Flashback

The Finnish crime novelist Antti Tuomainen remembers his father’s snow sculptures in the garden,1979

The Finnish crime novelist Antti Tuomainen remembers his father’s snow sculptures, 1979

My father built this with his hands. It was February 1979, I was eight years old and we were in the garden of our home in Maunula, northern Helsinki. Our garden backed on to a national park – the forest you see in the photograph – and my father spent many winter days making snow sculptures there.

While other fathers built simple snowmen for their sons, my father’s creations were gloriously intricate. Instead of stacking three balls of snow on top of one another, he formed fully grown men and animals. This equestrian sculpture was by far his most elaborate. We called it The Rider.

It was a huge thing. You don’t get a sense of its scale from this photograph, but I’m standing on its back and it is roughly twice my height (I was about 3ft 5in). My father had built snow steps from the ground to the horse’s back, which I climbed up to mount it.

What’s even more impressive is that he made the entire sculpture in one go, starting early in the morning and fnishing in the evening, with only a very short lunch break. He’s that kind of guy. He approached it with the same gusto and determination with which he approached all his work – that’s probably why he achieved so much.

I love this image because it sums up just how magical my childhood was. I spent hours outdoors, skiing and playing ice hockey until my toes were numb. I also built the most wonderful fortress with my father. Even though he was an economist (he’s now retired), he is also very creative and could write well and paint, too. He and my mother placed extraordinary value on books, which no doubt had a terrifc infuence on my career as a novelist.

At the time the picture was taken, I was already a reader. I loved dressing up as a musketeer or a pirate, inspired by The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo. I was fascinated by adventure books and was free to roam as a child, both physically – there was a lot of room to wander about in – and in my imagination. I grew up in a very safe, understanding environment where I could be as imaginative as I liked.

The Rider certainly captured my imagination. Weeks after my father had built it, we would look out of the window and see it still in the garden. The snow was so tightly packed it took a long time to melt. There was something other-worldly about it, and even when all the other snow had gone, the remains lay in the yard. Dark as my Heart, by Antti Tuomainen (Harvill Secker, £12.99), is out now

Instead of stacking three balls of snow on top of one another, my father formed fully grown men and animals. This equestrian sculpture

was by far his most elaborate. We called it The Rider