What a difference a few years makes. Back in 1947 we had a real winter. Snow and freezing temperatures lasted for ages. Those were real austerity times, food rationing, power cuts every day to conserve coal, clothing was still rationed, nobody had central heating and most had outside lavatories, even the BBC was cut off during the afternoons to save energy. It was enormous fun. I could not wait to get out with my sledge and the chance of a snowball fight.
We all turned up at school where our daily bottle of milk was frozen. Sometimes the electric heater was enough to thaw it out before break. Come break we divided up for a massive snowball fight. Watching the trams spray snow from their tracks was fun and I remember the beauty of the streetlights glistening on the snow crystals.
Now it is different. I have no urge to go out but I have to make trips to the woodshed for logs for the fire. I sit and think how wise I was to get the loft and walls insulated and how lucky that the boiler broke this summer and we have a new, more powerful, one. How fortunate that my wife bought me a new pair of warm slippers. A glance through the window is enough to evoke shivers.
Spirit of Youth
On the other hand, isn’t it nice, this soft white stuff? We don’t get it often. Wouldn’t it be fun to scuff along in wellie boots kicking it up ahead of us?
Isn’t Chandler’s Ford quiet, gentle and beautiful in its white blanket. The veils of snow blowing in the wind must be experienced. What happened to my toboggan? I think I must go to see the grandchildren and borrow theirs.