening before my flight to a very quiet Holiday Inn Express where they seemed delighted to see me. I guess they were delighted to see anyone. Checking in was easy and this was the first airing of my NHS vaccine passport. The security staff, normally the most rude and illogical in the UK, also seemed glad to see me. One point in favour of pandemics is how short the queues are.

I was transiting out via Brussels and my stress levels nearly diverted the plane when it was announced that we had to have completed not one but two PLFs for transit through Belgium. But the cabin crew then distributed forms that could be completed by hand…and relax! The final leg to Ljubjana went smoothly. Another advantage of relatively quiet airports and fewer flights is that planes leave punctually and arrive early.

I abandoned my mask in the UK when we were told we could and decided, even if they are reintroduced, that I will never wear one again in my own country. I was not so sure about foreign destinations. I ignored the ‘mask up’ tannoyed instructions in Manchester Airport with impunity and even boarded the plane and remained maskless until well after take-off. But at the first polite ‘invitation’ to wear my mask I crumbled and put one on. I was worried that the next flight might get a tipoff that one of the awkward squad was on the way and deny me boarding. On the return journey, via Frankfurt, I had to promise during online check-in that I had a mask so there was no getting out of it on the way home. Travellers beware, your mask must be of at least ‘surgical grade’, so no flimsy cloth ones permitted.

My destination, Maribor, is a delightful small Slovenian city near the Austrian border. In winter it is a skiing resort. There is a local saying that translates roughly as ‘babies ski out of the womb’. Everyone skis. In summer it is just a lovely place to hang out with a picturesque river and an historic town centre with good food and good beer. The local wine is also excellent.

But Slovenia is a country still in the psychological grip of the pandemic. Masks are prominent and required indoors. I had to show my vaccine passport to stay at my hotel and again to get back into Ljubjana airport. Restaurants are supposed to check your COVID status, and the Slovenian government uses the slogan PCT (prebolevniki (patient); cepljeni (vaccinated); testirani (tested)) meaning that to sit in a restaurant you must provide proof of one of these. By ‘patient’ they do not mean polite, they mean someone who can prove they have recovered from COVID. However, in a tussle between restaurateurs and local authorities over whose responsibility it was if a person was found in a restaurant without being PCT—the restaurant or the diner—most restaurants have rebelled. In fact, I was not even asked to wear a mask in any restaurant or bar.

I have been working at the university for years holding a series of visiting and honorary positions and was blown away by the offer to make me a Doctor of the University. The ceremony was somewhat attenuated due to Covid restrictions. I was co-presented alongside this year’s candidate Drago Jančar, one of Slovenia’s greatest living authors who belongs to Maribor. He was swamped after the ceremony by people asking him to sign copies of his books which they had brought along. I got the impression that none of them had read my best-selling Anatomy and Physiology for Nurses (now in its 14^th edition). I had to wear a mask for the duration of the graduation, so no pictures of the event will ever see the light of day if I have my way. With the graduation gown and mortar board I looked like Darth Vader.

I was interviewed by Slovenian TV and, of course, asked about the pandemic. I told them that while nurses at the frontline in the UK were busy and had proved their worth, the effort needed to see us through the pandemic will pale into insignificance compared with the effort we will now need to see us through the waiting list for missed investigations and operations already over 5 million and tipped to grow to more than double that.

Slovenia has shaken off most of its Communist past when it was part of Yugoslavia. But there are vestiges such as the impressive array of forms to be signed for expenses, the state regulated system of academic promotions and a tangible inflexibility generally about how things are done. COVID—according to my local colleagues—has had one positive effect. Prior to the pandemic working from home, even for academics, was forbidden. ‘Not in the legislation’ as one colleague expressed it. Lockdown has ended that, and a more flexible system of working has proved effective. It is unlikely they will revert to the old system.

Law in a Time of Crisis by Jonathan Sumption

Jonathan Sumption is a prolific author, a former Supreme Court judge and a respected historian. While some may have known him for the above reasons, few can fail to know him now. He has risen to prominence, despite the best efforts of the BBC and other elements of the mainstream media, due to his frank, articulate and heartfelt opposition to the lockdown policies brought in by the governments and assemblies of the United Kingdom, allegedly to fight the coronavirus. Naturally, the book includes some of these views.

However, this book is about much more than COVID-19. Comprised of 12 chapters, all of which are updated versions of speeches given over the past few years, it is a short and readable collection. Incidentally, none of these are based on his 2019 Reith Lectures. The topics covered are wide but all related to law and the constitution of the United Kingdom and are presented in three sections: 1. History and the Modern World; 2. Law: Conceptions and Misconceptions; and 3. The Constitution: Towards an Uncertain Future.

In the first section he considers the trend towards apologising for our history, the influence of Magna Carta, state secrets and independence for the four entities of our increasingly disunited kingdom. In the ‘Historian as judge’, and Sumption is both, he displays his grasp of both history and the law. He defends the fact that many judges, according to the journalistic trope, are ‘out of touch with real life’. What is more, the whole legal profession is out of touch and how could it be otherwise? The law, or the speciality of the person practising it, is a finite body of knowledge; ‘real life’ is infinite and impossible to experience in its entirety. On apologising for history, he draws a distinction using the Catholic Church’s reasonable apology for historical abuse of young boys, many of whom and their abusers are still alive, with the issue of Pope John Paul II apologising for The Crusades which is patently ridiculous. It will come as a surprise to many, including some on the other side of the Atlantic, who still display a copy in their National Archives, that Magna Carta is not as influential on our legal system and constitution as commonly held. Frankly, it is a bit of a myth. The chapter on state secrets does not give much away but the chapter on the ‘Disunited Kingdom’ reveals the multiple cases for independence in the United Kingdom, including for England, to be complex to say the least. There is little in common between the three cases for independence for Scotland, Wales and Ireland; the last having been achieved with a few issues remaining to be resolved. His view on single question referendums, such as the one that led to Brexit, is that these are not helpful in settling matters of independence and they completely ignore the consequences.

The most interesting chapter in the second section on ‘Conceptions and Misconceptions’ about law is the opening one on judicial diversity. Sumption’s view, a restatement of the blindingly obvious—to which a great many of the quota mongers seem obviously blind—is that quality simply cannot be sacrificed for mere representativeness. If the latter prevails, the law will suffer, and judgements will be poorer. A chapter on personal injury law and the prospect of abolishing it is an interesting diversion. The case for abolition is based on the premise that, while the statistics on accidents remain relatively static, the number of claims rises ‘inexorably’. Moreover, while there is a moral case for compensation on the grounds of deliberate harm, the same case cannot necessarily be made regarding accidents caused by negligence. In ‘A Question of Taste’, Sumption is at his most entertaining with some amusing examples of how various interpretations of situations can, and do, lead to varying legal outcomes.

I enjoyed every chapter of this relatively short and very readable book. But I would pay the same cover price simply to have the final four chapters collected and published. I think anyone with an interest in Brexit, the United Kingdom constitution and COVID-19 should read this section. Sumption is a proclaimed Remainer yet his ‘Primer for Foreigners’ is one of the most sensitive treatments of the Brexit issue I have read. The Remainers have many reasons for wishing to remain and throw many insults at those who voted for Brexit. But Sumption’s conclusion and lesson for foreigners is that people voted to leave for the simple reason that they wanted to leave. The potential economic consequences were not taken into consideration and Sumption, who exemplifies why, passes no judgement. This is remarkably refreshing and generous. ‘Brexit and the British Constitution’ is a denser consideration of the parliamentary and legal proceedings around Brexit. In the process, Sumption pays a tribute to former Speaker of The House of Commons John Bercow MP on the grounds that he found a way to prevent some of the potential constitutional abuses of both the May and Johnson governments. A fascinating chapter on the British Constitution is very informative. Of course, it is well known that the United Kingdom does not have a written, codified constitution like many other countries, the United States being a prime example. Sumption offers a brilliant defence of the British situation saying that a written constitution deals with yesterday’s problems and lacks the flexibility to deal with tomorrow’s problems.

The final chapter on COVID-19 based on a lecture of the same name: ‘Government by Decree: COVID-19 and the British Constitution’, which is available online, is a masterpiece. The reaction to and management of the coronavirus pandemic by the governments and assemblies of the United Kingdom was based on panic, was not evidence based and does not work. Principally, however, it is an enormous affront to civil liberties, the greatest ever even in wartime. Lord Jonathan Sumption has risen to prominence for his outspokenness on the issue of economic lockdown. This has gained him a following among the lockdown sceptics and, undoubtedly, opprobrium from the COVID-orthodox. Somehow, I doubt either reaction is of much interest to the author. Few are so confident in and able to support their arguments.

Law in a Time of Crisis, Jonathan Sumption, Profile Books, 2020, £16.99