hite landscapes have dominated the national news this week, with friends in New Quay and reporters in Whitby sharing scenes of a winter kingdom; and yet, South Yorkshire has stayed resolutely clear. It feels as though the rest of the country has been blanketed in a crisp layer of frost and flake, while our little corner remains stubbornly grey. Perhaps the Pennines have acted as a giant stone shield, deflecting the drifts elsewhere and leaving us in a snowy 'shadow'.
Wednesday morning, however, brought a different kind of chill. This (see photo below) is what greeted me when I headed for my pre-shift shower; safe to say, I jumped out of my skin. She’s been doing the rounds lately, appearing like a ghostly hitchhiker in different corners of the building. I’ve no idea where she originated, but she fits right in with our office tradition of collecting the weird and the bizarre—joining the ranks of our stuffed otter and the papier-mâché dog.
By Thursday morning, however, my 'snow-free' luck seemed to be running out. With Storm Goretti looming and the Met Office upgrading warnings across South Yorkshire, the promise of significant snowfall made the decision for me. I wasn’t prepared to play chicken with an amber weather warning on two wheels; so, back to the bus I went, opting for the slow but steady commute over a battle with the elements.
True to the forecast, the snow began to settle around 6pm. Up here at the top of the hill, my workplace is always the first to succumb; if it’s snowing anywhere, this place gets it bad. Watching the ground vanish under a white sheet while I was still mid-shift certainly added a sharp sense of urgency to the evening.
As my shift finally drew to a close, the snow grew thicker and more relentless, fully vindicating my decision to leave the bike at home. Stepping out into the biting air, I managed to scramble onto a bus, though the driver’s confidence seemed to be thinning as fast as the visibility. When he asked how far I was going, it was clear he didn't fancy his chances of making it all the way to the opposite side of town; thankfully, I only needed the city centre, which was still just about within reach.
The transition in the centre meant a fifteen-minute wait for my connection back to Rotherham. Down here, the snow wasn’t quite settling yet, which gave me some hope that the service would still be running. Right on cue, the bus appeared through the gloom, and I was safely transported the rest of the way home, watching the world transform into a winter wonderland from behind the glass.
When I finally arrived home, there was little point in taking my coat off; Magnus was already at the door, vibrating with excitement for his daily walk. By now, the snow was coming down thick and fast, turning the street into a blur of white. But with the worry of the journey behind me, we were finally free to just head out and enjoy it.
The following morning wasn't quite as dramatic as I’d imagined it might be. While a layer of white covered the neighbourhood, it mostly meant I had a job to do. As a volunteer snow warden, I have responsibility for the footpaths on our cul-de-sac (which makes the road sound far posher than it actually is).
There wasn't any heavy digging required this time, but a generous sprinkling of rock salt was definitely in order. Two large bags later, the paths were safe for the neighbours to navigate. All that’s left now is to email the council to replenish my stocks—and wait to see what the rest of the week brings.
If you appreciate the atmospheric grit of a northern winter—and the resilience it takes to navigate it—you'll find those same Norse echoes in my webcomic, Northman. While I'm busy salting the footpaths of South Yorkshire, my characters are treading much more treacherous paths through the landscapes of the Danelaw.
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Regarding the fourth picture, you neglected to mention that the Russians have invaded. After all, the camera never lies.
ReplyDeleteThey wouldn't last 5 minutes on Manor Top 🤣
DeleteThe Martians would return to their planet tout suite if they happened to touch down at Manor Top. And they would tell the folks back home, "There's nothing there!"
DeleteThat's a great snowy photo of you! I've driven on prairie highways in more than a few blizzards in my day and it can be scary and insane. Also dangerous. I don't think I'd be able to handle it now, old lady that I am.
ReplyDelete