Snow

We prayed for snow each winter.  Snow changed the rules. Snow presented us with lots of new, exciting and sometimes risky activities.

A dusting of white on the tops of the Dublin mountains was the first indicator that there was the chance of snow. The anticipation built, and waking up in the morning with your bedroom flooded with reflected bright white light confirmed that there had been a fall during the night. Breakfast was skipped as we rushed into the garden to build snowmen and throw snowballs. Massive snowball fights developed along Sydenham Road, with areas of virgin snow ferociously defended. The top of the car port was a great source of snow, but you had to walk on the rivets for fear of putting your foot through the corrugated sheeting.

Winter birthday parties with snow on the ground were a real novelty. Our house in the foothills of the Dublin mountains was higher than most of my school friends and their snow always melted first. My birthday falls in February and I had a pile of friends around for a 12th party bash. A trip to the cinema followed by a Fanta fueled sing song watching Rugby Special meant a sugar intoxicated mob marauded around our snowy garden.

We set up an ambush under the cover of darkness which allowed us to hide in the front hedge with an arsenal of ammunition. The snow had fallen the previous day and had frozen hard overnight. A car came tiptoeing up the road, its lights picking out the black lines of traction and safety. The command was to hold fire until the enemy had gone by to allow for a speedy escape, but the excitement was too much. The missiles flew through the sky, a convex barrage of snow and ice. They hit the car like rocks and we scattered.  Mucko McSwiney was the smallest of my friends and his getaway was not as quick as the rest of us. The driver leaped into our garden and collared Mucko. He marched him up to the front door and presented him to my father urging a good thrashing as punishment.  He readily agreed and promised that Mucko would be beaten to within an inch of his life.  Fortunately, Dad was on his third G+T and the admonishment was commuted and Mucko was sent back out to the garden to join his fellow miscreants.

One Sunday evening saw a great fall of snow. A soft silence fell over the neighbourhood, thick downy flakes bursting bright as they wandered next to the street lights. Each step created a crunch underfoot leaving a trail of wellington prints behind. The road came to life with snowballs arcing through the night sky, squealing children blowing warm breath into their freezing cupped hands. Cars got stuck on the Upper Kilmacud Road, wheels spinning on the packed snow. We offered to push the cars to get some momentum. All of the drivers readily accepted. Once they got going, we hung on to the boot, skiing along in a spray of snow. This was great fun, with competitions between all of the children to see who could go the furthest up the road.  One car had three of us hanging on for dear life as the road flattened out and the car built up speed. It ended abruptly when a lady passenger wound down her back window and whacked us repeatedly with her umbrella. We spun off, ending up in a laughing pile of entwined snowy limbs in the middle of the road.  We picked ourselves up and trudged home to warm ourselves in front of the Aga.