It’s all there in black and white

Snow fell almost non-stop in early February. Plump flakes dropped heavily like parachutists. Sharp stinging crystals whipped on the wind. Powder-fine wisps danced across the frozen ground. Like stalactites, icicles formed on the windows and even upwards like stalagmites, creating the impression that we were being imprisoned in cage made of ice. A country in lockdown became even more static. The land was black or it was smothered white.

Wind and snow moved as one, gripping East Anglia in an arctic fist. Any accumulations slipping from windowsills or rooftops crashed alarmingly as though an intruder was smashing his way into the house.

“It was like being imprisoned in a cage made of ice”

I risked a foot patrol to the village for provisions. Roads were impassable and on arrival, as well as bacon and UHT milk, I