Snow sense

 I was in Yorkshire visiting relatives one New Year and had taken mother with me. She must have been in her eighties by then. We lived in London and rarely saw snow for more than a day. The snowflakes usually melted as they touched the ground. There seems to be a big difference in many respects between the north and the south of England. One of the most obvious is the weather. Occasionally one would see a bin with sand or salt or gravel in it, by the side of the road. Occasionally the pavements sparkled and we would pull our scarves tighter, might even wear gloves although they were always a nuisance and one would often get lost. That was usually the extent of it. In our garden we have daffodils that start in January so we are ready for Spring quite early in the year.

Bit of a shock then to go to Yorkshire, shock for us that is, the weather was normal for the local folk. Christmas was always wet: very fine rain that hung in the air and glistened in the Christmas lights. Then in early January the snow would come. This weekend was the in-between time, not that I had considered the weather when I planned the trip. Well in London you don't give it a thought unless you're going for a picnic.

The journey down had been uneventful, between Christmas and New is there was not much traffic, everyone had got to wherever they were going. We arrived in Leeds on Friday evening to have dinner with the relatives then we stayed all day Saturday and most of Sunday. They say family and fish stay fresh for three days, that's a bit on the long side for me, so I was itching to get off on Sunday evening. We had been chatting and eating and meeting and greeting and for once not watching television. What we had missed was a warning: do not travel unless your journey is absolutely necessary and on no account take old or vulnerable people. Not a clue.

The motorway between Leeds and Hull is not busiest in the country and that Sunday evening it was practically deserted. At that time of year daylight is well gone by four o'clock and with heavy cloud it was inky as we left the town behind. Then it started to snow.

A breeze had got up and was swirling the flakes in front of our eyes. Mother was quiet seemingly unconcerned, gazing around her curiously. She liked being driven, had never owned a car or learned to drive. Being a passenger suited her natural passivity. So much of the modern world was mystery to her she was happy to let others take charge. But this was not fun. It was like driving in a tunnel, a tunnel of flickering light created by the headlights, a wind tunnel that someone had filled with crazy white things that dodged about as if trying to hypnotize us. The full beam was worse than useless, it made the snow seem like an impenetrable barrier. At least with the dipped headlights I could see a few yards ahead and keep between the two white lines. The snow was getting thicker.

Then the car gave a hiccup. My heart sank to my boots but I dared not say anything. I had driven old bangers all my life, had never been able to afford a car under about ten years old and, pottering about where we lived, I had never joined any motoring organization. Just now I realized the error of my ways: I should not be out in the snow with my old mother in a duff car. The hiccup got worse.

There was no point at all in stopping because I would not have a clue where to look or what to look for. All I could do was calculate: was nearer to Leeds or Hull? Would it be better to go on or go back?

“Er I think the car's developed a fault. I think it would be best if we went back.”

“Right you are,” said mother.

I hadn't expected her to object or make any suggestions but her total, calm acceptance surprised me. I had expected at least a bit of concern, not that I wanted to worry her but I was getting seriously anxious. What on earth did I think I was doing driving a frail octogenarian about in this weather? What on earth would I do if the car conked out completely? I dared not stop, that's for sure so I took the next exit and navigated back to the westbound carriageway.

The car was coughing and jerking. I could not drive up to speed because of the weather but now the car had reduced my speed even further. If hell were meant to be cold I would imagine this is what it would be like: all sense of location obliterated in darkness, all sense of orientation gone. White flakes dancing and teasing our eyes: “If you stop I'll freeze you to death!” they were saying.

Why on earth had I...? What on earth was I thinking...? Yes, I resolved to give up smoking, go on a diet, stop eating sweets etc if only... And yet I dared not say anything. Mother was staring peacefully out of the window as if she were watching a picture show. I should have been grateful but it started to irritate me. We're in a crisis, doesn't she realize?

The lights of Leeds town glowed on the horizon. Well, what would I do when I got there? It was Sunday, there would be no garages open. It had felt like the middle of the night yet it cannot have been much after five. There was plenty of traffic about and there suddenly on my left was a filling station. The car coughed its way onto the forecourt. A couple of men were chatting jovially by the petrol pumps.

“Excuse me,” I said getting out. “Is there a garage nearby? My car's developed a fault and I've got my old mother with me.”

“Oh ah?” said one of the men. “Lets 'ave a look.”

I opened the bonnet.

“Yerv got an electrical fault,” he said. “That should do it. But yer radio won't work any more.” He went back to chatting with his mate.

"Thank you," I said not quite believing what had just happened.

I got into the car and drove gingerly off the forecourt. Not a cough, not a hiccup.

“Well I think we could try again.”

We were happily bowling along in the snow which now did not feel so bad. Actually it was rather fun, made you feel intrepid when there was no real risk. We might tell people about our adventure when we got back.

“Were you scared?” I asked mother at last.

“No,” she said. “I knew you would know what to do.”

I have never forgotten that. I might have forgotten the journey. I have certainly ever afterwards been a member of a motor rescue service. Yes, it was irresponsible and I learned my lesson. It's not the journey itself that has stayed with me but mother's, (what can I call it?) her passivity, her total confidence, her unquestioning faith in me. What shocked me was how completely undeserved it was and that such faith, while flattering, has the effect of giving you all the responsibility for everything, forever.