The North Wind Doth Blow

David Willmott

Are we becoming a nation of softies? As predicted by the Met Office, a blanket of snow descended overnight on the South of England, and it continued to snow throughout the next day. The result, utter chaos. The gritting lorries had been out and done a good job, but nevertheless the conditions on the motorways made headline news on the television bulletins. Trains were cancelled or became even more unreliable. Schools throughout Birmingham closed down for two days on the grounds that pupils might fall and injure themselves on the way to school, the staff might not be able to drive in, and the playgrounds would be unusable. Roads became blocked because many motorists, unfamiliar with driving in snow, panicked and left their cars in the middle of the highway. Businesses either closed or told their staff to “work at home”.

After trudging into the centre of town with the snow up to the tops of my wellingtons I found the local branch of the Natwest bank closed “because of the inclement weather.”, and even that centre of gossip and non-smoking conviviality the Caffe Nero hadn’t opened its doors. On the other hand, the town seemed full of school children enjoying their new-found freedom and the chance to throw missiles at one another without risking getting an ASBO.

What caused this state of affairs? Was it because a heavy fall of snow is such a rarity? Are the winters not as cold as they were?

Looking back on my own schooldays, I can remember walking to school through deep snow kitted out with woollen gloves, scarf and a balaclava (hoods hadn’t been invented then), stopping off now and again to scrape the snow from the top of a hedge to make a snowball, and scrambling over the piles of snow pushed to the side of the road by the council’s snow plough.

Once in school, wet clothes were hung from the hot pipes to steam and lessons were as normal. When it was break time the contest was on to see which form could produce the longest and slipperiest slide in the playground. We queued up to take our turn going down the slide. Some fell over and were pushed to one side, and a great cheer went up when “Miss” hoisted her skirts to join in the fun. Building a snowman was another “must” in the school playground, with lumps of coke filched from the boiler room for his eyes and mouth, a twig of wood for his pipe, and the inevitable carrot from the school kitchen for his nose.

Even in those halcyon days the snow didn’t last for ever. The snowman diminished in size before falling over, the slides turned into streams of water, and only the gritty piles of snow at the roadside remained. I was always cheered by my mother’s old saying, “If there’s still snow on the ground it’s waiting for more to come.” Do the present generation hope there’s more snow to come? Maybe there’s a surprise in store for them. After the great snow of 1947 came the floods, and our school was closed for six weeks!