I read an article yesterday which warned that, due to global heating, snowy winters in the UK may soon be a thing of the past (rather brilliantly, the article opened with: “Snowball fights and sledging could be at risk …”)
My niece is two, and yet to experience snow. Around this time of year, I often find myself considering all the people who haven’t. It’s a little like being envious of a friend who has never watched one of your favourite television shows, or read one of your favourite books, knowing they have all the goodness to come. Imagine if we could capture the feeling of our first snowfall?
I remember, as a child, rising early – as children are annoyingly wont to do – looking out of my grandparents’ windows and seeing crisp, untouched morning snow. (Think: perfect head on a beer or an inviting bubble bath.) It is difficult to bring yourself to ruin a pristine blanket of snow, but the lure of the satisfying sink and crunch of wellies will always win out. There is the beauty, too, of the sun bouncing off the surface making blue sky pop and parked silver cars glisten. Warm breath forms speech bubbles of conversation during walks.
The thing about snow is it slows things down; life feels less stressful. Things seem quieter. In the UK, its novelty factor brings people together. Just as heatwaves do; or nights of rolling thunder and crackling lightning. None of this is really surprising for an island so obsessed with weather.
All around, there are families and friends clambering up hills with sledges under their arms; dogs trotting along in their Barbour jackets, leaving adorable paw-prints; mitten-less toddlers bending down to feel the cold. Always, there will be snowmen. Snowwomen. Snoweverything. Often there are hats. Carrots. Sometimes nicer scarves than the one I am wearing.
Some will say the downside of snow is that it turns into sludge. But I don’t mind sludge: the timid sliding of feet along streets, arms outstretched like aeroplane wings for balance; hugging walls as though one were at an ice-skating rink, or in a video game trying not to get shot.
Sludge is fine; it’s just that it’s a consequence of the demise of snow, which mostly comes too soon for my liking. I do recall a couple of winters when it took the piss; great flakes continuing to fall in February, way past kicking out time. But there’s a sinking feeling to drawing back curtains and finding it’s all over. So I’m putting out an SOS call: Save Our Snowball Fights. Save Our Sledging.
