Peter Rhodes on the tumbling of a wall, the dangers of religion and meeting a literary giant

Nobody expected the Berlin Wall to come down on November 9, 1989. There was some confusion at a routine press conference and an official suggested that travel rules might be relaxed that very night. The rest is history. Vast crowds descended on the Wall, guards stood aside and the wrecking of the hated masonry began. That was a joyous event. But the fall of the Berlin Wall is also a lesson from history we should heed today.

It is a lesson in human nature. Once an idea takes root, things develop their own momentum. Today, the idea is growing that the coronavirus lockdown is almost over. That is not the Government's intention but, as ending lockdown is tentatively discussed, don't be surprised if the roads start filling with traffic , the parks with sunbathers and the backstreets with barbecue parties. The Berlin Wall came down in the days before social media. Throw Facebook and WhatsApp into the virus equation and who knows how quickly fake news such as “Lockdown ends tonight” might spread?

Scariest of all, the churches, chapels, mosques and temples may open their doors too soon. People have been far too polite about the role played in this pandemic by organised religion. Nothing spreads a virus quite like a big crowd in an enclosed space, all praying or singing. You might as well stick your face in a Covid-19 ward and inhale deeply. One 59-year-old worshipper told the Moscow Times: “The churches must not be closed. God sees all and will protect worshippers.”

The Government is now in a lose-lose position. If it continues the lockdown it trashes the economy. If it relaxes the lockdown, the Government exposes itself to headlines on the lines of “Boris Killed My Wife.”

This is probably the most important political decision since the declaration of war on Germany in 1939. If I were Boris Johnson I would make sure no decision went ahead without the support of at least 75 per cent of all MPs. That should produce the right decision and also silence the hindsight brigade, some of whom seem positively to rejoice at the vast number of fatalities, because it gives them a bigger mallet to whack the Government. Ignoble is the word.

This Saturday should have seen the annual Shakespeare Festival at Stratford. Thanks to the virus, it has been cancelled, so we have only memories of the festivals of yore. Back in the days when I was a district reporter in Stratford, I was invited to the luncheon, a grand affair in a huge marquee where tickets seemed to be distributed randomly. I found myself sitting next to a cheerful little Yorkshireman. Two Tykes together, we chatted merrily through lunch. It was only later that I realised he was J B Priestley.