Schnee

Snow is rare in Portsmouth because the South Downs catch it and keep it for themselves. And yet, and yet, if you go into the Phoenix pub in Southsea you will see photographs of days gone by, the city blanketed in white.
When Amanda and I were small children we lived just outside of Portsmouth. I can clearly remember walking to school through the snow, the daily third of a pint milk bottles that the government issued to every school child had to be brought inside the classrooms and thawed on the radiators.
Yesterday when Sue and I came out of toddler group with Holly and Edward, there was a bite in the air that we hadn't noticed on the way in. As day turned to twilight, flakes of snow started falling, not many and not for long, but just that moment of looking up and seeing those flakes falling through the darkening sky, that Ridley Scott moment is one when time stops and there is a connection, silent communion with other human beings.

There used to be a TV ad like this. Two Nigerians in a hotel in London stop in the middle of whatever they are doing and both rush outside like children because flakes of snow are falling from the sky. They turn their faces to the sky and they have smiles so wide you'd think their faces would crack. I don't recall what the advert was for. Not successful then, but memorable.

I can remember it snowing just once in Portsmouth when I worked there. I had been visiting the home of a colleague who had been injured by a pupil. On the street a small chippie spilled out light and the smell of fish and chips. Whilst I was cycling past this comforting combination I was suddenly struck by ice. I was under attack from hailstones. I cycled against them as best I could, and as I crossed the main road, there was a thunderclap followed by another. The hail turned to snow, an instant blizzard. Within seconds the whole landscape changed. I no longer knew which road I was on and I could no longer cycle. Doors were opening, people were coming out onto the street to just look, moment of wonderment and connection. Kids pre-programmed to make snowballs and throw them appeared on the streets. Snow was scraped from anyone's cars and mini snowmen were built. So very Portsmouth, a microcosm. The snow lasted just that night, although there were flurries for a couple of days. Every flurry stopped a lesson, drew and hypnotised teacher and pupils.

I used to dream of snow, in my dreams I would look out of the window and the world would have changed, a continuous blanket wrapping everything in its whiteness, a cosy dreamworld like Sleepy Hollow, who knew what the snow might hide, what it might change.

I believe I would read anything with the word 'snow' in the title. One of the books that I most enjoyed reading several years ago now, was Peter Hoeg's 'Miss Smilla's feeling for snow', an amazing adventure through Denmark and Greenland. A snow book that I didn't read until last year was 'Snow falling on cedars' but it was one of the most excellently written books I have ever read, thought-provoking, fascinating, suspenseful.

Snow Patrol, a great Scottish band, I only have one of their albums, 'The Final Straw' but I played it over and over last year. It accompanied me back from school, Greenday on the way in, Queens of the Stone Age and Snow Patrol on the way back.

In spite of promises of huge piles of snow coming in from Siberia, I think those few flakes were probably it. A whisper of snow. I would like more but I'm happy to have been given any. I think I must have lived in the north in a previous life.