It was Halesowen's turn to have us over for Christmas this year. We drove south then south-west, through two of the Yorkshires, via frigid Derbyshire, and finally arriving into a West Midlands swaddled in a thick layer of snow.
This was Olive's second Christmas, so she was a bit more aware of the whole present thing this time around. This was my thirty-fifth Christmas so I was totally aware of what to expect. But I was a little excited too.
The morning of the 25th was cold and clear and Olive was up and calling, demanding even, her breakfast pretty early. She soon forgot about food when she saw the mountain of presents that awaited us the other side of the conservatory doors.
She got al manner of goodies, from books to toys, clothes to more books. Her early favourite was a nurse uniform (this career could easily pass as Gemma's family trade).
After lunch (Goose - YUM!) Grandad and I took Olive outside with every intention of reprising our snowman-building fun from a few weeks earlier. Alas, the snow turned out to be the wrong kind, a la the light, powder, non-stick kind that has often caused bother to British Rail, et al.
Instead, I used some impressive icicles from the frozen-solid water butt to make a scale-model* of nearby Romsley Hill, complete with it's two radio towers.
The rest of the day was spent grazing and vegging on the sofa. TV seemed particularly poor this year, but we squeezed some entertainment out of the evening, before turning in, tired, full, and with a substantial pile of presents. I like Christmas Day.
Today was the Winter Solstice. The days get longer from now until 21st June 2011. As a bonus, there was a total lunar eclipse visible to those out and about early.
Not that you'd know it from the recent freezing weather the whole of the country has been experiencing. Last week a whole bunch of frigid air swooped down from the Arctic, and has stayed put since. There has been plenty of snow on offer, though surprisingly little for Leeds. I know that there was a foot of snow on Saturday in Halesowen, and another half-foot between our house and theirs is due tomorrow; I hope we can get down there on Friday without too much bother.
Anyway, here are some pictures I took from my morning walk to work.
Pre-sunrise injection of colour in the eastern sky. Taken from the Danby Lane Railway Bridge.
Quarry House, with the almost eclipsed moon visible to the right of the cenral tower. Viewed from the ginnel between Upper Accommodaion Road and Wesley Place.
We've been making the most of the recent fine and dry weather, by getting out and about (wherever in the country we find ourselves). Here's an Olive-centric photo diary of the last couple of grassy weeks.
Just two years after the Second World War, and still many years away from the end of rationing, Britain experienced what some folks say was the worst winter in living memory.
The bad weather began on 21 January 1947; heavy snows and high winds quickly led to drifts that blocked roads and railways. Deliveries of coal supplies stalled, causing many power stations to shut down. The government found it necessary to introduce measures to cut power consumption, including restricting the use of domestic electricity to nineteen hours per day (and cutting industrial supplies completely), limiting radio broadcasts and suspending television services, and ordering the suspension of some magazines (oh how I wish this had applied to all of the trashy lifestyle magazines and wasteful free-sheets of today).
The freezing weather lasted throughout February, when the nation began to fear food shortages as supplies were cut off and vegetables were frozen into the ground. A quite rapid thaw arrived in mid-March, which led to widespread flooding. The Army and foreign aid agencies were forced to provide humanitarian aid to the 100,000+ properties affected.
A quick trawl of the YouTube netted parts one and two of a reminiscence of the winter of '47, including footage of the time and memories of people who were there:
But in fact this was not the worse winter in living memory. That title belongs to the winter of 1962 - 63, which is considered to the be the third coldest in England since records began in 1659 (and who amongst us can ever forget the coldest, in 1683 - 84?).
A cold easterly set in on 22nd December, and a belt of snow became almost stationary over southern England on Boxing Day. The following day a foot of snow covered much of southern England. In contradiction of our rose-tinted memories of how we used to cope, transport was brought to a standstill and sporting events were cancelled en masse. And this was just the appetiser. On 29 and 30 December a blizzard across south-west England and Wales left drifts six metres deep which left villages cut off and brought down power lines.
When the snow wasn't falling during January, the country simply froze solid. Daytime temperatures rarely and barely crept above freezing, and night frosts produced a temperature of -16°C in places as far apart as Gatwick and Eskdalemuir. Freezing fog was a frequent hazard, though the spectacular rime deposits that built up over successive days were said to be beautiful.
Also in the month of January the sea froze for 1 mile at Herne Bay in Kent, and there was speculation that the whole of the Strait of Dover would suffer the same fate. Ice floes appeared on the Thames at Tower Bridge.
The first week of February saw a 36-hour blizzard in most parts of the country. Drifts reached 20 feet in some areas. A quiet period mid-month was broken by even more snow arriving in the north of England. The weather pattern at end of this month mainly consisted of cold but clear and sunny days with severe night frosts and freezing fog.
At the beginning of March came the thaw, gradual at first, then rapid. Very quickly, a temperature of 17°C was noted in London, and the snows vanished into the ground and the earth softened.
And to hear people moaning today; anyone would think they'd just lived through a devastating earthquake or something. Get a grip and grow a pair.
As I mentioned on 25th December, we spent our Christmas this time round at my mum and dad's.
On Christmas Day, Olive generously allowed us a lie-in until 9am before requesting her breakfast. After polishing off her multi-grain loops, she toddled into the lounge to see what Santa had bought.
As you can see, she is still a little too young to comprehend that there was anything special about the famous day. Despite her present pile being more than twice as big as Gemma's and mine combined, see made a beeline to my modest gift-mound.
Later in the morning we drove south along empty roads margined by decreasing amounts of snow, and arrived in Halesowen before lunch. Sadly my brother's fiance (better make sure my good suit is dry-cleaned) couldn't make it - she was having a bizarre-sounding work lock-in at the hospital where she works. More presents were swapped and opened, and after an afternoon nap and Christmas dinner, we settled down for telly and chat with my family.
On Boxing Day my mum kindly offered to have Olive whilst we headed into Birmingham to see what the sales had to offer. Although I was in the mood to make some buys, I didn't really find too much to spend money on. The sojourn was mainly memorable for the incredibly rude City Council Parking Officer. When I politely inquired whether I needed to pay Saturday or Bank Holiday rates, he pretty much told me I was an idiot and should read the signs to find out. His boorish attitude came out of nowhere and momentarily stunned me. I fired back, telling him that it was not my fault he had to work on Boxing Day, before turning on my heeling and walking off. I must admit that I half expected to find some slashed tyres upon our return (or perhaps some daubings - Cook Pass Babtridge maybe).
Sunday saw us head over to Stourbridge, to Michelle's mum's house, where both, Andrew and Scarlett, and Michelle's sister Anna and partner Dave were installed. We had some tea (the food kind), chat and drink, before heading back to the 'Zowen for our final cosy evening on my mum and dad's sofa and one last 2009 look at one of my most favourite and familiar views.
The snow that arrived the weekend before the holidays lasted the week, and in fact was supplemented with random dustings throughout the four-day working week, culminating with a pretty heavy dump (around two to three inches in East Leeds) during the first twelve hours of Christmas Eve. Freezing overnight temperatures forced me to walk in the slippery roads, to avoid the wholly untreated sheet-ice pavements. How I managed to stay upright I don't know; there were certainly a few close shaves, even when I donned my £3 Aldi wellington boots for Thursday's trudge (pictures below).
As colleagues (male and female) dashed into town on last minute errands for gifts, I felt grateful to have completed my division of the shopping some weeks ago. I must confess that this year I am indebted to Gemma, who has conducted the brunt of the buying and the total of the making (between our group of friends, we agreed to sew and stitch, make and bake our gifts.
I hope you are all well and raring to get stuck into 2010, the last year of the first decade of the 21st century of the Gregorian calendar. I think I will be calling this year 'twenty ten' (as it is quicker to say than 'two-thousand and ten', and much less confusing/annoying than MMX).
Oh dear, I am still a pedant.
I think this week will bring to your eyes a short series of (hopefully) brief postings, concerning our movements over the festive season. Which were generally good, but which ended with a bad.
At the weekend, Gemma spent hours decorating our new Christmas tree and wrapping presents.
This year we opted for a three-foot plastic instead of the usual five-foot Spruce, on account of the high possibility of some kind of of Olive/tree accident. As you can see, most of our presents are now sat atop the bookcase, pending distribution.
