News
Tales out of School by Anne Cormack
12/02/2010 08:38:00
Let it snow …
"YOU'RE not driving across Rannoch Moor in this weather," ordered our daughter on the phone. It was the Monday before Christmas and the start of this winter's big snow. We assured her we had already decided to make our Christmas visit to her in Ballachulish by public transport, that is train to Inverness and onward by bus to Fort William.
The train had scarcely left Pitlochry before the conductor announced
that he regretted that the heating in our coach had just failed and
that as there were hardly any empty seats elsewhere on the train he was
sorry but we'd just have to thole it.Worse was to come on the way back.
We got into the train at Inverness to be told that there was no heating
on the train at all and that, additionally, we could expect delays on
the journey south because of the weather. As the temperature outside
was -11C, this was the cue for passengers to rummage in their bags for
extra sweaters, scarves and woolly hats. They were certainly needed
since frozen points south of Aviemore meant that the journey to
Pitlochry actually took twice its normal time. Despite this everyone
accepted the discomfort without complaint as they appreciated the
cheery comments of the conductor as he kept us to date.
The subsequent weeks of snow lying on the ground well into January got
me thinking about 'snows I have known'. I am old enough to remember
1947. As a bairn in Glasgow I recall walking to school for weeks
between banks of snow that were higher than I was. I don't think that
schools were shut at all because of the weather - we just had to get on
with it and were expected to attend. Another harsh winter in Glasgow
was 1962-63. By this time I was teaching, and again I don't recall any
days off because of school closures. As my daughter was born in October
1963, however, I do remember the ribald comments of friends!
And so to Sanday. When we moved to the island in 1971, we assured our
bairns that their sledge didn't need to be part of the flitting, since
there was never much snow in Orkney and so, reluctantly, they left the
sledge behind with city pals. What happened? The snow fell in abundance
during one or two of our early winters and as a result we had two
'pleepan' bairns. 'Manure' sacks to slide on were not considered a
particularly good substitute.
To us ex-city dwellers drifting snow was a novelty. We quickly realized
why, unlike in Glasgow, schools had to be closed. We were told how,
some years previously, a school bus had not been able to transport all
the pupils home because the roads had blocked so quickly, and the
bairns had had to be accommodated for the night in nearby houses. I can
still picture the council lorry with its snowplough attachment coming
along the hill road - if you strained your eyes hard enough you could
just about make out the lorry through a large cloud of swirling snow.
Half an hour later, however, the road could well have been blocked
again.
Shopping was a problem on days like this. Parlgo shop was no more than
a ten-minute walk from the school, but one snowy day, when we headed
there on foot, it was a nightmare. The cold biting north wind drove
extremely fine, powdery snow into our faces and the snow seemed to
penetrate not only our noses but our lungs as well, making it very
difficult to breathe. On another occasion we decided to shop at
Kettletoft but the road to the pier was virtually impassable. It was
easier, just, to walk across the fields. Now we look back on those days
and regret our lost youth - we could never contemplate such treks today.
Once, when the snow fell very suddenly and heavily, the janitor,
Billy's car was stuck in the school playground, and there was no way he
could move it for a few days. It rather irked us that at times like
this, when the school had to be closed because of the wintry
conditions, the teachers were still expected to be at their desks even
if the pupils weren't. As one of the staff succintly put it, "What
about those of us with bairns at the school?" When we lived at
Westbank, which had a longish track leading up to it, a neighbouring
farmer would arrive with his tractor to clear a path for us through the
drifting snow, with the mischievous comment, "I ken you teachers hiv
tae get tae yir wark." We would thank him through gritted teeth.
One plus point of the snow, however, I learned from a local lady. She
told me that if I had any rugs that needed cleaning to put them outside
and pile some dry snow over them. When I brushed the snow off after a
while, she said, the rugs would look as good as new. They did!
Snow didn't always fall early in the year. One time about the end of
April when we were at an evening function in the old hall in Lady
Village, a gentleman from one of the nearby houses burst in and said,
"I think you should all be getting home, it's snowing and blowing
hard." We thought he was kidding until we looked out - the hall soon
emptied.
Back here in Pitlochry the wintry weather put a stop to the 2010 New
Year's Day Street Party. The street itself was piled high with snow,
house eaves sported three or four feet long icicles, while the trailer
that the organisers use as a stage for the musical entertainment
couldn't be moved from where it was stored because its brakes were
frozen solid. Ach weel, we thought, we'll watch the Ba' in Broad Street
since the web camera located by Judith Glue's and the Town Hall gives a
fine view of Broad Street and the Kirk Green. We saw the throw up, went
into the kitchen for a quick bite of lunch, and when we came back we
couldn't believe it - Broad Street was deserted! To make matters worse,
the Ba' ultimately went doon - and we're Uppies. Who said Happy New
Year!
A final observation on how cold it has been here in Highland
Perthshire. Our front door lock became so iced up we couldn't insert
the key. It took several applications of my hair drier before the key
would go in and out - now that never happened in Orkney!