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.

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Snow - Fun in Padfield

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.

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.

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