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February 6th 2012
The snow here is slowly going away and the sun this afternoon has real warmth. I have many memories of snow.
One that has stayed in my mind absolutely intact was the evening my three brothers and I got home from the cinema to find that our baby sister had died. We’d been sent to the Savoy cinema that was showing a THREE STOOGES film and I remember it had been very funny.
When we got to the corner of our street, after having waded through piles of snow, in the soft golden light of the gas lamp that stood just to one side, I noticed the blank end-wall of the house that fronted onto another street was plastered with snow.
I can see my brothers and myself as clear as day, first staring at it, then making snowballs and throwing them at the wall. When we got in, our sister had died. That was in 1947 and the winter was fierce. No NHS then, either.
In my book, KNOCK AND WAIT, which was first published by Heinemann and then in paperback by Collins and now to go on e-books, there is a scene where my friend Golda and I ran away from the convalescent home we had been sent to.
This was more of a Sanatorium, really. It was in Kent and the night we chose to run away the snow was thick in the woods and still snowing heavily. I was asked to change the snow to rain for the book and I did, but I have always regretted it. The ward I slept in had three huge windows in a bay and they were always open. When it snowed, as my bed was in the bay, the snow covered it and it was freezing cold.
In Betty MacDonald’s THE PLAGUE AND I, she gets sent to a Sanatorium and some of my experiences are very much like hers, especially the cold she complains of.
In KISS KISS, a story first published in an Anthology, I write about the snow on the high street looking so beautiful. This story can be downloaded for free from SMASHWORDS for a limited time. There are two or three references to snow in KISS KISS. Here’s one of them:
‘This is one of the best winters I remember because when I look out of the shop window, I can see the whole street glittering and snow plastered to the sides of the lamp-posts so that they look like maypoles, only needing a handful of ribbons to finish them off.’
The last snow poem I wrote was ‘A DERBYSHIRE WINTER’ which came from a trip to Matlock over those Derbyshire peaks just when the snow had fallen and was still falling, and those peaks were very unfriendly. This poem can be read in my general poetry section.
Earlier, we went for a walk in the snow up in the big National Trust park near us and the mist was settling in. A frozen lake, white dashed trees and incredibly beautiful.
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