Britain was at a virtual standstill. It was truly astonishing. Less than one day of snow and the country had almost ground to a halt. Even attempts by gritters to clear the thoroughfares were proving to be a ‘drop in the ocean’. Grit was just no use against three or four feet of snow. Eventually, even these vehicles ground to a standstill.
Workers on the Sunday nightshift were either trapped at work or in their cars trying to get home. Reports were coming in from all parts of increasing fatalities. Luckily, they were relatively limited, mainly due to it being a Sunday night when the snow started to fall.
`Some people had simply perished in their cars of exposure or had died in the attempt to walk home. Many were inadequately equipped for the weather and had abandoned their cars too hastily and too scantily dressed for such horrendous conditions. Office clothing in Arctic-like conditions was a recipe for disaster - and disaster was indeed looming.
Reports had come in during the past day from roving reporters sent out by the BBC to all parts of the country – from Cornwall to Dover, from Newcastle to Cardiff, from Manchester to Glasgow and beyond.
The reporters had all repeated the same story. Life was grinding to a halt in all parts of the country. The luckiest people were those still at home. Anyone caught out in this weather today would be facing serious life threatening problems. Just walking a mere ten metres was fast becoming a gargantuan challenge.
It was a grim picture and Quincey now had to pass this message out to the population at large.
And the main message was critical but simple – stay indoors.
Day 2 – En-route to Paddington – 10:00am
Whichever God Pardeep prayed to was clearly listening – at last – albeit temporarily. He had picked the correct direction in which to stagger up between the two snowbound commuter trains in the siding. It was dreadfully hard going with deep, drifting snow reaching up to his thighs at times, but slowly, very slowly, he made progress towards the flickering light at the end of the train. It took about twenty minutes but eventually he made it. The source of the light was a small concrete building about fifteen feet square and with only one storey. It was covered in snow but, surprisingly, the entrance door was clear. Someone had been using this building very recently. He gasped with relief and tried the door handle, which turned easily and so he pulled it open and threw himself in.
What greeted him was not the welcome he expected. Four unshaven, burly men wrapped in layers of warm looking, but very scruffy clothing, turned as one to stare suspiciously at the newcomer.
Shut the fucking door!’ came a chorus of shouts accompanied by general foul-mouthed abuse.
Pardeep slammed the door shut behind him and sank to his knees.
‘Thank God,’ he cried.
There was a ten second silence whilst Pardeep gathered his wits and the men assessed their unwelcome guest.
‘Look here, lads, what have we got here giving us a visit?’ smirked one of the men with pure malice.
‘And not so much as a knock on the door, or even a ‘by your leave,’’ scowled another sarcastically.
Pardeep looked up at his hosts and slowly took in his surroundings. He didn’t like what he saw. If it were not so ironic, he'd have thought he had jumped from the frying pan into the fire!
The four men stared at Pardeep with real menace, and it seemed clear that they did not welcome the uninvited interruption into their freezing cubby hole.
‘And just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ shouted the biggest tramp, a vicious looking individual with a nasty scar running down his face. ‘You ain't staying here, mate. There ain’t enough room – especially for a fuckin’ Paki. Just get up and piss off …now!’
Pardeep hung his head in shock and dismay. He was already half frozen to death, and the thought of going back out into that storm was unbearable. He tried pathetically to explain.
‘Look, please, I just broke out of the train back there. I was trapped and I’m freezi…’
He was cut off sharply.
‘I don’t give a shit where you came from, Paki, just get up and get out, before we throw you out!’
The four men stood up slowly as a snivelling Pardeep tried again to bluster a plea to stay.
‘Just for a few hours, please, whilst I warm up. I won't touch your food. I’ll be gone in an hour. Please. Have a heart. Please!’ he begged.
He got no further. Two of the men grabbed an arm each whilst a third opened the door. They bundled him up to his feet and forced him, kicking and struggling, to the exit, whilst the fourth aimed a forceful kick at Pardeep’s backside. He hurtled through the door into the snow and fell headlong into a drift. Unfortunately for Pardeep, the drift had covered a sharp metal rod that was part of the railway points system. As Pardeep fell his neck was punctured by the thin pole, and as he recoiled the steel spike retracted, leaving a clinical half inch puncture hole, which immediately spurted bright red blood.
Pardeep screamed in pain and the last thing he heard was the door behind him slamming shut. He tried to stem the flow of blood, but in vain, as it spilled through his fingers onto the snow, quickly spreading like a red blanket.
His head fell back into the snow and within two minutes Pardeep Aluwahlia had passed into unconsciousness.
The four callous brutes inside were blissfully unaware of Pardeep’s’ fate. Actually, they couldn’t have cared less. They were interested in only one thing – themselves. Sadly, this type of incident was mirrored many times across the country that week, as the population realised just what they might have to do to survive the disaster. No one was going to help, and many took the view that it was indeed every person for him or herself.
It was a wretched, yet not a totally surprising reflection of modern Britain.
Day 2 - 10 Downing Street -12:30pm
‘Turn the television on, please, Phillip.’
The PM was sitting on the sofa next to Sir Ian James, who had joined him and the PPS in the private apartments.
‘Have you been briefed, Ian?’ asked the PM.
‘Very quickly, on the way up by Phillip – it seems serious, if what the weather men say is correct. However, I’d get corroboration before we do anything too hastily,’ cautioned Sir Ian.
As he was speaking, the face of a haggard looking Quincey Roberts appeared on screen.
‘Good morning – or is it? – and welcome to this special BBC weather bulletin :-
Britain is engulfed in a potentially disastrous winter storm. Snow is falling heavily in all parts of the Kingdom from Land’s End to John O’Groats – and there is little sign of it stopping any time soon.
Weather experts have warned that this exceptional snowfall is set to continue for up to a week bringing up to four or five feet of snow, and with it as a consequence, the associated and perennial chaos that this country experiences every time it snows. The Government has been asked for its reaction to the warnings issued by the Met Office – but they have yet to react. Possibly because there is no one at the office! The new Prime Minister has sent everyone home for the Christmas break and apparently, nobody is minding the shop. Is this really what we’ve to expect from our new administration? If so, heaven help us all!’
The Prime Minister, his PPS and Sir Ian James all looked at each other and the PM was first to react:
‘Phillip, please tell me that somebody is still at work!’
‘Of course, Prime Minister. The vast majority of the civil service, emergency services and military are all still at work until the end of this week – and beyond. It's just that all of the MPs elected in the recent poll have returned to their homes or constituencies – some have gone abroad on holiday – but essentially there are only a handful of MPs in London. Of course, the Assemblies in Cardiff, Stormont and Holyrood are at work.’
The PM sighed.
‘Good idea, let's talk to our colleagues around the country after this chap finishes his bulletin. It may provide the corroboration you recommended Ian’.
/> Quincey Roberts was in the process of handing over to a reporter standing on a roundabout in Basingstoke. As the picture switched it was easy to see the extent of the storm. Heavy snow and wind was battering the poor man and snowflakes obscured the camera lens as a gloved hand kept appearing briefly to wipe it away. Cars were crawling along the road behind him and suddenly a large pizza box flew past his head. He had to duck violently to avoid injury and handed straight back to the studio.
The next ten minutes described a similar scene all over the country. It was much worse in Scotland and Cornwall, which were enduring extremely harsh conditions. Northern Ireland and Eire were not exempt either.
The speed of accumulation of snow was the astounding factor. This snow consisted of large, heavy flakes settling very quickly – similar to the stuff one would see in ski resorts.
The PM and his companions were rapidly getting the message.
The bulletin continued for another twenty minutes and highlighted the worsening travel difficulties. Airports closed, trains abandoned, traffic jams.
Then came the clincher. There were reports of several deaths during the night – including two police officers killed in the North-West. Traffic accidents were the main culprit but a few people had broken down and abandoned their cars. Clearly, inadequately prepared, they had tried to walk to their homes. Five lifeless frozen bodies had been reported so far.
‘My God,’ exclaimed the PM. ‘Have people been warned not to go out in this?’
The PPS replied anxiously.
‘The problem is, Prime Minister that just like you, the general public has been taken completely by surprise by the sudden ferociousness of this weather. Most people shrug it off as: ‘just more British winter weather’ and set off to work as usual. In addition, it appears that most people who made it into work this morning will, by this evening, be stuck there if this continues. The more cautious are still at home – but employers don't encourage workers to just not turn up when the weather turns a bit rough. A vast number of people are trapped in their vehicles on the road system. That could be the biggest issue after it gets dark.’
The PM was now staring at the ceiling and closed his eyes as if to block out the emerging truth of the situation.
Quincey Roberts continued with his news report and finished with a warning.
‘In the absence of an official line, we are advising that nobody should leave their homes unless on essential business. If you have to travel, make sure that you are adequately clothed. We will return with more news at 2pm. Keep warm and safe. Good afternoon.’
Sir Ian James turned to the PM and summed up the situation as he saw it. He was an old family friend and had been the new PM’s mentor for many years. Sir Ian had gone to school with his father, was the MP for a neighbouring constituency and was godfather to their two children. A scholarly, highly intelligent man with a military background, Sir Ian James was the ideal man to depend on in a crisis.
‘This appears to be extremely serious. If what the weather people are saying is accurate, we are to expect unprecedented amounts of snow in the next week. In general, this country is just not set up to deal with that much snow. Every year we get a few days of light accumulations and pandemonium is always the result. Councils are inadequately prepared – and who can blame them. Why should they spend sparse resources on anti-winter precautions and supplies, when there’s a damned good chance they’ll never be needed? This is not Norway or Finland where deep snow is a way of life!’
He paused for effect and then continued.
‘I’d suggest COBRA be set up, but who are you going to get to sit on it? Who’s going to get here to advise you? From that perspective, you are probably lumbered with those people here now. Of course, the telephone and internet can get you in touch with ministers, and I’m sure that many are trying to get in touch with you at this very instant – Holyrood, Stormont and Cardiff included. However, very soon, if this continues, it's going to turn into a personal survival situation – and even politicians have families! The essential issue to grasp and fully accept is that this snow is not going to stop for at least a week – and we must identify how we are going to keep the population alive. That may seem overly dramatic – but how long will it be before water, electricity and gas supplies start to fail?’
The Prime Minister held up his arms, stopping Sir Ian short.
‘Okay, okay, I get the picture Ian. It's bad. Very bad indeed. But first of all, before we do anything – Phillip – find my family and get them home!’
He looked out of the window onto Downing Street at the thickening storm.
‘And get that poor bloody policeman inside!’
Downing Street had almost disappeared.
Day 2 – Cardiff, Wales – 2:00pm
‘There won’t be a Court today, madam.’
The Clerk to the Justices had put his head round the door of the Magistrates retiring room Number Two and continued.
‘You are the only Magistrate to have made it in this morning. We tried to call you at home earlier, but you must have left already’.
Yvonne Zoorman turned her head towards the Clerk and nodded.
‘I’m not surprised,’ she replied, ‘I thought it was a bit strange being the only Magistrate in by this time. Tell me, is it still snowing?’
The Clerk glanced out of the window and sighed.
‘Yes, it's still throwing it down. Will anyone be coming to pick you up? Either most of the court staff have stayed at home or we’re in the process of getting them away as soon as possible. Of course, none of the defendants have shown up! The weather forecast is dreadful – so you really should get away yourself. Can I give you a lift – it's a bit out of my way but I don't mind?’
‘No, thank you, St John. My husband will come and fetch me. I’ll give him a call – he’s working from home today so it's no problem. Thank you anyway.’
‘Well, if you’re sure. I’m going back upstairs now and will be setting off once the last staff member is away and the building is secured’
Yvonne smiled.
‘Yes, I’ll be fine. I’ll phone Robert now and he should be here in a few minutes.’
The Clerk shut the door and made his way back up to the admin complex. On his way upstairs, he met one of the court ushers who was starting the process of locking up the courtrooms.
‘Mrs Zoorman is in retiring room two and her husband will be here shortly to take her home. When she’s gone, you can close up. I offered her a lift but she decided to wait for her husband to pick her up. He shouldn’t be too long. I’m off home as soon as I can get away.’
The usher nodded and they both continued hurriedly on their way.
Yvonne, however, was sitting in the retiring room trying to contact her husband. The home number was ringing and ringing with no reply. Strange, but perhaps Robert had stopped on the way home to do that bit of shopping, she remembered?
She tried his mobile but could only leave a message. She would keep trying and perhaps she’d take the Clerk up on his offer if she couldn’t contact Robert in the next five minutes. In the meantime, she’d use the washroom whilst she waited.
Yvonne Zoorman was the first blind Magistrate to be appointed to the bench in Wales. She was very proud of this achievement and believed that her disability should not prevent her from doing anything she wanted to do. And normally, it didn’t. She was a very determined lady and highly resourceful – but of course her disability meant that she had to rely on other people for some things, whether she liked it or not.
She stood up, still wearing her coat and scarf, and made her way to the door of the retiring room. She always used this room as she had become familiar with the lay out and the route to the toilets. She closed the door behind her and walked carefully across the vestibule to the ladies cloakroom.
As that door shut behind her, the usher knocked on the inner door of the retiring room and getting no answer, entered.
He saw no one and assumed – as briefed – t
hat Mrs Zoorman had been picked up by her husband. He walked across the room and out into the vestibule. There was still no one about, so he locked the outer door to the Magistrate’s car park and turned out all of the lights. The kitchen area was still locked and there was no need to check the loos as everyone had clearly gone – or never even arrived due to the snow.
He went back into the retiring room and locked the outer door. Then he passed back into the courtroom and locked the inner door. He turned out all of the lights, went back into the corridor where the public usually waited and locked the final courtroom door. Job done. He then climbed the stairs and repeated the procedure for the other two courtrooms.
Duty done, he returned to the admin complex, changed into his winter clothing and went home. The Clerk was waiting at the front door, and, having confirmed with the usher that Mrs Zoorman had vacated the building, locked it behind him.
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 8
