It snowed yesterday. Just a tiny bit. Enough for my grandson
to notice and tell me and sure enough, there was a flurry. We watched through
the back room window, taking a break – I should say another break – from my
efforts to home school him. Some snowflakes were big, but they didn’t hang
around. The sun came out again, the sky was blue, and the last snowflake melted
on the window and rolled down like a big tear-drop. My grandson isn’t bothered. They’re not used
to snow. He didn’t want to go out in it the other day when we had a depth of
half a centimetre. He’d rather stay in and keep warm, but as he had walked
round in his wellies I thought he might be hopeful of us quickly fashioning a
tiny snow person in my back garden.
We hardly ever get proper snow here on the coast. I think it was 1981 when I trudged home from a nearby friend’s house in borrowed wellies which just about protected me, so deep was the snowfall that took us all by surprise when we opened the door. Luckily, as we were planning on staying in, I had walked. Usually I would take my car expecting us to be going off somewhere. The snow lasted a few days. Telephones were not working. I couldn’t get a message to work, but it didn’t matter, no one else made it in. There were a couple of times in the ‘90s when school was closed due to snow and my children played out in it. Very rare. It’s different further inland.
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| Padfield School |
During my childhood, for a short time we lived in Padfield, a village near Glossop in the Peak District. My parents were managing the local pub / small hotel, The Peels Arms, still there and it’s a great place, by the way. I made lots of friends at the village school and had a party for my ninth birthday in the hotel dining room. It was a very quiet neighbourhood and not many cars in those days. We had previously lived in pubs on busy streets or in town centres so being allowed out to play was a first for me and I loved it. Once, and it was only ever the once for reasons you’ll understand, I was allowed to take my toddler sister out in her pushchair. I took her to the nearby playground where she watched me play on the swings and roundabout with my friends. I must have got distracted. I don’t know the length of time involved, but at some point back at home, someone asked, ‘Where’s Anne?’ and the realisation hit me. I’d left her at the park. She was still there, safe and well and I expect she was happy that someone came to rescue her. I was in the biggest trouble.
It snowed that winter, as it does every winter up there, and
we were cut off. It must have been after Christmas because I remember sitting by the fire in the ‘snug’ bar making the
baskets from the gift of a basket weaving set I had received. No one could get
in or out of Padfield. Everything
carried on as normal. The school had four classes with three teachers. Standard
One and Standard Two shared a classroom with one teacher and all the staff
lived locally. Snowy schooldays were fun, messing about all the way there and
all the way back. The problem was that deliveries couldn’t get in, so
provisions at the shop ran low or eventually ran out. I remember my mother helping
out with food from the hotel to whoever needed it.
If the travel news on the radio gives information about the
Snake Pass or Woodhead Road being closed due to snow, I know that Padfield and
possibly Hadfield are cut off. I think back on my time there with fondness –
apart from the incident with my sister – some great memories.
Padfield in the Snow
A snowman stood by every gate
Watching us marching down to school.
“Hurry up, we’re gonna be late,
Last one in is Mrs Swift’s fool!”
It’s hard to rush in such deep snow
With a blizzard freezing your face,
Making snowballs ready to throw
At some mates, nearly keeping pace.
Mrs Swift is standing, waiting,
About to close the classroom door,
Watching us dripping, creating
The puddles on the wooden floor.
Her eyes are narrow, looking cross.
Above her glasses, angry frown,
No doubt to nine-year olds who’s boss,
“Come in quickly and settle down!”
Prayers, assembly and work to do.
Writing and reading and hard sums,
Then we’re painting in shades of blue.
At home time, some letters for mums.
More snowball fighting up the street,
Climb the hill, laughing and falling,
Icy fingers and frozen feet,
“Pamela, your mum is calling!”
PMW 2021
Thanks for reading, stay safe and keep well, Pam x
The photo is Padfield School, not mine.
