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Tomorrow Will Be A Brighter Day

Brighter days are on the horizon

By Reija SillanpaaPublished 4 years ago 8 min read
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And tomorrow's gonna be a brighter day

There's gonna be some changes

Tomorrow's gonna be a brighter day

This time you can believe me

No more cryin' in your lonely room

And no more empty nights

'Cause tomorrow mornin' everything will turn out right

- Jim Groce -

As I replay the announcement again and again, the chorus of Jim Groce's song 'Tomorrow's Gonna Be A Brigther Day' starts playing in my head. For weeks the signs have been in the air and now, at last, we can believe in a brighter tomorrow.

I am crying and my partner's, too. I look at him as we stand hand in hand in front of the TV, replaying the Prime Minister's words once more. The balcony door is wide opened and suddenly the world outside erupts. Everyone is pouring out onto their balconies with pots and pans and whistles. A cacophany of sounds fills the square, the claking of wooden spoons on pots and pans, the earpiercing whistles.

I have bought a bottle of champagne for this moment and bring it out on the balcony. My hands shake too much and I hand the bottle to my partner, Justin. He pops the bottle open and pours the flowing champagne straight into his mouth and mine before filling our classes. I laugh and splutter as we chink our glasses. Others have had the same idea and we toast and cheer across the balconies. Someone blasts out Vera Lynn's We'll Meet Again from their speakers and we join our voices in a song that has once again become symbolic during the pandemic.

As the night descends and the temperature drops, we retreat back indoors. It is late but we are buzzing too much to sleep. We watch the TV as news come in of spontaneous end-of-lockdown parties around the globe.

We must have fallen asleep in front of the TV. I wake up to the sunlight pouring in through the blinds. For a moment I just lay there with my eyes closed thinking about the wonderful dream I had. If only. But the TV is still on and then the news penetrate my mind. I open my eyes. I look at the TV where the parties around the world are still going on. And I realise it wasn’t a dream. It was the beautiful, glorious reality.

I sit up and notice Justin’s awake, too. Like lunatics just released from the asylum, we grin at each other. We don’t need words, we know we have to go out and experience the world without lockdown. I jump in the shower first and while Justin has his, I do my makeup. The first full on makeup since the lockdown began. I even put on some dangling earrings and then we are ready to head out.

The sun is already high and the sky is clear when we head towards town. The universe is smiling.

I have dreamt of a pub breakfast for several months and we head over the River Thames to one of our favourite pubs, The Morpeth Arms. 

The place is full of punters and we have to wait awhile for a table, but that’s ok. We revel in the proximity of other people and our drinks come with an endless party atmosphere. I overhear one of the old regulars saying that it all reminds him of the end of the war.

And it is like the end of a war. We have beaten a common enemy, but it has come at a high price. Many people have lost loved ones and others their livelihoods. The pain and sorrow will be with us for a long time, but there will be time to mourn the losses later. A time to dissect the decisions made and maybe heads will roll. But not today. Today we celebrate.

We get a table and order our breakfast. I opt for the vegetarian option but Justin goes for the full Monty: pork, pink peppercorn & fennel sausage, smoked back bacon, fried hens’ eggs, Portabella mushroom, tomato, baked beans, black pudding, hash brown and toast.

By Elle May on Unsplash

Oh, the glory of eating food cooked by someone else. And sitting down to eat it somewhere that is not your kitchen table. All around us people are laughing and tears mingle with the smiles as families and friends reunite.

We vacate our table to make space for others still waiting to eat. The customers are spilling out onto the street and the bar staff are run off their feet. But they don’t care; the manager tells us how amazing it is to see his pub bursting out of its seams again.

We wonder up Millbank to Westminster. The square opposite the Parliament is packed with people drinking and eating picnics and no one is stopping them. Someone has brought along a portable speaker and the powerful voice of Freddie Mercurie booms out of them. Don't Stop Me Know, he sings.

As we walk up Whitehall, the crowd thickens. Everyone is heading to Trafalgar Square. We float along with the throngs of people. The noise greets us before we see the square. It is like Nottinghill Carnival and Pride had joined forces. Like the whole of London had come out and met at Trafalgar Square.

Dozens of people have conquered the lions guarding the square, and dozens more are splashing around in the fountain. We see a couple of coppers talking to the revellers. One of them has received a chain of poppies and the other one is sporting a feather boa and has a lip print on his cheek. A group of workmen is erecting a stage ready for the party later.

Leaving Trafalgar Square - but not the crowds - behind, we head into Soho. First stop: Norman’s Coach and Horses. We squeeze ourselves into the pub and queue for the bar. Baz and Dave are already here; today’s sing-a-long has started early.

We savour our pints - they taste amazing after months of canned or bottled lagers - and join in the singing. I can tell already that my voice will be gone before the day is over. The song that raises the roof is an old classic by Davy Jones. Not sure I would call the noise created by our joint voices singing, but everyone is loving it.

From there we make our way to see if another Soho institute has survived the lockdown. The French House has been serving drinkers in Soho for 129 years and survived two wars. I’m hoping that it has survived the pandemic, too. And it has. This tiny stalwart of Soho serving only half pints (except on April Fool’s Day) has pulled it through.

We wade our way to the bar and get our half pints. Two each so we don’t have to stand again in the queue moments later. I’m feeling hungry again and suggest we head over to Bodean’s after these.

On the way, we pick up some beers from an off licence in case we have to queue. When we get to the restaurant, I’m glad we got some drinks to sustain us: the queue snakes around the corner.

We all have done our fair share of queuing during the lockdown months, but this is different. Now there are no social distancing measures. No longer do we need to stand two meters apart. The queue meanders forward and we chat with the people in front and behind us. We compare our lockdown experiences, talk about returning to work and discuss plans to go away.

We have been so busy talking that we are surprised to find ourselves at the door. The mouthwatering smell of ribs drifts out and my stomach growls. I can’t wait to tuck into their melt-in-the-mouth ribs. I save eating meat to special occasions and this is definitely one. A special occasion like no other.

With our bellies full to bursting, we roll out of the restaurant. We decide to cycle over to see Justin’s mum and her partner. We get some Santander bikes and weave our way slowly through town. There are people everywhere and as we leave central London behind, we discover street parties popping up on almost every street.

We hug and cry when Justin’s mum opens the door. Having picked up some sparkling wine, we crack open the bottle and toast the end of lockdown. Hours pass like minutes as we catch up face to face for the first time in months. Before too long it is time to head back out again and we leave with promises to come back tomorrow for a barbeque. She’s getting everyone together.

We head back into town and to Trafalgar Square. The stage is set and the first act is already in full swing. An act after another takes centre stage, each one greeted with deafening cheers and whistles. But the noise has been nothing so far. It explodes when Michael Ball enters the stage with a choir of NHS staff and Captain Tom Moore himself joins him via a video link. The war veteran who symbolised the spirit of lockdown with his fundraiser. 

The thousands of people lift their voices to join in the song and I could vouch for there not being a single dry eye in the crowd. At the end of the song, fireworks illuminate the darkened sky. Once fireworks fade, the stage lights switch off and the crowds disperse. 

We head home, too. Today has been a brighter day. The first of many brighter days to come. 

The French House is looking for help to survive the lock down. If you wish to support this Soho institution, click the link below.

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You can also follow me on Instagram for updates on new articles, short stories and the progress of my debut novel.

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About the Creator

Reija Sillanpaa

A wise person said, "Be your own audience". Therefore, I write fiction, poetry and about matters important and interesting to me. That said, I warmly welcome you into my audience.

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