Link across the divide

From one house to the house opposite. Two people agreeing to work together to achieve something that neither could do alone. Simple.
 
I cycled under this on my way to our choir’s last concert before the holidays. Our choir is joyously European. We sing with choirs in Grenoble and Bonn, sometimes accompanied by the youth orchestra from Leiden. Many of us speak other European languages. Some of us were born outside the UK and have non-UK passports. The music we sing is written by foreigners (Monteverdi, Bach, Bruckner, Fauré,  Dvořák …), immigrants (Handel) or natives (Elgar, Rutter...) in symbols that transcend language.
 
When I arrived I saw Uschi chatting with our accompanist. Without thinking I said to Uschi, ‘You are welcome in my country’. Her eyes filled with tears.
 
Mine did too.
 
Uschi has lived in the UK for 32 years and speaks excellent English. She told me that when she woke and heard the news on Friday her immediate thought was, ‘Where can I go?’ The flight instinct. She thought about her daughters living outside the UK and imagined them having to apply for a visa to see their mum.
 
Uschi doesn’t know what her neighbours voted nor whether they want her to stay or go. None of them has spoken to her since Thursday. Is that because it hasn’t occurred to them to reach out or because they don’t want to?
 
Uschi is now living in a country where what happened on Thursday has legitimised xenophobia. The ground is full of holes and it seems like the people around haven’t noticed. Where can she step? What she thought she knew has gone and no-one seems to have any idea that she feels alone, lonely, bereft, isolated, lost.
 
Uschi is listening to Beethoven’s Ode to Joy on repeat: Alle Menschen werden Brüder – all people become brothers. It’s the EU international anthem. It’s the only thing that makes sense at the moment.
 
Let’s listen to it with her, eh?