There's Snow

There is a common, popular misconception that Australia has only one weather pattern, and that is—hot. It's not true, of course. You don't get a land mass only slightly smaller than that of the USA without having variations in the weather. The northernmost tip of Australia is eleven degrees below the equator, while the southernmost tip is looking across the waves to Antarctica.

Snow has been known to fall in Australia.  There are even popular ski resorts in the Kosciusko Mountains, which are close to the New South Wales-Victoria border.  This is nowhere near Far North Queensland, or Papua New Guinea, which is where I grew up. So no, I never saw snow in Australia.

I'd heard about it, of course. All our Christmas Cards showed snowy scenes with holly berries and Santa's sleigh. Still do, as far as I can tell.

So my first experience of snow happened when I was en route from Australia to the UK in 1966, doing what was then a very Aussie thing to do called 'working my way' there.  Myself and my friend Kathy had travelled from Sydney to Piraeus in an ancient Greek passenger ship (you would never have called it a 'cruise' ship, believe me). After six weeks in Athens and Crete failing to find work, we hopped on a train to Vienna where we quickly found jobs as au pairs. Kathy's family had a lovely, huge, historic apartment in the city centre, mine was in a modern house in Sievering, a suburb on the outskirts which had been, until recently, a village surrounded by vineyards.

We arrived in mid-August, and it was a day in late November when winter arrived. Snow was forecast, so Kathy and I arranged to meet in town to greet it together. It was one of those shopping squares with a statue—I'm pretty sure it was Joseph Haydn—which we were strolling through when the first flakes began to float around us as if from nowhere.

If you grew up with snow, you probably have memories of dancing around and trying to catch the snowflakes. You probably remember the joy that seems to bubble up from your insides at the sheer amazement of how magical it appears to be. Well, I'm here to tell you, it has nothing to do with childhood.  We were both in our early twenties, and we danced, and we laughed, and we jumped up and down, and we tried and failed to create even one snowball, but who cared, we tried.

Sievering in the snow

The next morning, I woke up earlier than usual in my tiny au pair bedroom in Sievering. There was that unearthly light that glowed beyond the blinds. There was that strange silence. I tipped the side of the blind away, and saw the deep, thick blanket of pure white snow that covered absolutely everything.  The house was completely quiet, so I dressed with as many layers as I could manage, crept down to the front door, slipped my feet into my boss’s winter boots and borrowed her coat and let myself out. Carefully I placed my feet, one after the other, into the shin deep snow, until I was out of the gate. Fabulous.  Then I had an idea. Carefully, I walked backwards into my own footprints, back to the front door.  I was back in my bedroom for about half an hour before the children woke up, so I helped them to dress and we trooped downstairs for breakfast. Then they realised there was snow, so they rushed to open the door—and stopped in their tracks.

Such a simple thing. But oh, I still enjoy the memory. Young master "I'm Four Years Old and I Know Everything", in a hushed voice, saying: "Someone went out.  And they never came back!"

There's Snow!
There's no accounting for it
There's no way to explain it
There's no point in denying it
There's no excuse for ignoring it

There's no reason to destroy it
There's no time to lose it
If you want to enjoy it— 

Get out there and use it!

Thanks for reading, Flloyd.