Snowfalling In Love

Snowfalling in Love

The icy raindrops were driven on mercilessly by the wind into the windows of the old Victorian school building, each one harassing the one in front and being hurried in turn by those following.  The rattling, pitter-patter of water on glass resonated inside the classroom as the students looked up, distracted from their desks. With only twenty minutes of the school day remaining, Mrs. Goldsworthy knew her pupils’ attention was lost. The gusting wind was turning the rain to sleet and the school children, born and raised in the country, knew that this was the first storm of winter.

 In the following days, the clouds darkened during daylight hours, the temperature dropped, the wind picked up speed and every child in the village dreamt of the snow that would follow as inevitably as the hungry fox that would steal another chicken from the coop.

With winter darkness descended, the single glowing lantern by the Red Lion pub on the village green would light the drinkers’ dry-throated arrival and then, thirsts slaked, guide them home in the inky blackness. As silence settled over the village the snow fell stealthily, single flake by single flake, as it always did, whilst the village children slept under soft, warm blankets and dreamed of faraway places and magic carpets.

With the arrival of dawn’s magical stillness, the air was soon filled with the snapping and crackling of excited children’s footsteps echoing into this new, unexplored wilderness of blinding, pristine whiteness. The children burst from their doorways, their unfamiliar shapes like overstuffed pillows, bundled up and tied with string as they breathed plumes of cloudy, moisture-laden breath into the crisp air of winter. Indulgent parents, wrapping their dressing gowns around themselves, watched from indoors as the fire was stoked and bread was toasted. On days like these, there was always time for exploration, for snowballing, for creating slides and for the building of snowmen before school.

By the end of the first day of snow the village was sleep again, the children replete with tales of slides and snowmen and icicles. Damp clothes were set to steam in front of the embers of the fire.  The parents slept too although many were anxious to make sure they would be able to get to work in the morning whilst others were resigned to taking the day off.

In the darkness of the night there is the bark of the dog fox and a soft sense of moving air as the owl sweeps past on silent wings. These are the only sounds….except…

“Hey, Marmaduke, are you there? Are you awake?” A voice whispers quietly, crisp in the freezing night air.

“Is that you, Daphne?”  A soft voice answers.

The children have made two snowmen, or rather, they have made a snowman, and named him Lord Marmaduke Fotheringay  and a snowlady, his fiancee, Lady Daphne Wentworth, after a popular television programme, The Fotheringays.

There is a soft swish as the snowy couple wave their branches-for-arms at each other. Their carroty noses are pointed towards each other in greeting. The children must have raided the dressing-up box for Lady Daphne is wearing an evening gown and a tiara. She has a smear of lipstick for a mouth and an embroidered red shawl has been carelessly draped around her shoulders.  Her coal black eyes are, of course, coal. She peers closely at Lord  Marmaduke.

“I’ve really missed you, Marmy, my darling,”  she tells him. “ It’s been so long and I just couldn’t wait to see you again.”

“I know. Same for me,” he replies with heartfelt honesty.  “I read in The Times that last winter was one of the warmest and wettest on record. I spent most of my time as water, just hanging round in a cloud.”

“Oh, absolutely!” She exclaims. “The months have just dragged by but as soon as the wind turned to the north-east I just knew we would be together again. I just hope we can spend a bit more quality time together this winter.  Look, can we get a bit closer, do you think?”  Daphne beckons to Marmy with her branch-hand.

“You stay there and I’ll see if I can slither towards you a bit. Hold your horses, old girl, my feet are jolly well frozen to the spot.” There is a grunt  followed  by a slight crack as he breaks free. “I’m coming, Daphne!”

Moments later the two snow figures make contact with each other. They hold branches and touch carrots. There is a kissing sound, followed by a slight thud.

“What was that? “ asks  Marmy.

Daphne looks tenderly at Marmy. “Your nose just dropped off. Don’t  worry, the children will pop it back on in the morning.”

She goes on, “What are you wearing? You look like you are dressed for a dinner party.”

Marmy  is wearing a bow tie and a top hat and around his feet he has been given a pair of black lace-up shoes. Apart from that, he is naked.

“Someone will be looking for those in the morning, I expect,” says  Marmy  with a guffaw, looking down at the shoes.  “Children, eh? They grab the first thing they can find when it comes to dressing us up but  I must say you look awfully attractive in that shawl.  Red really suits you.”

“Oh, do you think so? I always think red makes me look a bit washed out, if you know what I mean?”

“No, not at all, it really is your colour.”

“What about the evening gown ?  Does it make my derriere look big?”

Marmy  glances  down at Daphne’s  rounded posterior. The children have been very generous with the snow in this area.  “Of course not, my darling,” he answers diplomatically. “ You would look positively wonderful  in a bin bag. In fact, when I last saw you, you were dressed in one!” They laugh.

 “So, what have you been up to since last winter?” Marmy  asks.

Daphne thinks for a moment or so. “Well, I spent quite a lot of time in the North. There’s always snow around somewhere up there so I got to meet up with a few old friends.”

“Oh yes, who was that then?” Marmy asks. “Any of the chaps I know?”

“Whitey?”  Daphne replies. “You know, one of the Edinburgh Whites. You remember him, I’m sure. Massive chap, the size of a polar bear and there was Storm, such a lovely girl and then there was Blizzard….”

 Marmy interjects….

“….Never really liked him, that Blizzard chap.  A bit of a bounder if you ask me. A bit too full of himself.” 

“And how about you then, Marmy?  Where did the weather take you this year?”

Marmy smiles at this, his smile a crenellated affair through his pastry-cutter lips.

“At the end of the last Fall, snowfall that is, I hung around for a while, spent time on the ski slopes mainly  then after the M E L T I got evaporated into a passing cloud with a rather vocal crowd over from the Welsh mountains. They spent nearly every waking moment singing.  We got blown over to Russia and the Urals. I had a jolly good time there with some Ukrainian water drop chaps before we were dropped into the river. Then the sun came out and it’s back to the clouds, then down as rain again. You know,  the jolly old water cycle.  Frankly, it all gets a bit boring after a few hundred cycles.”

“Still, mustn’t grumble, I suppose,”  Daphne says. “I mean, did you hear what happened to the Scottish contingent?”

“No, what was that then?” Marmy pricks up his cauliflower ears.

“Well, apparently gallons and gallons of them were taken out of the river and they ended up in a whisky distillery.”

“No!  Never.  What fun!

“I don’t think they thought it was fun, by all accounts.”

“Why ever not?”

“Well, think about it, Marmy.  What happens to the whisky?”

“People drink it, of course.”

“Then what happens to it after people have drunk it?”

Marmy thinks.  “Oh no!  That’s disgusting.  Oh, my word!”

They both stand in silence for a few minutes, lost in their own thoughts of old friends, the water cycle, whisky distilleries and musical Welsh raindrops.

Suddenly Daphne whispers, “Shhhh. Stand still, old chap.”

“What is it,” asks Marmy very quietly, his coaly eyes swivelling in his snowy head.

“Stray dog.  Hope it’s not a hungry vegetarian.”

“Why’s that then?”

“Your carrot’s on the ground. “

A minute later and the dog has wandered away, bladder now empty. Around Daphne’s feet there is now a rapidly freezing, yellow puddle. Marmy starts to laugh.

“What are you laughing at Marmy?” She asks.

“Have a look around your feet,” he tells her.

Daphne looks down. “Oh gosh, no,” she sighs. “Still, I suppose it was bound to happen at some time what with us standing out here all night, you know.  At least that tells us that the temperature is still below freezing. You can wipe that smile off your face by the way. That dog did eat your carrot!”

Marmy makes a kind of sniffing sound.  “Never mind, at least won’t be able to get a cold in the nose. I remember last year when my nose dripped all night. Most irritating. Let’s just hold hands shall we? You never know when we will meet up again. If the temperature rises, apart from getting dog wee on the hem of your  ball gown,  you could be gone by morning.”

“Yes, and you.”

Later, much later, as dawn is just beginning to show itself below the edge of the horizon  Marmy turns his eyes towards Daphne.

“Daphne darling…,” he begins.

“Yes, darling,” she replies.

“I just need to tell you something, just in case we get watered down or evaporated again or thawed.”

“You don’t need to say anything, Marmy. I know.”

“But I want to say it anyway.  Would you mind awfully?”

“Very well, go on then.”

“ Lady Daphne Wentworth…….I love you……,” he starts to say.

“I love you too….Lord Marmaduke Fotheringay,”  Marmy replies.

Suddenly a snowplough comes roaring around the corner, the driver on early shift in a hurry to clear the road before the new day starts.

“Brace  yourself, darling,” shouts Marmy. “This could mean the end for us.”

“Love you, Marmy,” says Daphne  before  their  voices  are overwhelmed.

With a roar the vehicle churns up a huge swathe of snow and blows a fountain of dirty grey white slush onto the pavements and even into the front gardens of the cottages nearest to the road.

The sound of the roaring engine gradually diminishes until all is silent once more.

 Lord Marmaduke Fotheringay  and his fiancée Lady Daphne Wentworth are gone too, buried beneath several feet of freshly ploughed snow. The only signs of their existence are two sticks poking out of the snow. They are touching almost as if they are lovers holding hands.