Global Lock-Down: 3 Creative Responses

Inspired by the images in Tori Toh's article, Silent Cities, which shows the impact of Lock-down on cities across the globe (see Tony Hicks' images of Old Portsmouth in Lock-down here), Year 9 pupils have written evocative pieces, describing some of these cities (before and after). 

(image: Tony Hicks)

Francesca Ashton (New York City, USA)

The noise of the busy, bustling streets is so loud that you can hardly hear yourself think, let alone speak to anyone. In the morning, it is full with people on their way to work, heads down against the hustle of other workers. At lunch, these same people head out of the towering office blocks for their lunch break, either chatting with coworkers, or with solemn faces from a bad morning. This is when it’s at its loudest. The shops are all blaring music at deafening levels, and the electronic billboards are flashing with ads that no one really takes into account. And don’t forget the noise of the traffic. Yellow cabs honking whenever the slightest issue comes up, and city cars thinking they own the streets. And then, later on in the afternoon, it’s time to go home. If it’s raining, men with briefcases run awkwardly with them above their heads, and women in pencil skirts totter uncannily in their high heels back home. But that’s not it. On Fridays, the night time is full of city life. The clubs buzz with excitement, as tired workers, fed up from a tiring week in their subdued office blocks flood the pavements energetically, impatient to squeeze into a cramped room with random strangers. And, of course, this ecstatic noise that stops everyone from getting to sleep, continues until approximately 2am, when the same people, now heavily intoxicated, stumble out the same doors they entered, just a few hours ago, then a bit more capable, but a lot less relaxed into the street, not quite knowing how on earth to get home. Then, there are about 3 hours of calm in which to get your well earned rest before the hustle and bustle of New York City begins again.

*

It’s never been this quiet. The once cramped pavements are now completely desolate, with the occasional car rolling slowly down the road. The once lively, buzzing shops all now have large CLOSED signs solemnly hanging in their empty windows. The cafés, which once were filled with eager young workers on their laptops are left only with the lingering smell of coffee in the air. Usually, there’s an oddly large queue to get into the cinema at the end of the street, but now, only the remains of a popcorn bag flutter in the breeze. The billboards, which once displayed vibrant advertisements, now only display dull government warnings, like STAY AT HOME, SAVE LIVES. Not entirely sure who they’re aimed at - there’s no one in the streets.

Cara Hutcheson  (Seoul, South Korea)

A flurry of people rush past, leaving in their stead a blur of colour. The street vendors begin their daily toil as the concrete is brought to life by the chatter of school children and adults alike starting off their day. Steam rises up from a wok and brightens up the early morning clouds. A medley of aromatic fragrances flood the passerby, persuading them to take bite. In the distance a grand temple sprawls across the horizon, full of tourists and locals alike reminiscing in the history it holds. A constant buzz of cars and clamour can always be heard. Luminescent orange lanterns welcome the newcomer to the hubbub of street markets and exotic delicacies. Rickety chairs accommodate the daily breakfasts and catch ups of the hundreds that pass through each day. Every one has somewhere to go.

* 

There is a suffocating silence that fills the air. All the windows are boarded up, curtains drawn. Some street vendors still wait at their stalls, fanning the themselves in the lack of business. Others have long gone and leave empty stands and empty chairs. The occasional person peruses through the cobble, breathing heavily through some cloth, but scampers off quickly. Leaves fall to the ground and the woks lay cold, with nothing to cook for. The wind brushes through the alleyway, bringing with it a chill that can no longer be combatted by the warm laughs of the working class. A foreclosure notice is strewn upon a stand, its bright red paint peeling off as the owner packs up the hundreds of chopsticks that he would usually get through in a day. He turns to his fellow shopkeepers to wish them a last goodbye, but no one greets him, the few left don't return his gaze. The loud is a welcome absence to some, but to most it is nothing good. A small child of about 5 peers out the crack of the barred up window, he looks out longingly at all of his favourite things and turns away with a scalding from his mother. The chairs sit empty, without a purpose and the day grows dimmer.

Eleanor Pritchard (Sydney, Australia)

Blinding sunlight pours down from the azure sky, reflecting off the smooth, curved walls. Crowds of people: tourists, locals and more tourists, all shouting over each other trying to be heard. Smells of family picnics, burnt pizza and curry waft through the air, the mixture of smells are as chaotic as the people themselves, running into each other, trying to find the lost member of their family. The sea is calm - the waves bounce rhythmically and a few people, often alone watch them transfixed, alone in their thoughts. They are hard to find, the overwhelming sea of people causes them to disappear.

* 

Empty. The streets, the buildings - everything. No one is there to marvel at how the sea and the sky are the same deep blue. No one is there to laugh at the seagull that struts and dances around, wobbling slightly on his paper thin legs. No one is there to ruin the distinctive salty smell you can only find at the sea. The Opera house looks amazing, isolated on the edge of the city, the only person there to witness it, glances up for a moment, but scuttles away, panicked. A lonely building, surrounded in a lost city.