"I felt we were
walking through a magical tunnel"
Lynda Bidston
from Bootle, Merseyside, remembers
moving to Yorkshire at the start of the
big freeze in 1947...
One of the saddest sights I can
remember is the dead sheep piled high on
the Yorkshire moors in spring 1947. We
were moving to Yorkshire on the first
day of the big snow and what a traumatic
journey it was! My mother, father,
two-year-old brother and I set off from
Liverpool on a gloomy day, but the
further north we went, the heavier the
snow became and the colder the carriage
became.
When we changed trains, we made a dash
for the waiting room. There was a large
fire in the grate and it was the most
beautiful sight in the world - we
gathered around, warming our hands. We
sat and sat and it was unbelievably
quiet - the snow continued to fall
softly from the sky, and there were no
sounds of life outside our little cocoon
of warmth and light.
When we heard a train, we rushed
outside, only to stand dumbfounded at
the sight that met our eyes. It was a
workman's train with a huge snowplough
in front of its engine. The workmen told
us there were no more trains as the snow
was so bad and offered us a lift.
We clambered aboard - the hot, fuggy
atmosphere was like heaven. one of the
men handed my dad a huge white mug
brimming with hot, sweet milky tea,
which he took gratefully and handed
around. The grown-ups discussed the
awful weather and how bad it was with
the coal rationed, while the train
lurched on. The men jumping on and off
to clear snow from the blade of the
plough.
When we arrived, we found we had a
three-mile walk to our new village, as
all the buses had been cancelled. Soon
we left the street lights and the road
was dark, except for the glow of the
snow. The road changed into a single
file footpath with snow piled so high on
each side we felt we were walking
through a magical tunnel.
Wearily we trudged on, not caring that
snow had slid inside our Wellingtons or
how cold our feet were. The journey
seemed endless, but then a signpost
loomed out of the dark - we were in
Cowling. It was like a ghost village,
with curtains tightly drawn and not a
soul stirring.
Finally, we reached our new front door.
Dad suggested Mother should fill the
kettle while he made the fire. The room
was freezing, the flagstone floor seemed
to exude ice crystals up your legs.
Mother wearily went into the kitchen,
but the tap was frozen.
Next morning, the bright light through
the curtains woke me up. Dad had lit the
fire and things looked cosier in the
bright sunlight. Picking up his spade he
opened the front door, and facing him
was a wall of snow. We looked at each
other and burst into laughter.
"Never mind," he said with a grin. "I'll
build you a sledge." |
| March 1947 - 300 roads were
blocked and 15 towns cut off by the snow
as the appalling weather continued. |
|
