Not motoring
Horror story
Gavin Stamp
We are so used to things going wrong on our beleaguered public transport that it can sometimes be a disappointment when things work normally. After all, we British are said to thrive in adversity and, despite Beeching and all the changes suffered by the railways, the weather can still be very hostile. The observant railway traveller will spot the occasional snow-plough placed in readiness in a siding, and this winter promised to be bad. I recalled newsreels of the terrible winter of 1947, with long black coal trains pulled by panting steam engines between huge walls of snowdrift while Britain was brought almost to standstill be freezing weather . . .
The mistake was leaving Glasgow. For the first time since moving there we decid- ed to spend Christmas in London. No white Christmas in the mild capital, of course. But elsewhere it was different. With growing exasperation I read the reports of the bad weather in the north: Shetland cut off by snow, chaos on the roads and railways — the usual. But it was Glasgow's experience that was extraordi- nary. After — I was told — a brilliant white Christmas day, a blanket of Arctic air filled the Clyde valley — and stayed there. Nor- mally the west of Scotland is warmer than the east; but not this time. Temperatures of 20 degrees below (centigrade) were record- ed; on the front page of the Herald it announced that Glasgow was colder than Moscow.
Fraught with anxiety about frozen and burst pipes at home, I telephoned friends who confirmed that — unlike the usual hyperbole about a little bit of bad weather in the effete south of England — condi- tions were quite as extreme as reported. The air was so cold it was painful to breathe and not many ventured out. Few buses ran, for to wait by a bus-stop was to invite freezing to death. One friend man- aged to get to (warmer) Edinburgh and found that, in the evening, Scotrail was reluctant to send a train back. Eventually it ran, and was like a refrigerator on wheels. What if it had broken down? And I was missing all this! It was so frustrating .. .
But we were due to return on 30 Decem- ber, so perhaps I could enjoy sub-zero chaos over Hogmanay. Even better, bliz- zards sweeping south were forecast that day. So I warned the children to expect the worst, that they might not have another wash in hot water for days, and we boarded the 3.30 at Euston well equipped with bot- tles of whisky and other emergency rations in case we had to spend the night snowed- up on Shap or Beattock Summit. Surely this time the snow-ploughs would be out . . .
But how cruel Fate is — at least to me. The only impediment to the journey was the buffet car closing down at Preston. Lit- tle snow was observable through the win- dows as we glided up and down Shap and Beattock and pulled into Glasgow Central only a few minutes late. And then, horror of horrors, no wall of icy air greeted us when we opened the carriage door. The thaw had come that day and the snow was beginning to melt. And when we got home all was well and there were no burst pipes. So I cannot go on about what I did during the Great Glasgow Freeze of Christmas 1995. And Hogmanay was grey, wet and slushy. Some people are just never satisfied.
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