Blizzard - The Postie Stone, Moffat

The Postie Stone (i)

How exciting it would be to become snowed in when we have our pre-Christmas break at our favourite lodge in Dumfries & Galloway. I think of this every November into December, when we spend a couple of weeks there, wrapped around my birthday, to do some Christmas shopping in the fabulous, privately owned individual shops. In anticipation of having to stay until March, unless a tractor from the farm comes along to rescue us, I take a supply of ‘emergency’ tinned food and packets, and stock up aplenty on arrival.  This time, it nearly happened. It was our last morning, the day we were leaving. Snow was about eight inches deep and still falling thick and fast. A huge mound shaped over and around our car so it looked like an igloo. We never have snow at home, not like this proper ‘build a snowman’ stuff and we stood in awe gazing at the most amazing landscape through the window.

One day, we went to Moffat, an enchanting market town north of Dumfries. We’ve been before and enjoy a stroll along the high street, seeing what the shops have and this visit was pretty with festive lights and shop windows trimmed for Christmas. It was a cold but calm, sunny day and for me, a wander into the Old Graveyard was appealing. John Loudon McAdam, of tarmac fame is buried there, also are the graves of James McGeorge and John Goodfellow. They were enroute to Edinburgh from Dumfries with postal deliveries when they were caught in a blizzard and died. 

The Postie Stone (ii) Detail

Taken from Atlas Obscurer –
“A roadside memorial commemorates the lives of John Goodfellow, the coach driver, and James McGeorge, the coach guard of a mail coach.

The pair were on a mail coach traveling from Dumfries to Edinburgh in February 1831. They became caught in a fierce blizzard which forced them to abandon the coach and set off on foot through the snow to try and deliver the mail and make it to safety.

They took the mailbags and horses but eventually, the men were overcome by the elements and died of exposure near the head of Cross Burn. The horses continued on, eventually reaching a nearby farm which raised the alarm.

The stone was erected in their memory in 1931, a century after the event. The men were laid to rest in the churchyard in nearby Moffat.”

(A full account of this can be found online, titled The Coaching Disaster.)

Such a sad story and I thought of them again as I watched the falling snow on our journey home. All was well until we were driving into Cumbria and coming over Shap. Late afternoon and it was going dark, the snow clouds were low and visibility was poor. The blizzard soon reduced the motorway from three to two lanes and traffic slowed accordingly. We were grateful to arrive home unscathed because soon after we heard about abandoned cars in Cumbria and jack-knifed wagons on the M6.

Being snowed in at the lodge would have been cosy, though, in my fantasy world.

 During my childhood, age 8 to 9, we lived in Padfield, near Glossop in what became one of dad’s favourite pubs and B&B to manage. We got snowed in, which still happens up there. The village was cut off for days and I remember my mum helping the neighbours out with food where she could.  School stayed open, which meant the fun of snowball fights on the walk down and up again. All the teachers – there was only four of them – lived near the school so it wasn’t likely to be closed and we were allowed to play out in the snow. Times have changed. If the travel news should mention The Snake Pass or Woodhead Road being closed due to snow I think ‘That’s Padfield cut off, then’. Fond memories.

Leaving the Lodge

Emily Bronte passed away on this day in 1848. This is one of her poems. It reminds me of Wuthering Heights as I imagine a blizzard over the moors.

The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow,
The storm is fast descending
And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing drear can move me;
I will not, cannot go.

             Emily Jane Bronte 1818 – 1848

Thanks for reading. A Merry Christmas to all, Pam x                                        

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Hot and Cold

How lovely it was to spent time in a warm and cosy lodge gazing out on to a wintry landscape. It was very cold outside, definitely hat, scarf and gloves needed even for a quick nip out to feed the birds. Coming back inside to a welcome hot drink was a perfect reward and I would sip it while watching for the birds to notice the replenished feeders. Being prepared for any amount of snow, ice or blizzard, we were stocked up with extra food and provisions, but coastal Dumfries and Galloway has its own micro climate and despite the minus degrees temperature most of the time, we had sunshine and blue skies every day and the local roads remained passable. We saw a fine layer of snow at Galloway Forest Park on one of our adventures. Of course, all good things come to an end and after a couple of restful weeks we were driving home for Christmas – go on, sing – through patches of freezing fog on the M6 with the snowy Cumbrian hills looking majestic in the clear bits. Family and festivities beckoned in Blackpool.

I was nine years old when my family’s second move to Blackpool became our permanent one. Dad’s wished for ‘pub on the prom’ was our home. My sister was still in a cot and we shared a big bedroom right at the front with an amazing sea view. The place was just a pub with three separate bars, but was originally a residential hotel. There were many nooks and crannies to explore but what fascinated me was the wash-basin in our room. It was fixed to the wall in the corner with a frame fastened to the floor on a square of lino. The frame provided a small towel rail. The taps were labelled ‘Hot’ and ‘Cold’. Mum and Dad’s room had one and so did another bedroom that was right next to the bathroom. At the time I thought that was hilarious. Our kitchen was miles away on another corridor. This wing had more bedrooms with wash-basins, which accommodated grandparents on their visits. The two floors above were out of bounds to me, but I had dared to have a peep and decided that whatever was up the curtained stairs was far too scary. Fast forward a few years to teenage and some of us did go off exploring. Very creepy.

A recent adventure was ‘Two Go Off in a Caravan’. This is our retirement asset to enable us to take off where we want and when we want to, within reason, while we can. We got it at the beginning of November, intending to have a couple of short trips in it before packing it away for the winter and before we disappeared to Scotland. In the end we only managed one weekend away, but it was good fun and a learning curve. On the second day, we, well ok, not me, figured out ‘hot and cold running water’ which was bliss to wash up without boiling the kettle. I expect we will have forgotten what we’ve learnt by the time spring comes, though we’ve made notes.

I found this from a Scottish poet, Alan Jackson,

The Three

In the depth of winter
In the dark of night
There was only one house,
Only one light.

I walked down the path,
I knocked on the door.
I do not think
I’d been there before.

Music and light,
Three smiling faces.
I was by the fire
In seven paces.

Oh what a blossom
Oh what a feel!
They showed me a seat;
I joined in their meal.

After we’d eaten
We cleared out the things;
‘One of us plays,
One of us sings,

One of us dances.’
‘Then I will too,’
I laughed and looked,
‘I’ll dance with you.’

The stars in the window,
The birds in the trees,
The fire in the chimney,
We were all these.

The sun in the morning,
The moon on its way,
Roses and silver,
Nothing was gray.

A rich deep blue,
A scarlet bloom,
Like living liquids,
Filled the room.

Then we sat down
And talked till dawn.
Our eyes were shining.
We could not yawn.

‘Where were you going?’
‘Coming to you.’
‘But you didn’t know.’
‘Of course, I knew.

I know what is
And what is not.
I know the cold,
I know the hot

I know what quickens,
I know what kills;
I know what drains;
I know what fills

When I couldn’t see
I followed my nose.
When I couldn’t hear
I followed my toes.’

‘Then many a bump
And many a smack
I expect you got
On such a track.’

‘I certainly did.
I’m covered in bruises.’
‘You’re not, you know.
Who wins, loses.

You are human
And we’re pleased
That you found us,
Though we teased,

But you must go
You cannot stay;
Soon it will be
Another day.

And you are called
Back to your place:
Great is the work
Of the human race.

Now, don’t be sad.
You won’t forget.
And we are there
In dry and wet;

In hot and cold,
Dull and shine,
In wither and bloom’
You’ll see our sign.

Whenever you look
With light in your eyes
You’ll almost see,
And hear our cries.’

The house was fading,
The fire was gone;
It was the earth
I was standing on.

‘Goodbye goodbye,
True hearts can’t fail!
Goodbye, goodbye,
Green is the trail!’

It was very cold
And rosy blue
I heard the cock
A doodle do.

I saw some smoke
And birds in trees
I heard their laughter
In the breeze.

I wasn’t sad
For I understood
My friends were alive
In water and wood.

A wonderful fire
Flamed through my heart.
I’d walking to do;
I made a start.

Alan Jackson, b 1938

Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

 

 

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Cracked - Ice

Feeling warm and comfortable in our favourite Dumfries & Galloway lodge, we looked out on to the wintry landscape that surrounded us. It was mid-morning and the temperature was slowly rising as weak sunshine was breaking through grey cloud. Earlier, at -7 degrees, we decided to stay put and have a restful day. Tomorrow’s weather sounded less severe. I had to venture outside. My birdfeeders needed filling and a breath of fresh air would be welcome, even icy air. Wrapped up, wellington boots on and bird seed to hand, I stepped outside, calling back to say that the veranda was slippy. Not that my husband was coming outside with me, too risky. Ice on the steps cracked beneath my feet. It was clear and shiny where water had dripped from the edge of the roof. I was extra careful. The car was iced over, sheltered under trees and away from any sunlight. A couple of steps and I was on the grass, feeling safe with a crisp crunch of frost beneath my feet. The bird feeders were dotted about, some on a tree, others half hidden in a well-established rhododendron. For reasons I couldn’t work out, the birds were ignoring the fat balls in preference for the seed mixture. On previous visits it had often been the other way round. I went to the tree last, minding my gloved fingers over the cracked bit of branch as I reached a little higher to the seed holder. Job done, I wandered along to the gate to see if any horses were in the meadow on the other side. They were further up, towards the hill and just a solitary pheasant nodded along. How beautiful they are, so colourful. Turning back towards the lodge, I walked round to where a narrow stream trickled towards a reed bed and warned the neighbourhood cat to leave ‘my’ birds alone. Nearby, a few robins were squabbling and hopping about, much to my amusement. Disturbed by my presence, they took flight into the pine trees. They made me smile and raised my heavy heart. Following an emergency incident at frozen water in Solihull, some children had fallen through the ice. They were rescued, but three of them later died. So sad. They were probably just playing and didn’t realise what danger they were in. Children. Christmas time. Heartbreaking.

My Haiku,

Children playing out,
Fun in the winter landscape
Until the ice cracked.

Thanks for reading, Pam x

Photo is the view from the lodge.

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Water - Deluge

There was more rain than usual on our recent visit to Dumfries and Galloway. It doesn’t bother us, after all, rain away is better than rain at home. Driving along the east side of Galloway Forest, following Loch Ken, we noticed how high the water was, almost lapping the road in low places. The nearby waterfalls rushed faster than ever, tumbling over rocks, cascading between trees and roaring under the bridge into the Loch. It was a beautiful sight in the winter landscape of fading autumn colour and another reason to love spending time in this enchanting area.

Further south, Galgate, Lancaster, Hornby and the Lune Valley were being subjected to serious flooding.  We saw the devastation on the news. Homes and businesses damaged. Roads becoming rivers in a very short time. Pictures closer to home showed Bispham and North Blackpool badly affected, streets we recognised succumbed to the deluge.  I was saddened to learn of someone who lost everything, bungalow damaged, possessions ruined, no insurance but fortunately a caring, loving family to give help and accommodation.

     As I admired the waterfall and the rising loch, unbeknown to me, others not too far away watched in horror as flood water breached their homes.

 My chosen poem,

All Day I Hear the Noise of Waters by James Joyce

 

All day I hear the noise of waters
Making moan,
Sad as the sea-bird is when, going
Forth alone,
He hears the winds cry to the water's
Monotone.

The grey winds, the cold winds are blowing
Where I go.
I hear the noise of many waters
Far below.
All day, all night, I hear them flowing
To and fro.

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

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