Thursday

by David Ridgway

  “Ah yes. The earrings. They are priced at £350.”

  “Blimey, that’s a bit steep,” Martin reacted. “Can we negotiate a discount for buying the set and for me being a regular customer?”

  “Of course, of course,” replied the proprietor. “Putting the two together, maybe I could reduce the overall cost by, say, ten percent.”

  “I think we had better look at the other boxes and the other necklace.” Martin now looked at the second necklace, but it only had the one stone and the setting was definitely less attractive. “Do the earrings in the other boxes match this?” He asked, noticing that the price tag was for only £150.

  “Indeed, they do.”

  The jeweller opened both boxes to display two sets of earrings, with smaller stones and inferior settings. The better pair was priced at £120 and the lesser pair at £95.

  “That seems more my price level.” Martin wondered whether he now had a bargaining edge.

  “I’m sure your wife will more than appreciate the other stones.”

  “I’m sure she will, but my bank manager won’t.” They both laughed.

  “Maybe, if I suggested twenty percent?” The jeweller looked rather deprecatingly at Martin.

  “If you make it £400 for the set, I might be able to stretch to that.”

  “Perhaps if you offered £500?”

  “I’ll offer £425 and not a penny more.”

  “Then I feel that we have reached a most reasonable compromise,” the jeweller announced. “Would you like me to gift wrap your purchases?”

  “Yes please.”

  After paying for the necklace and earrings and feeling rather pleased with himself for obtaining such a discount, Martin left the shop. Before returning to the car, he slipped into a card shop and bought a wedding anniversary card. He then drove home. He parked his car in the yard near the kitchen door, took his purchases into his office and placed them in the bottom drawer of his desk. He put on his boots, went out and walked down the hill, under the railway line, to the sea wall at the bottom of his land.

  Glancing out of the classroom window, David saw that, for a brief moment, it had actually stopped raining, but the clouds were still scudding across a grey, leaden sky. The wind was really strong, even gale force. As he watched, he saw a fully mature beech tree on the far side of the rugby pitches bending to the might of the storm. Suddenly it slowly keeled over, leaving a large hole at its base.

  “Gosh, that was impressive!” he exclaimed out loud.

  “What’s the problem?” asked the teacher.

  “I’ve just seen the wind blow over a tree, sir, over there.” David pointed through the window. All the other pupils strained to see.

  “This is an important study period leading up to your A levels, Varley. You should have your nose in your book, not staring through the window.” The teacher looked at the rest of the boys. “Back to your desks and back to work,” he instructed.

  Fortunately, there was only a further five minutes before the mid-morning break and, as soon as the bell rang, David picked up his bag and left the room. He knew that Mr Smith would be hurrying to get his mid-morning coffee. David jog trotted towards the staff room in order to intercept him.

  “Excuse me, sir.” He greeted Mr Smith in the corridor outside the staff room.

  “Hello, Varley. What can I do for you?”

  “About ten minutes ago, I just happened to glance through the window and I saw a tree actually get blown down.”

  “Well, I don’t suppose this is the time to discuss the merits of revision as opposed to idly looking through windows.” Mr Smith looked at the boy in front of him. David has really filled out and is now ready for life, rather than the petty restrictions of school, he thought. “The wind is very strong,” he continued. “Have you checked what level on the Beaufort scale it would be, in order to blow down a tree?”

  “I was going to do that during break. I can’t remember exactly, but I think we must be getting gusts of over 75 miles per hour.”

  “And the rest,” replied Mr Smith. “What do you think is happening in the English Channel?”

  “Why?”

  “You told me last week that you had checked the tides. I suggest you now check the direction of the wind in the Channel and what the tides are doing.”

  “Yes sir. I did do that and if I remember correctly, High Tide today in Dover will be at 14.10 hours. Then, the next High Tide will be about two o’clock in the morning.”

  “Did you also check when the spring tides are likely to peak?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow in the middle of the day. At lunchtime.”

  “Do you have the same information for London?”

  “London High Water is roughly two and a half hours after Dover.”

  “That sounds about right. And have you any idea how long this wind is likely to persist?”

  “No, sir!”

  “Then I suggest you might try to find out.”

  Mr Smith turned and entered the staff room. David took out his iPhone to search for the answers. He noticed that he had received a text from Jackie.

  “Hi. Can you come out this evening? Good film in West End?? XX”

  He texted back. "Gr8. Where 2 meet? XX"

  He then checked Google and found that, to blow down a tree, the Beaufort scale suggests that the wind speed would actually be about 60 mph, being Storm Force. He walked outside where the wind was buffeting around the school buildings. As he looked across towards the school gates and the buildings over the main road, he saw a couple of slates dislodged from an old church and go flying down the road. This is getting more serious, he thought, as a thin, wintry sun broke through the cloud cover.

  All along the south coast, High Water had been some two feet higher than expected. With the gales being so strong, there was no coastal shipping at all and the sea was bringing local flooding to some estuaries. The waves had been heightened by the wind to over 30 ft. and as these crashed onto rocky shorelines, the spray burst was impressive.

  The storm seemed to be abating somewhat and the wind speed had dropped to Strong Gale. All cross channel ferries had been cancelled through the morning, but in the afternoon, it was decided that the wind had dropped sufficiently for normal service to be resumed, albeit some eight hours late.

  In the north, the snow was still falling, as far south as the Midlands. It had been particularly heavy in Yorkshire and the M62 motorway was closed at first light, with little prospect of it re-opening very soon. The Highways Agency was struggling to deploy snow ploughs and snow blowers in either direction because the wind was creating massive snowdrifts across all six carriageways. As soon as one lane was opened, the snow drifted back in and ruined all the work. One plough even suffered the indignity of being towed out of the snow backwards.

  Whenever the M62 was closed, there was always an increase of traffic along the old trunk road, the A62, from Manchester to Leeds, but even that was struggling. Lorries and cars had been abandoned haphazardly from Huddersfield out to the county boundary with Greater Manchester. And to make matters worse, a high sided vehicle had been blown onto its side in the Standedge gap. No one actually knew about this accident, because the snow had drifted and completely covered the lorry. The driver had been knocked unconscious as he slid down into the passenger seat. When he came to, he was cold, disoriented and completely blocked in.

  Cllr Christine Sykes had already been on the phone to the local Highways Department. No one there was really in a position to give her any specific information or advice, other than to stay inside and keep warm. The news bulletins were advising that no one should leave their homes, except in the direst emergencies. Christine’s phone was red hot with her constituents asking for information about gritters. It was all she could do to remain patient and polite.

  Along the East coast, there had been some flooding and as the tide ebbed and flowed, the local people decided that matters were not really as bad as the media was leading them to expect. Even so, the snow
was worse than many could remember, but in the afternoon, the wind dropped slightly, it stopped snowing and the world was suddenly presented like a Christmas card.

  Schools had been cancelled throughout the north of England and the children were now playing in the snow, sledging, building snowmen and having snow fights. The Authorities were slowly re opening the road network, firstly along the main roads and, wherever possible, the motorways. The M62 remained a specific challenge with drifts of 10 feet or more over both carriageways between Saddleworth and Huddersfield. Driving had become so hazardous that the number of vehicles stopped on all lanes grew steadily by the hour. The wind was still drifting the snow, making any progress virtually impossible. The Police and the Ambulance Service called in all their resources and, working behind the snow ploughs, they started to drag out all the vehicles. Very few had actually been abandoned, but the death toll inexorably started to rise. The statistics slowly filtered to the news media and the bulletins became increasingly depressing throughout the afternoon.

  Hearing of the blockages on the motorways in the north on the lunch time bulletin, Sarah Varley immediately phoned her mother.

  “Hi, Mum! Are conditions really so bad up there?”

  “They’re bloody awful. And made so much worse by all the stupid people who keep driving far longer than they should. Manchester Road looks like a bomb site with cars abandoned everywhere. The snow ploughs can’t get through. The M62 is closed and there’s a rumour that Standedge is blocked.”

  “How much snow is there?”

  “We’ve got about eighteen inches in the back garden. That’s bad enough, but the wind is whipping the snow into drifts and as soon as one road get cleared, new drifts are forming. I reckon the best thing to do is to get in front of the telly and watch some old Star Trek movies.”

  “Obviously, there’s no problem with the power supply then,” commented Sarah. “Up in Scotland, many of the power lines have been blown down and there are power cuts everywhere.”

  “No. We’re still OK here, but that’s no guarantee it’ll stay so. How are things down in the south?”

  “It’s been very windy and we’ve had a lot of rain with localised flooding. The rivers are pretty full anyway after all the appalling weather leading up to Christmas. But everything seems to be functioning pretty well so far. Michael’s away tonight. He has a conference tomorrow and he’s giving the first presentation in the morning. He left early this morning but, as always, I haven’t heard if he’s arrived in the city in one piece. David sent me a text to say that he got to school OK.”

  “Michael phoned me yesterday to tell me that he has secured funding for our library building. I’m not too sure how it’s going to work, but apparently he has a new client who is interested in putting up the money.”

  “That’s fantastic news,” Sarah said. “Apparently, this new client has also been able to offer a grant to the Music Society so we can now plan in detail for the centenary season.”

  “Hang on,” Christine said, “I can hear your father coming in. I’d better get his dinner ready because he’ll want to get out again to make sure our road is clear.”

  “OK, Mum. Give him my love. Talk soon.”

  Despite the awful gales and rain, the Underground was working virtually without any hitches. There were one or two holdups out towards Epping on the Central Line with a fallen tree. Trains were halted at Woodford, which allowed the service over the rest of the network to continue without disruption. It was a similar story on the District Line south of the river Thames in Putney but, again, the disruption was minor and caused little inconvenience.

  Milton completed his shift without any complications and emerged at Victoria to meet Pamela. Having been in the draughty station most of the morning, she was looking rather wind-blown. Her blond hair was in need of a comb and her face was flushed with the cold.

  “Hi, Milton. Has everything been OK?”

  “Sure. No problems at all.”

  “What’s that mark on your cheek?” She reached up and touched him on his left cheek where Les had hit him the day before.

  “Oh. I’d forgotten about that. After I left you yesterday, your two pals were waiting for me. One held my arms and the other hit me.”

  “Oh my God!” Pamela exclaimed. “What did you do?”

  “I sorted it. I think one ended up with a broken ankle and the other won’t be spending any time with a girl for a few days.” Milton chuckled quietly. “They weren’t to know that I had been in the Army and had trained for the Services boxing championships. I don’t think they’ll be bothering either of us anymore.”

  “Did you report it?”

  “There was nothing to report. No witnesses. It was all over in a few seconds.”

  “Oh God! I’m so sorry!” Pamela’s eyes began to fill with tears. “Anyway, they’re not my friends. Never have been.”

  “Hey! Come on. I know that.” Milton put his arms round Pamela and pulled her close to him. “I’m only teasing. And, really, I am OK.” She put her arms round his neck and kissed his lips.

  “Gosh, you feel cold,” he said. “Let’s go and get something to eat in the warm.” Hand in hand, they started to walk towards the café. As they approached, they saw that the windows were steamed up and as they opened the door a warm, damp, friendly atmosphere greeted them.

  A colleague shouted across the room, “Oy! Put the wood in the ’ole. It’s bloody draughty with that door open.”

  “OK!” Milton ushered Pamela into the café and firmly shut the door. He looked across to see another West Indian laughing at them and gesturing for them to join him. They made their way across and sat down.

  “Hi, Scott. You all right?” Milton greeted his friend. “This here is Pamela. She’s a good friend of mine. Be nice!” he instructed.

  “I’m always nice to your pals,” responded Scott. “’Specially the good-looking ones.”

  “Careful,” Milton warned, laughing. “Anyway, what’s new?”

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. I thought with all this wind and rain that we would have a difficult day, but it’s been fine so far. Anyway, I’ve finished now and I’m going across to Poplar after me dinner to see a mate who runs a youth football team.”

  “Who’s that then?” asked Milton.

  “He’s a bloke in the Fire Service called Fred Shemming. He’s married to my cousin Dinah.”

  “Blimey, I remember her. She was stunning as a teenager.” Pamela nudged him. “No, she was,” Milton continued. “I’ve often wondered what happened to her.”

  “She trained to become a teacher and started work at a school in Stepney. Anyway, some years ago there was a fire nearby and the firemen had to evacuate the school. She met Fred that day and they started going steady after that and then they got married. Got two kids now. Both boys and they both play in this team.”

  “So, you keep in contact?”

  “Well I’ve got to make sure that Fred’s looking after them all, haven’t I?” He looked at his watch. “In fact, I’d better be on my way.”

  And with that, Scott got up and left the café, allowing a sudden draught of cold air to blow through the door.

  “Good afternoon, Prime Minister.”

  The Prime Minister walked into 10 Downing Street to meet with colleagues to be briefed on the developing weather situation. He entered the Cabinet Room and took his accustomed place at the centre of the table.

  “Please bring me up to date,” he asked.

  "The southern depression appears to have centred itself over the Irish Sea. It is causing Storm Force winds in the Channel and all shipping has been advised to stay in port. Because the wind speeds have dropped temporarily during the morning, Channel crossings were restarted, but these will again be stopped as soon as all vessels have reached their destination. High tide has passed and the tide is now ebbing all along the south coast. More rain is expected across all the southern counties from Cornwall to Kent, together with strong westerly winds.
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  "In the north and in Scotland, matters are far worse. From Derby northwards, many roads have been closed because of drifting snow. The M62 remains closed and the gale force winds are making any early re-opening highly unlikely. There are drifts of ten feet and higher closing both carriageways and there are hundreds, possibly thousands of vehicles haphazardly stopped all over both carriageways all the way from Milnrow in Rochdale to Huddersfield in West Yorkshire. The death toll on the M62 is rising and has already passed thirty.

  "The other main roads, which would normally take the motorway traffic, are also blocked by a combination of the snow and trapped vehicles. So far, power has been sustained and the radio stations plus the Television Services are broadcasting advice to the general public not to leave their homes. All cross Pennine rail services have been suspended. Effectively the west side of the country is cut off from the east side.

  "The same situation prevails for the M6 in Lancashire and the A1 in Yorkshire, although there have been no deaths reported to date.

  "In Scotland, the position is in some respects worse. The depression is now centred in the North Atlantic some 200 miles off the west coast of Norway near Stavanger. A combination of snow and storm force winds has brought down the power lines in a number of places. Indeed, it is already being reported that the disruption to power has never been as bad. Engineers are fighting to restore power as quickly as possible, but in some places it will the best part of a week before anything like normal service can be expected.

  “The roads are a nightmare. All motorways are closed to all traffic. Many ‘A’ roads have been severed by both drifting snow and local flooding. All bridges on the main roads network are closed to all traffic. There has been some flooding in local areas, but the major problems are the heavy snowfall and the high winds which are combining to create drifting of considerable and unprecedented proportions. Because of the wind, it has not been possible to overfly the country and, in many respects, we are dependent on mobile phone reports because the landlines have been severed in so many places. Effectively, Scotland is now cut off from the rest of the United Kingdom and, indeed, its major cities are also basically isolated from each other.”