For long stretches, familiar stone dykes and wire fences had disappeared and some telephone poles had less than a foot showing above the snow drifts

If my Uncle’s advice didn’t entirely motivate my mother into putting more effort to find us somewhere to live nearer to Dundee, the following winter certainly did. As far as snow went, plus freezing temperatures that lasted for weeks, it turned out to be the worst winter of the century. To begin with, during that winter, we were getting along well until towards the end of January, when it started to snow. After that it snowed a little every day but not too seriously. One day, however, things took a completely different turn.

On that day I had taken my flagon and gone to a neighbouring farm for milk. On the way home, the snow began to fall heavily from a leaden sky. Tiny white particles filled the air. I knew that these could be more ominous than the big soft fluffy flakes that had fluttered down from time to time.

The wind began to rise, making the million specks of snow fly horizontally. Soon the path over the hill became decidedly indistinct and I could barely see where I was going.

Terrifying

It became tough battling against the wind. I knew that it might soon become what my mother called a “blind smoor”, when it is hard to see at all and easy to become disorientated.

Much to my relief I managed to get on to the main hill road and struggle my way home. Would Jean make it? That was now my main concern, so I was much relieved when she arrived about 10 minutes later looking like some moving snowman. She had got off school early because of the weather.

“My goodness!” said Jean. “I’ve never been out in anything like that before, terrifying! I don’t think I will be going to school tomorrow.”

Once we had removed all our snow-covered garments and boots and stoked up the kitchen range to dry ourselves out, I knew I must go back into the storm and try to keep snow from getting into the rabbit hutches.

I never reached the hutches. By the time I braved the storm again, the wind was a ferocious frenzy of snow. It was impossible to struggle against it.

I couldn’t breathe in its ferocity. The rabbits would just have to take their chance until the wind abated.

Next morning Jean and I woke to a changed world. Snow had battered against the windows and had stuck there. We couldn’t see out. We opened the front door to a wall of snow.

Laboriously, we dug ourselves out with shovels. I was frantic to get to my rabbits and the poultry.

Fortunately not all the pathway to the livestock was blocked. I don’t quite know what I expected to see in the hutches but to my relief all the rabbits were alive.

Some had stayed in their dark bedrooms. One or two, trapped in the outer compartments, were sitting in a hollow of snow melted by the warmth of their bodies. I cleared some of it from the hutches and then struggled to the byre to get them food and fresh straw with which to bed them. They all seemed quite happy.

The wind had dropped, although there were still intermittent snow flurries. The sun came out from time to time and shone brilliantly on fairy land.

Apart from the pristine white hills behind the house, the landscape had changed shape. For long stretches, familiar stone dykes and wire fences had disappeared and some of the telephone poles had less than a foot showing above the snow drifts.

Loud bawling

While I had been rescuing my rabbits, Jean was seeing to the rest of the livestock. She struggled to get into the byre, where food for hens, goats and rabbits was kept in tall rusty bins to keep it away from rats.

She broke the ice on a pail of water and mixed up a larger than usual quantity of mash for all the livestock.

Jenny the goat, tethered in the byre for most of the winter, was unaffected by the storm but was the first to demand food with loud bawling. When she got it she snaffled it up as if she hadn’t been fed for months.

Once I had finished attending to my rabbits, I went to help Jean with the hens. The scratching shed was full of snow. Many of the hens had remained on their perches, not relishing the idea of frozen feet.

It took quite some time to get rid of the snow but once that was accomplished we filled their troughs with mash, laid down some fresh straw and cut up a few turnips which we scattered about. Soon the hens were busy scratching and caw-cawing happily.

About midday Jean and I made our way back to the house along the path we had cleared, happy in the knowledge that the livestock were fed and watered. Our hands, feet and noses were frozen. We had banked up the old black range in the kitchen with coal and dross. It wasn’t quite out.

A warm glow met us as we entered the kitchen. We thawed out in front of the fire. A cup of tea was the next imperative and then we made ourselves a pot of porridge. As we ate we listened to the news on the wireless. This storm was countrywide.

Hundreds of roads, up and down the length of Britain, were closed by drifts; telephone lines were down: whole towns were without electricity. The country was in chaos.

Well, at least we didn’t have to worry about the electricity supply as we had none but it looked as if Mother and Father wouldn’t be able to get home that weekend and they wouldn’t be able to get in touch with us either as our phone was completely dead.

Worried

I knew they would be worried about us and wished that I was able to reassure them that we were all right. We had food to last us at least a week and plenty of raw ingredients such as oatmeal and flour to bake scones or oatcakes if we ran out of everything else.

During the following night it grew very cold; very cold indeed. I rose early, dressed as warmly and as quickly as I could and went down to the kitchen. I took the kettle to the sink and turned on the cold tap. No water!

I had forgotten to put the small lamp that mother kept for such occasions under the sink to keep the pipes from freezing. I was rectifying the error when Jean came into the kitchen.

“No water.” I said. “What do you mean, no water?” I turned on the cold tap to demonstrate. Not a drop!

“We’ll just have to use water from the hot tap,” Jean said. Mother had always been strict about not using water from the hot tap for drinking.

(More tomorrow.)