Told you so...

I was driving to work tonight when I heard on the radio that over a hundred motorists are stuck in their vehicles, on snow-bound roads near Exeter in Devon. I'm ashamed to report that I smiled a smug little smile.

We've had a bit of snow here over the last few days, but either we have got off much more lightly than other parts of the country, or they've just over-reacted about how bad it is. In spite of this, I've taken the usual precautions of putting extra, cold-weather clothing, a sleeping bag, bottled water, food and my faithful Trangia camping stove in the back of 'The Tractor'.

When I was on the 'phone, chatting to one of my brothers a couple of days ago, I'd asked him if he'd put any emergency gear in his car. He admitted that he hadn't, but doubted whether it would be necessary, as he couldn't remember any serious snow falls in his neck of the woods since he moved to Devon. Yes, that's right, Devon. He lives within 30 miles of Exeter.
"What d'you mean? 'it doesn't really snow around here'. ", I said, " I spent three days stuck in the snow down there in 1980. It's not something I'd care to repeat."
"Oh yes,", he replied "so you did. That was on Dartmoor though.",
"Well, the edge of Dartmoor. But it's not so far away, and you never know when you're going to get caught out."

We had been royally caught out as it happens.
I was living in Devon at the end of 1978, and although Blight-of-my-life was living and working near Manchester at the time, she had driven down to stay for the New Year festivities. We'd been to a wedding reception with a couple of her old college friends during the afternoon of 30th December.
Quite why we decided to go to the pub, instead of heading straight home, I can't remember, but I do remember that it was already snowing a bit as we drove there.
When we all came out of the pub, it was obvious that we'd miscalculated. Several inches had fallen, and settled very convincingly. Snow was still falling, the temperature was way down and there was a biting wind too.
We piled into Blight's Datsun, and she set off. We probably got about halfway back to our friend's cottage before the conditions finally beat us. We were balked on a hill by another car, mired in more than a foot of drifting snow. We abandoned the car and finished the journey on foot. It was fearfully cold, and we had all the wrong clothes. We were all still dressed for a wedding reception, and apart from a couple of extra jackets that were in the car, we were hopelessly ill-equipped to deal with sub-zero temperatures and over a mile of knee-deep snow.
When we finally made it to the cottage, I had the full Ranulph Fiennes ice-beard and matching eye-brows. Just how close to hypothermia we were, I don't know, but it was certainly much too close for comfort.
We were stuck at the cottage for several days. The temperature dropped to minus 17 degrees; so cold that the central heating oil froze. We had to go out foraging for firewood, and the metal handle of the bow-saw froze to the skin of my hand.
We finally made it off the moor , and into the nearest town on about January 2nd.
I won't forget that New Year in a hurry.

So if my brother is unfortunate enough to have been one of the motorists stranded on Telegraph Hill. . .