Flown in from Siberia...

Having lived on the east coast of Scotland I can vouch for the minus temperatures that such a blast from Russia causes. For when the wind was in that direction it was almost impossible to keep the house warm. Of course we lived on a cliff top overlooking the Moray Firth so we got the full blast no matter what direction.- but a north east storm in the winter made us particularly cold as the winds came from Siberia, by Norway and that spelled "freezing".

That's the reason we moved south again. My husband hailed from Oxford and never really came to terms with the length of the winters, rather than the severity. I was surprised when I moved to Oxfordshire how cold the winters could be ( I had after all lived in the Cairngorms before the move). I put that extreme coldness down to its distance from the sea. One winter when my son was about three we had minus 17 ....in a prefab ! Wow was that cold ! Plus we couldn't get out of the estate as our roads were privately maintained by AERE Harwell and the snow was about 2' thick in drifts.

I rather like snow. The type that consists of large snowflakes that descend gently...not wind driven...silent. On such occasions I'd walk down to the A9 road ( the old one ) - which would be quiet and devoid of traffic as the snow gates were closed - walk along the road , looking up , watching the flakes falling. Nothing better than building a snow man, rolling it up , watching it grow bigger and bigger till the ball creaked and groaned, bringing up sods of earth with it. Rather satisfying and such fun. Once whilst out I came across a sledge that the farmer's children had left at the top of a hill and I had such a fun afternoon. Returning happy, warm, rosy cheeked. Fun.

This unexpected turn in the weather has been a shock, with places experiencing heavy falls of snow after many years without. In this region of the north west of England we have got off lightly by comparison ( at least at the time of writing ). So it was that on the last day of February I enjoyed a walk along the canals, finally doing a little stretch that I'd missed. I met very few people. The sun shone most of the day, although it was -5. Occasionally the snow came on as whiteout conditions. It was very bracing, very cold . I wore three hats!

My piece this week is about a hat.  A Russian hat that a friend wore when he arrived at the dance on Monday.

             He Came From Russia

             Our Bryan's just flown in from Siberia,
             I can tell 'cos he's wearing a Russian hat.
             He gives out mint imperials -
             Russian imperials?

             Our Bryan's just flown in from Siberia,
             Wearing a Russian hat. All fur it is.
             He likes to do the quickstep,
             In a Cossack style!

             Our Bryan's just flown in from Siberia,
             Speaking in a Lancashire dialect-
             Liking his " tae " - not Russian though,
             With a rich tea biscuit.

              Our Bryan's just come up from Kirkham.
              Sporting his Russian style hat.
              At minus three today,
              It feels like Siberia!


       Thanks for reading, Kath

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A Coventry Snow Storm

I haven't written a poem since I quit smoking 10 days ago. I have lost the ability to concentrate. I have felt restless rather than inspired. However, I decided to challenge myself to write a poem for this week's post. I decided it was time to force my mind to focus. I decided to prove to myself that I can write - and that I can write without the aid of cigarettes... It was a challenge, hence the lateness of this post.

Coventry Blizzard, 1990

During the night it fell at steady rate. Large flakes racing down

through street light shine, through the searching full-beam lights

of a lone motorist travelling home on white tarmac roads;

his tyres pressing a snow leopard print along the length of the street,

creating two shaky lines of imperfection

which nature quickly filled and smoothed.

By morning, cars had been transformed into cotton wool hills,

phone lines draped down wooden poles and slithered across the ground.

Communication severed; a city left to wait and thaw in silence.

We missed school; built a snowman in the front garden,

gave him two stone eyes and twiggy arms. Finger-carved a smile on his face, 

placed one of dad’s silk ties around his neck.

For the rest of the day I sat in the bay window, watching. Thinking

I could bring him to life with nothing more than hope

and the power of my own mind.

At lunchtime I ate jam sandwiches, drank warm blackcurrant squash.

Kept my gaze fixed on the snowman’s stone stare,

waiting to see a blink, anything to prove him real.

But I saw nothing, nothing except two little girls in t-shirts and jeans.

Like a modern Dickensian scene they struggled

with a pushchair through the snow;

a sack of potatoes where a baby would normally sit.

The children’s lips were the colour of winter’s first frost, their skin

ghostly like an early morning December mist,

and as I sat in the window, the snowman slowly shrunk.

Thinking. Hoping. Wishing for something else. 

Thank you for reading,
Lar

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