Dear Prime Minister,
My grandmother voted Conservative all her adult life. She had faith and trust in the Conservative Party.
She started work the day after World War Two was declared, survived the Coventry Blitz, which sought to destroy the Alvis factories where she was involved in top secret war work as a tracer and draughtswoman, and volunteered for the city’s Auxiliary Fire Service for the rest of hostilities.
Then she set about raising a family, including me from a baby, with my grandfather, who was an RAF pilot, initially on Lancasters before Spitfires and Mustangs. They were my parents, to all intents and purposes.
They served their country. They believed in their country. They worked hard. They asked for nothing.
My grandmother voted Conservative in the last general election, despite being in an end of life care home.
My last ‘conversation’ with her was the morning of Christmas Day, 2020, when she told me how much she loved me as a son, and how much my family meant to her. Because she was hard of hearing she never got to hear me tell her how she meant to me, to us.
Seven days later she died.
How much a hug, a gentle squeeze of the hand would have meant. Actions that speak louder than words. The international language of love. But we weren’t allowed to be anywhere near her. We kept to the rules, like we were asked to. We always kept to the rules, just as my grandparents had done.
I didn’t see my grandmother from March 2020. She died, horribly alone, horribly unhappy, without any of her family present – the family that she adored so much.
Phone calls were next to useless because of her hearing problems. She was 95, so Skype or other video conferencing calls would never have worked.
She died the way she would have hated to die. With none of the people she loved or who loved her by her side to take even a little bit of the pain away, to offer that last experience of love and peace.
And you stand there and bluster, obfuscate and trot out lines in Prime Minister’s Question Time that anger and hurt. Have you any dignity, having robbed others of theirs? Why can’t you just be honest? Why is it that ministers in your government seem to want to try to mislead the public at every turn, or, as we see with Jacob Rees-Mogg and your own staff, joke about parties and social distancing. As PM you’re supposed to lead the country, for the country, for its people. At a time when we need leadership, you’ve been found wanting.
In fact, instead of leading, it appears you are much better at misleading. I will mention that truth and honesty meant a lot to my grandparents, especially from those in positions of power. Need I mention how you brushed off the Jennifer Arcuri affair and what subsequently came to light? What about the Electoral Commission’s findings about your flat at Downing Street? As you should be well aware there are many other examples during your premiership.
All that is bad enough, but this episode and your careful use of words to dodge any responsibility is the final straw for me. I think if my grandmother were alive to see this, it would be enough for her to regret voting Conservative. Her faith and trust would have been shattered completely.
This year, because of Covid regulations, we weren’t able to say goodbye to my wife’s grandmother, when her suffering ended. I wonder if you truly understand how important it is for people to be there for their loved ones when they are dying?
My best friend died of cancer and I never got the chance to see him again and say goodbye properly. At least by then, his wife and son and his partner were able to be with him.
The hurt runs deep.
And with every passing day and revelation, it seems you and your government are trampling that hurt in the ground, smiling, laughing and joking. The iniquity of it has had me in tears.
I’m horrified and appalled at the reality of my country today. I’m just glad my grandparents never got to see how woeful it all is. You’ve lost one vote with my grandmother’s passing and there is nothing in heaven or earth that will ever get me to vote Conservative again.
I, for one, will never forget.
Mark Forster
mark a forster 