Snow

We stepped out into sharp-edged, driving snow and sleet that sliced through the exposed parts of my face and froze my fingers to agonising clumps of pain. Would I have gone out in such weather if the dog hadn't needed his daily run? Of course not, but somehow, no matter how uninviting it looks from indoors, it's usually a pleasure to be out. And today was no exception, what with my proper winter clothes for the most part keeping out the wind's harsh chill. Hugo is only getting one proper walk a day at the moment. He gets taken out another three times but only on the lead. Needs must, for both of us, as the gloom settles so early. So he really gallops when he is set free, and today he charged across our field, leapt the wide ditch into the bottom field, and flew after a large flock of fieldfares that were trying to get some nourishment from the inches-high winter wheat. He didn't get anywhere near them, but boy was he exhilarated by the effort. When he came back to me I praised him for being such a good little man, and he danced around me with glee.

As my hands began to freeze I remembered with awe and horror the winter of 1962/63, the coldest on record for centuries, when my daily journey to school took on epic proportions. As the crow flies, Potton is not that far from Letchworth, and even by car it's a straightforward run. But rely on buses and trains to get between the two, and it's a different story. Our uniform was hopelessly inadequate to keep us warm: a thin gaberdine coat, knee-length socks and a velour hat were all that protected us from the cold. We left school early that winter to catch the bus that met the train, but then came a long wait in another station for our connecting train to Potton. I'll never forget that station, or its waiting room, always empty apart from us. Every night we shivered and moaned, huddled over a paltry stove that gave out almost no heat. We were chilled to the bone, miserable, tired. When finally we reached Potton we had a mile-long trudge through snowdrifts and driving snow to reach home. Our shoes would be soaked, every part of us aching with the cold. It's no wonder that I have never been able to take my privileged life for granted, or that I think of people forced to live in conditions like these while I hunker down in the warmth. There but for the .....

This hasn't been my first trip down memory lane as winter properly descends on us. The days can seem long when gardening is off the agenda, and there's time to think and remember. But my little black boy brings me back to the here and now. He wants a cuddle, and it won't wait. Now that's better.