THE BIG FREEZE
We woke up on 18th of December, with a big white carpet – snow.
The trees and gardens looked pretty, very Christmassy.
It snowed again and again, getting deeper and deeper.
Was it reality of fantasy?
The roads were dangerous, people were left stranded.
It took my grandson six hours, by bus,
to get from Manchester to Darlington.
It went on over Christmas, and New Year.
The roads were impassable, schools had to close down.
Teachers could not travel, it was impossible.
We cleared our front path four of five times,
and sprinkled salt, so people wouldn’t slip on it.
But then the shops ran out of it, “We haven’t got any,
Even the cash and carry haven’t got any”.
These words were ringing in my ears
This is not what I wanted to hear.
I tried several shops to get some Wellington boots
Week after week, but as soon as the shops got a delivery They were sold out.
Finally, I managed to get a pair,
But how expensive they were!
We had lots of tragedies, and casualties.
People who had drowned in icy lakes and ponds,
And people who had died of hypothermia.
We will remember this winter.
And it is not over yet
There’s more to come, I bet!
Emma Thomas, Darlington
WINTER IN SWALEDALE
Glorious day,
fierce frost on field and farm.
Cerulean sky from hill to hill:
harbinger of snow.
‘Crumblies’ round the open fire
sit close and talk of Christmas past
with drifts above the eaves:
of shepherds armed with pole and stick
to search and dig in snow, head high:
of sheep brought down from distant fell
to winter, silage-fed, in barn and byre:
of cellars dark with matches, candles, coal and logs;
with salted pork and cheese and home-made jam
piled high along the flour-filled larder shelves.
They speak of roads impassable:
self-sufficiency a way of life
from time beyond remembering.
But not today.
Youngsters and the not-so-young,
test the ice on flooded field,
with plastic bags and cheap tin trays
and skate and skid in slanting sun.
Laughter echoes up the dale and
reaches ears within.
“Does’t tha remember when..?’
“Aye...that we do”.
And memories bring wistful smiles
and thoughts of yesteryear.
Daphne Clarke, Richmond
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