A reader in Canada, who manages a team of truck drivers many of whom are British, wrote me this in an email.

The weather continues to be bad, last night in Northern Ontario one of my trucks was in an accident that amazingly had no fatalities, or even any injuries! He was proceeding up a hill on the highway and another truck was coming down the hill, in the other direction. Just as they were passing each other, going in opposite directions, the other trucks trailer jackknifed out right in front of my driver and he and his truck went right through it! Remarkably, considering the force of the impact was enough to shear the engine out of my drivers unit out onto the highway and send both front wheels into opposite directions into the woods on either side, he came out without a scratch.

Accidents do happen and with no apparent fault on anybodies part. And thankfully sometimes they come out like this one. No scratches.

Snow mounding up in an Edmonton parking lot.
This story is here to remind us that while spring might be just around the corner (several corners) there is still the possibility of snow. I’ve no inside information however my Girl Guide motto remains with me. Be Prepared! And quoting the captain (I think it was him) in Hill Street Blues, Be careful out there!

Approach from the West….
This morning, climbing up from the East towards Hartside Top. Snow. Gradually more snow. Oh crikey! Thick snow. But not a thought, as far as I can remember, of turning back. Just two wheel track dents in snow, blowing across the road. Plowing on regardless. A kind of madness? Thankfully when I finally did grind to a halt by the lonely summit cafe there were men pushing a sliding-spinning car.

It’s all a bit of a blur now. All cold hands and slush under the wheel arches. Fitting Autosocks for the first time. Bit of a struggle. Men clearly unimpressed with sock activity. Impatient to push me out of the road to let others past. (Was that Rail Track they had written on their jackets?!) Me determined to fit those socks. They disappear into the blowing snow. Then hurried shouted exchanges with other drivers. Go back? Go on? Men return to get the car moving. I’m in my robes. Soaked. Are you going on? a chap shouted. Yes. I shouted back. We’ll follow you then.

For those who know this road the snow drifts just after the summit and then after the first sharp bend, not so much. As I took off the socks, having reached tarmac, the car following me stopped to check if I was OK. The lad in the back, headphones still in place, rolled down his window. Awesome! he exclaimed. I’d like to think he was appreciating my driving skills. The back end of the car shimmied back and forth in the loose churned up snow calling for a steady hand and calm nerve. But it was probably the socks! They were indeed awesome.

Just before Melmerby the barrier across the road announced that the crossing was closed! In The Village Bakery, tea, scone and jam with a chance to come down from this minor adventure. Had a memorable conversation with a couple at the cafe who had made the crossing too. Thanks for being there. And listening.

If there is a next time. If there is a question. If there is cause for concern. I’ll go the long way round.

Striding Edge – Lake District. If there is any doubt about the Lake District being simple wonderful take a look at the photographs taken one spectacular morning when all conditions came together for photography heaven. No, I did not take the pictures.

I walked Striding Edge as a thirteen year old. We came up from the south, a school party of noisy teenagers, on the train. We finished the journey by steam train on the last leg from Kendal to Windermere. I’ve probably mentioned this trip before. The whole experience. The train journey, being up north in a different country almost, and the fells. All new to me. They, the fells of Cumbria, remain to this day all new, ever renewing. Who would have thought I’d be staying within striking distance of Striding Edge. Not that I would go up there alone.

This was originally left as a comments to an earlier post by Angie. Since there is so much here I thought I’d publish as a post in its own right.

People now love to visit Swaledale as one of the most magnificent Yorkshire dales for scenery. My dad always said it was very bleak when he lived there, especially in the long winters. There was a lot of depression & suicides were not uncommon. My auntie thought that was partly because of the brooding hills which seemed to overwhelm some people, & possibly also because of the effect of lead leeching through water pipes into humans.

My dad & his four siblings grew up in the 1920s & 30s, my granddad scraping for work despite his status as a stone mason, the family next door staying indoors on Sundays because they didn’t have any Sunday clothes to wear. People who didn’t have sixpence for the doctor just doing without. My auntie had a story about a man who broke his back at the quarry being brought home screaming on the back of a trailer & put to bed to die without any medication. My granny was very anti drink & ‘signed the pledge’ because families suffered great hardship if the head of the household spent essential money on alcohol.

Electricity made the Dales more acceptable. I still remember in the 1950s taking a candle to go across the yard to the flush (luxury) toilet – fun as a kid but not permanently as an adult. There was in time electric light in the living room but not upstairs so oil lamps & candles were used until the 1960s.

Transport was difficult – I know it seemed to take a long time for us to make the trip from Preston & later Keighley. Now it can be done in 2-3 hours. Then cars broke down & the moors seemed incredibly steep & empty, although as a child I enjoyed the fun of leaping out to open & close all the gates which were later replaced by cattle grids. Buses were on market day or for school in Richmond.

It was a hard life with work a central feature. The family kept some chickens to supplement their income & my granny ran Grinton post office which then included walking all around the dale to outlying farms to deliver letters & parcels, even on Christmas day. Church was a central focus – my auntie played the organ from the age of 14, her mother cleaned the building, her dad dug graves & was a church warden & her four brothers sang in the choir.

Two of my dad’s uncles came back from the first world war very troubled mentally. Their marriages broke up & one was seen around Reeth muttering to himself & writing words in chalk on the pavements. What a shock it must have been to come from a remote village to the battlefields of Europe & back again.

My dad was a conscientious objector in the 1930s when he first went to Oxford University, but changed his mind about pacifism when Hitler overran Czechoslovakia – as did many others. He heard great debates at the Oxford Union with all the famous politicians attending, including Winston Churchill & Vera Brittain. Two of his brothers remained C.O.s through the war which was difficult for his father living in a small community where it was still seen as cowardly not to fight.

Thanks Angie.