They planned to travel down through France and reach Spain by early February and Marbella by March. A summer spent touring Europe would be a superb adventure. They had no young children to concern them or grandchildren to rush around and babysit for. Their parents were in good shape, so they shouldn’t be called home every five minutes to administer care. Consequently, the Motorhome had been purchased after much thought and consideration. It wasn’t cheap, but had all mod cons on board and was ‘winterised’ – which meant it could cope with certain amounts of snow without freezing up. This meant of course they could visit Switzerland and Austria with no qualms. Ski-ing was not out of the equation.
However, for the time being they were enjoying the pre-Christmas atmosphere in the Brighton area, taking day trips up and down the coast on their small motor scooter, which they stored in the large ‘garage’ at the back of the van. The weather was good and they anticipated an excellent Christmas holiday, and lunch was already booked at the Grand Hotel in Brighton for the day itself.
Then on Sunday the fifteenth of December, it began to snow.
Day 5 – West Willoughby, Lincolnshire – 7:00pm
Life and warmth had returned to the three companions, and Jane and Chris were dozing by the roaring fire in the living room. Brady and George were standing in the kitchen discussing the situation. George lived alone and had done so since his fourth wife had left him, due to his philandering ways. However, he had always been close friends with Brady and his family, so George was devastated to hear of their deaths in Grantham. Brady tried to put on a show of strength but broke down several times and had to be comforted and heartened by George.
‘Look what you’ve achieved. You’ve saved these two, who would probably be dead by now. I know it's impossibly tough to lose everything you loved, but at least you are making an attempt to survive. I’m the only one left around here. The people next door are gone and their neighbours froze to death in their beds yesterday. I tried to get them to pool resources, but they wouldn’t listen. Thought the snow would stop eventually or they’d be rescued. Stupid buggars! I’ll probably end up the same way eventually. Have you got any idea what's really going on, Andy?’
Brady regained his composure and tried to explain the situation as he knew it. He had decided to make a break for Boston and the sea, trying to get a boat of some kind to Holland, Belgium or France. It was a slim chance, but it just might come off.
‘Why don’t you come with us, George? You’ve got nothing to lose and as you say, you’ll probably freeze to death here anyway!’
George pondered a moment and replied firmly.
‘No, Andy, I’d only hold you up. My sciatica and gout are really bad these days. You’ve seen me hobbling around for years. I really couldn’t travel in the conditions out there and I’m not going to put you all at further risk. Absolutely not!’
Brady looked at his old RAF colleague and knew that he was talking sense.
‘Okay, agreed. But can we stay for a day or two to recover our strength? We have our own supplies, so we won't impinge on your resources.’
‘Of course’, said George, ‘I’ve got loads of grub in the basement – it’ll last for months, plenty of logs for the fire all stacked in the dry, and gas aplenty in the relative warmth under here in the cellar. I’ll be fine, so help yourself to anything you need. You’re welcome. Can I help in any other way?’
Brady sighed with relief.
‘Thanks, George, if we can spend thirty-six hours refuelling our bodies and minds, I reckon we can get away again the day after tomorrow. We’ll be delayed on our planned schedule but what the hell – we can't beat this weather without resting properly at some time.’
‘OK, pal, let’s get the other two to bed, and in the morning we can reassess and re-plan. How about another brandy? It’ll help you sleep and keep you warm.’
Brady nodded assent and held out his glass.
Day 5 – General Situation Report – 11:00pm
It was Thursday and the snow had been falling now for four full days and covered an area from south of the Isle of Wight to well into the Hebrides; from western Eire across Britain’s heartland and fifty miles into the North Sea. Not a single hamlet, village, town or city was untouched. Not a single community had escaped the snowstorm and not a single family was unaffected by the personal loss of either life or possessions.
Not a single vehicle was able to take to the now invisible road system – although the odd adventurous improvisation enabled the use of Ski-Doos. Not a single train was running nor indeed any track even visible. Definitely the ‘wrong type of snow!’ All airports were closed and aircraft grounded – those in the open were all but buried. Many lay abandoned on taxiways and runways. The Underground systems throughout Britain had ceased to function as electricity failed. Many people were sheltering in the bowels of these cities, but with no food or water were on borrowed time.
The streets and roads were littered with literally hundreds of thousands of frozen bodies – mercifully hidden from view by the drifting white death. There were no emergency services to help remedy the situation, as they were also constrained by the conditions. If they couldn’t move how could they help the afflicted? The armed services could do nothing. Many servicemen were trapped in barracks and had done their best to protect themselves and their own families who happened to live on base in married quarters. Many people had drifted into these camps and were sheltering as best they could. But once again resources were scant and would eventually run out.
Patients in hospitals, the elderly in care homes, mental institutions and prisoners – all suffered similar fates. Once the heating supplies ran out or faltered, cold set in. In fact many of these people died where they lay, and thousands of criminals never again saw the outside of their cells. The authorities were loathe to release murderers willy-nilly – although some prison governors used their common sense and set the less violent charges free when the PM broadcast his message on the Monday. Murderers and rapists and terrorists could stay in their cells a bit longer.
This was a truly cataclysmic situation with no end in sight – and only four days had passed! After the event, critics voiced the hindsight opinion that conditions couldn’t have been that bad! But there’s always one smartarse who thinks he knows better!!
Nevertheless, how could it have all gone so wrong – so quickly?
How indeed? Nonetheless it clearly did. Just remember what chaos ensues in the UK after one mornings’ snow. A complete shambles transpires. Now imagine if it snows and snows and snows – and doesn’t abate for four or more days. Continuous storm force winds, driving, drifting snow, freezing temperatures – combined with wholly inadequate protective clothing and infrastructure. Stir in a large portion of British diffidence and complacency and you get a real recipe for disaster – and disaster is what Britain now had.
The population was now beyond collective help and any exterior assistance. The only people going to survive would be those who had experience, fortitude and a large slice of luck. Andrew Brady was one of those people and he now found himself and his two companions on the road to imagined safety.
However, the worst was yet to come.
Day 6
Friday 20 December
West Willoughby, Lincolnshire – Noon
Chris, Jane and Brady slept like the proverbial logs overnight. They were clearly all exhausted and stressed after their exploits in the snow. However, Chris was recovering his strength and after they awoke, Jane spent the day administering to his needs. George had prepared a large, hot breakfast – his gas was still flowing – and they all wolfed down a full English fry-up! After that had settled, Brady and George set about reviewing the plan for the trip to Boston.
The night before, the two men had mainly discussed the decision to head for Boston and not just to sit the storm out, as many other victims had decided to do. In the end, they agreed that Boston was as good a destination as any and would give them a fighting chance to get across t
he North Sea. Staying put was probably not an option! After only five days the country was in a terrible state and the government was useless. The best thing to be done was head east and Brady couldn’t believe that nobody else was also on the road.
Brady went through his kit and George, an experienced Combat Survival and Rescue Officer (CSRO), gave him the benefit of his extensive experience. George had been a Harrier pilot in the RAF and for three years towards the end of his career had run the CSRO school in Plymouth, where many servicemen, including the SAS, were trained in combat survival techniques.
They inspected every item in the haversacks and repacked them so that they were easier to carry. The sled was unpacked and each item re-examined for damage and usefulness. Some items were rejected and some added, but in essence, Brady had got it just about right. The clothing and ski kit was thoroughly dried out and some small repairs made. By lunchtime, all of the kit was in shipshape order and Brady felt more than confident that it would continue to meet their needs.
They watched the snow continue to fall silently as they ate lunch – steaming hot broth, once again prepared by a generous George. The afternoon would bring a serious planning session to re-visit Brady’s route to Boston and to discuss his plans to find transport across the Wash and into the North Sea. George made several pertinent observations and suggested suitable staging posts at houses he knew might be easily accessible. His knowledge of the area was comprehensive, so Brady took on all of the information and altered his plan accordingly. In addition, he had no real idea about where to find help in Boston, as he was relatively unfamiliar with the docks. However, George could help once again, as he knew of a chap who owned a suitable small pleasure craft in the town. He had crewed on it several times along the Norfolk Broads and just offshore. They located the address on a 1:50000 scale map and converted the co-ordinates into a reference that that the Sat Navs could cope with. It was decided that Brady would head for this location and try to liberate the boat. Hopefully, it would still be there – or even better – the owner might still be alive and proffer assistance. Brady wasn’t hopeful about this aspect, but at least he had somewhere to aim for.
By 4pm darkness had fallen, so George brought out the Monopoly board and they spent a few hours teaching Chris how to play and were able to forget their troubles for a short while. They retired early – as they intended to be up early for a 9am start. Brady was the last to hit the sack as he and George sat up slightly later, going through the options. The weather wasn’t abating and Brady’s confidence in success, although boosted by George’s encouragement, was receding.
He was right to be worried!
Day 6 – Brighton Camping Site – 6:00pm
By Monday morning (Day 2), the snow was a fraction more than a light dusting, which caused the Motorhomers to consider their options. Patric suggested that they packed up whilst the roads were still passable and get back to Staines for Christmas. Joanie, to the contrary, was keen to stay put. She argued that the snow would probably stop in a few hours and since they had planned to do so many things, it would be a great pity to give up so easily and run for the cover of bricks and mortar. Eventually, after a hearty breakfast to warm themselves up, they decided to stay put.
Patric reviewed the situation carefully. Electricity was supplied direct to the ‘van by the campsite – it was part of the pitch fee. Their propane gas bottles were full – with about twenty litres, which should last well through the Christmas period, so that wasn’t really an issue as they had the low temperature propane – not butane, which froze up easily. They were not too low on food, but a quick sortie to the local shop on the scooter later that day would top them up nicely. The pitch was a hardstanding which meant that the solid surface precluded getting bogged down in mud or a thaw. The external Silver Screen thermal window protection was fitted and the electric heater kept the interior snug. The fridge only needed to be on the lowest setting due to the below zero external temperatures and the water heater was set to permanently ON to keep the system flowing. The leisure battery was strong, but they didn’t have to rely on it yet, as they were connected to the mains – for now. All in all, things seemed under control and the decision to stay put seemed a reasonable one.
Later that morning, in light snow, Patric got booted and spurred for the short trip across the park and up the road to the local Spar shop to top up the larder. Joanie had made a list, but had decided to stay with the ‘van – in the warm and dry. They had watched several vehicles leave the site that morning and one large vehicle had swayed drunkenly round a corner as traction was lost in the conditions.
‘Be careful, Patric,’ pleaded Joanie, as he set off through the door of the Motorhome.
‘Don’t worry, it's not far, I’ll be back in an hour.’
Patric removed the cover from the scooter, folded and stored it in the garage, started the engine first time and set off towards the campsite exit. He noted the empty spaces scattered around from where other campers had already run for home. He looked up at the worsening weather and considered briefly whether the decision to stay was the correct one. Too late now, he thought.
Patric turned out of the gate and made a right turn up the slope towards the main road which led out of the park attached to the campsite. It was a narrow road with really only room for one van to pass. A few vehicles were parked which he passed as he slithered up the steepish slope. Once on the upper road traction became easier, but he proceeded slowly and with great care. It was becoming windier which didn’t help his ability to steer the 50cc scooter, but he eventually made it to the park exit and then the main road. Traffic was light but still flowing, so he joined the road and made his way through the traffic lights, turned and drove the three hundred metres to the parade of shops. So far so good.
The small SPAR supermarket had all he required on the list and after twenty minutes shopping, Patric joined the queue to check-out. The unfortunate Asian owner was clearly freezing cold and they exchanged pleasantries about the ‘bloody British weather’. After packing up the scooter’s pannier with all the supplies, Patric set off to reverse his route back to the campsite. He reached the park entrance and transitted along the link road to the top of the slope, which lead down to the campsite gates.
As Patric reached the top of the hill , he came across a scene of devastation. A car towing a small caravan had tried to mount the hill, maybe too fast, and had slid off the road into the ditch alongside the track. The caravan, twisted by the crash had turned on its side and slid back down the road towards the campsite entrance. Unfortunately, there was another car and caravan directly behind attempting to exit the site. The front of the second car was now firmly embedded in the underside of the first caravan. This had caused the second caravan to jack-knife. All four vehicles now completely blocked the road and snow was quickly covering the scene. The snow covered occupants stood feebly around the area. To make things worse, a large motorhome towing a small Smart car on a trailer was parked behind the second caravan outfit, and could not move. It couldn’t reverse out of the way as its trailer kept slipping, sliding and jack-knifing at the slightest attempt to move backwards.
Luckily, Patric was able to stop in time and dismounted. He couldn’t possibly motor down the hill as it was too steep and there was only a small gap of about two feet to squeeze through. He did not want to abandon the scooter, so he adapted. He pointed the rear of the bike downhill and started the engine to make rearward motion easier. He then gently allowed the scooter to move down the hill towards the small gap. After a couple of minutes he reached it and manoeuvred through, found a narrow passage down towards the main entrance and manipulated his scooter, transporting the precious supplies back onto level ground. He turned the bike around, remounted and set off towards his own ‘van. What greeted him was a vista from a ‘Fred Karno’ circus. A line of seven motorhomes and caravan outfits were futilely queued-up, attempting to escape to safety, trapped by the blockage at the entrance.
They were quick
ly becoming engulfed in snow and soon it would be impossible to move – even if they could go forwards. The campsite wardens were desperately trying to calm the situation and were attempting to guide a ‘van through a 180 degree, three point turn. A barrier had been set up at a junction and a warden’s assistant was guiding outfits back to their pitches. Nobody was leaving this campsite for quite a while yet. The AA would have to come and remove the four vehicles at the gate first and Patric estimated that it would be late afternoon at least before that task was accomplished – if at all.
He paused to ask a warden for an update and was met with despair.
‘It's a bloody nightmare. They all want to leave, but that hill out there has always been a problem. We gritted it this morning, but the slope and the amount of snow has caused this chaos. It's not the first time either. We’ve been warning the authorities about this for years. Everyone will have to stay put until further notice. When the road is eventually cleared, we’ll get people out one at a time, in strict order of priority. It's a bloody nightmare!’ he repeated forlornly.
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 30