'I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.'
So wrote Dylan Thomas in one of my favourite little prose poetry books. I read that book every Christmas and it always brings back memories of childhood - which is quite bizarre because I didn't grow up in Wales and it hardly ever snowed when I was young. Like Mr Thomas though I have vivid recollections of snow in my childhood it's just that I struggle to remember how old I was or, indeed, how long it snowed for. So what do I remember?
I can recall sitting on our living room floor playing with my toys. The fire was blazing and the TV was on. My Mum went to look out of the window. There were six of us living at home then so somebody was probably late home. She came away from the window with a look of excitement on her face and took me by the hand and led me to the front door. As she opened it I saw outside an absolute wonderland. Large flakes gentle as angel wings were falling from the sky and were beginning to form a soft carpet on the ground. It was dark and yet the snowfall gave everywhere such a lustre that it brightened the whole lane. Mum picked some up and placed it in my hand. I can still remember the cold feeling as it slowly melted. Mum was never one for the cold and she brought me in soon after that but by then she had given me a magical gift, she had shown me my first snowfall.
I remember opening the door in daylight and the snow being so high that we had to dig our way out. Mum told me that that never happened, that we never had so much snow, ever. I suppose I must have built into my memory something I read in one of my books, or maybe I dreamed it. It is so vivid though.
Being outside building a snowman was wonderful too, but I was quite a wimp and came inside rather quickly because my hands were beginning to sting. I remember taking off my gloves and being amazed at how red my hands were. Mum told me to sit by the fire to get warm and my Granddad told me that I mustn't warm my hands by the fire or I would get chilblains. I had no idea what chilblains were but the stern look on my Granddad's face told me that I did not want them.
That's the other thing that remains in my memory of winters in my childhood - our roaring coal fire. I never remember our house being cold. I have memories of running home from school to a warm kitchen and sitting before the blazing fire. Mum or granddad would toast bread or teacakes on the toasting fork, then melt butter and I'd sit snuggled by the fire to eat them and drink my cocoa. As I grew older I was allowed to make my own toast there. If you have never tasted toast cooked on an open fire then you have never lived.
I remember only a few more snowy winter days as I grew up and none were quite as magical as that very first time. However, I still get a tingle of excitement the minute that I see the first few flakes start to fall. I can remember when both of our children saw snow for the very first time. For our eldest it was on a visit to Malvern to see her grandparents, for our youngest it was home here - and he still talks about it.
Don't ever grow too old to enjoy snow. Snow is for snowball fights, for making snowmen and snow angels. It's to be watched melting in the palm of your hand and for lightening the whole garden through your window.
A number of Christmases ago it snowed heavily the day the children finished school for Christmas. We went out as soon as we saw it and began to have a family snowball fight, our lovely neighbours down the road came to join us. I have no idea who won that fight but I remember a large snowball in my hood dripping down my neck - I suspect my children were the culprits. About a week later my elderly neighbour asked if I enjoyed the snow. She said that her daughter was visiting and they heard the commotion. Apparently she didn't even go to the window but told her daughter 'Oh that'll be Janet' To this day I'm not sure whether to be embarrassed that any commotion would be assumed to be me or pleased that she thinks that if someone was having fun then I would be involved.
What I do know though is that snow is bright, glowing and magical. it should be enjoyed and its beauty appreciated so that one day, if you are a little to frail to enjoy it, you will have memories that make you smile.
