Patric restarted his scooter and made the slow journey back to his Autotrail. Joanie was sitting peering out of the window and when Patric parked up, she helped him by transferring the shopping , whilst he passed it in from outside. He re-covered the scooter, dusted himself down and got back inside as quickly as possible.
They couldn’t see the carnage at the front gate from their pitch, but observed ‘vans returning to their original pitches.
‘What the hell’s happening, Patric?’ she demanded.
‘Problems, I’m afraid,’ he muttered, and took ten minutes to explain the situation.
Joanie was positive.
‘Well, the decision is made for us now. We’ll have to stay put for a day at least, until these panic-stricken people have been removed and the others get away. I reckon it's best to sit tight. We do not want to end up in a ditch and wreck the ‘van. It will stop snowing soon, I’m sure. At least enough to enable us to get away. It's all main roads to get back home, so it should be clear enough. Let's cheer ourselves up and go out for lunch. Have a few glasses of wine! It's either that or sit festering here. The snow’s not too bad, and that Italian restaurant near the main gate should still be open.’
Patric smiled and concurred eagerly. They immediately dressed warmly and prepared for the half-mile walk to the restaurant. There was nothing a good ‘Spag Bol’ and a bottle of Italian red couldn’t put right.
They secured the 'van and set off down towards the exit. Joanie’s jaw dropped when she saw the turmoil. Only four vans remained in the queue, but it was obvious that staying put had been the correct decision. Campers were desperately trying to relocate to pitches, get electrical connections and set up their systems in the snowy conditions, and it would take them a fair time to get sorted. Vans slithered and slid across the site and it wouldn’t be long before one or more became bogged down, or skewed into a tree, or worse.
They offered to assist, but the wardens waved them away, so they passed through the gates towards the wreckage and up the hill. The caravan passengers were in the warden’s hut awaiting rescue – in vain Patric considered – as the carnage was slowly vanishing into the snow.
Patric and Joanie climbed the slope and took a short cut across the park to the entrance and in ten minutes were warmly ensconced in the Italian restaurant across the road. After two large brandies, they felt much, much better and almost laughed at the situation in which they found themselves. They were the only customers, so received excellent service and decided on a ‘blow-out’. Five courses of the best Italian pasta, veal and vegetables, followed by sweet and coffee, lots of ‘vino collapso’ and yet more brandy. An excellent repast and their spirits were raised enormously.
However, they needed to return to the 'van and inevitably, the restaurant owner wanted to close up for the afternoon. They paid the bill by credit card, re-dressed and ventured back out into the storm – and storm it now was! The wind had increased and drifting had started in earnest. They made their way across the now deserted road back into the park and trudged across the gardens to the campsite. There was no progress with the removal of the wreckage on the hill. Nothing had changed, except that the owners had recovered what possessions they could and had set off for the railway station. The wardens had cleared the backlog at the gate, but of course, there was no possibility of driving off the campsite. An abandoned trailer, with Smart car, was parked by the exit barrier and it seemed that all of the outfits were now back on their pitches and campers were resigned to their fate – which involved at least another night on site until rescuers could obtain access to remove the broken down vehicles.
The couple continued their walk back to the 'van and settled down for the night. It may have stopped snowing by morning and the Christmas festivities could continue. However, when they checked the news channels for further information, it soon became clear that worse weather was yet to come.
After forty winks to see off the effects of their Italian banquet, Joanie and Patric had to reassess the situation. It was clearly a more desperate state of affairs now, and it might be necessary to leave as soon as the exit road was cleared – if indeed it ever was. They resolved to pack up and leave in the morning and get the 'van back home to the safety of the driveway in Staines. It would be safer there and if it stopped snowing, they could return to Brighton - if they even wanted to. The couple settled down for the night after watching a film and finishing off another bottle of wine.
Outside it continued to blow and the snow was stacking up against the side of the 'van.
Day 7
Saturday 21 December
En-route to Boston – 10:00am
Brady rose early and began the preparations for the day ahead. He was hoping for better conditions and a trouble free day. He was also hoping to get to the edge of Sleaford by 4pm, after a relatively straight run up the A153. He had his four stops picked out and hoped that the extra days rest would allow Chris and Jane to cope better with the terrible conditions.
‘Morning, George,’ began Brady brightly as his friend appeared in the kitchen.
‘Afternoon,’ replied George drily. ‘I’ve been up and about for hours. Are you ready to move? I’ll get the breakfast going. Porridge and bacon sandwiches I think, to stodge you all up. Plus loads of cocoa to get you warm inside.’
‘That’ll be great, George, we can't really thank you enough for all of the help and advice you’ve given us since we arrived. We were on our last legs and this has given us the strength to carry on. Unfortunately, it looks as if the weather will continue to deteriorate, so todays journey will be tough – but a lot easier than it would have been without this unscheduled but very much appreciated R & R.’
‘You're welcome, Andy, any time – you’ll probably be back tonight anyway – I’ll be waiting. I’m well stocked up here and I reckon I can hold out for at least a month,’ quipped George – not so tongue-in-cheek.
Just then, Jane appeared at the door with a grim expression.
‘Chris has got a stinking cold. He’s not well. Possibly not well enough to travel. You’ll need to speak to him as he’s desperate to come with us. I’ve told him he’d be better off staying here, but he won't have any of it. He’s quite upset – you’d better go up and see him.’
‘Hell!’ thought Brady as he sprang up the stairs to where Chris was getting dressed.
‘Not feeling too sharp, then, young fella?’ breezed Brady.
‘I’m fine, just a sniffle, please don’t leave me behind – I want to come with you.’
At this point Chris burst into tears and Brady’s heart went out to him. He sat down on the bed but kept his distance, as a cold was not what he wanted to catch at this stage. Chris didn’t seem that bad – no coughing or runny nose – just a slight temperature, which Brady noticed as he ran his hand over Chris’s forehead.
‘Okay, just finish dressing and come downstairs for breakfast – we’ll let George take a look at you and he can decide what's best. Agreed?’
‘Agreed!’ replied Chris as he stood up to finish dressing. He and Brady then went downstairs where breakfast was now waiting. They devoured porridge with honey, and large doorsteps filled with bacon and brown sauce. George had been watching Chris carefully throughout, and shook his head imperceptibly when Brady glanced over in his direction. It looked like he’d made his decision.
‘How you feeling, Chris? You know you’ve got a rough few days ahead of you.’
‘I’m fine, George. It's just a sniffle. I can make it okay.’
George continued in a firm yet sympathetic tone.
‘It's not just about making it, son. You’ve got to realise how difficult this journey will be. You’ve also got to consider Jane and Andy – you wouldn’t want to hold them up, would you? What happens if you become really sick and they have to bring you back here, or worse. They wouldn’t abandon you – you know that – so do you think it's fair to put this extra pressure on them and prejudice their chances of reaching safety? I don’t real
ly think that you do.’
‘Also,’ he added, ‘Andy was telling me about your mum and grandma, who were over in this direction on Monday last. It's not far from here, and I reckon we could devise a plan to try a rescue attempt if the weather improves a bit. It's worth a try and if we are successful it would be fantastic!’
Chris’s eyes lit up at this suggestion and his stream of objections dried up almost immediately. He'd given up on his family – blotted them out of his mind – but he missed his mum desperately and if there was even the slightest chance of seeing her again, he'd do anything to give it a try.
All went quiet in the kitchen for a full two minutes. None of the adults daring to interfere with Chris’s decision-making processes. They almost had him convinced. Brady didn’t think for a minute that George would venture out into the blizzard, or that there was the remotest chance that the two women were alive, but he was saying nothing. He did not believe Chris was fit to travel and was relieved that George was prepared to take on the responsibility. He had his own son somewhere out there and this new boy might help to relieve some of the anguish and worry.
Chris finally looked up and gave the expectant audience his response.
‘Ok, I will stay – but only if you promise to help me find my mum and gran. I don’t want you to lie to me about this. Also, I don’t want to slow Jane and Andrew down – which I realise I’m doing anyway. So, yes, I’ll stay. Thank you, George.’
The three adults smiled and sighed inwardly with relief. Jane jumped up and gave Chris a huge cuddle, whilst Brady shook his shoulder.
‘Well done, Chris, that's a brave decision, well done!’
George grinned and nodded at Brady.
‘Time you two got your skates on,’ admiring his own apt metaphor.
‘You're quite right, George. Come on Jane, let's get moving, we need to hit the road – or what's left of it - as soon as we can. Chris, can you help? Is there anything in your knapsack we need?’
They all left the breakfast table and headed up into the bedroom where all the kit lay. They transferred Chris’s gear into his own room after deciding that it could remain intact. George supervised and assisted the dressing procedure, whilst Chris looked on with a sad look in his eye. After a final hug of farewell, a firm handshake of sincere thanks, and when they were completely ready, George opened the upstairs window to be greeted by an icy blast.
‘Jesus’, he cried out, ‘Chris, shut that inner door! Andy, you climb through and I’ll pass you the sled - then Jane and then the skis and poles.’
Brady climbed through onto fairly firm snow – he only sank about a foot. George passed the sled through and Brady laid it on the surface of the snow before grabbing his skis from George, putting them on and standing up. Whilst Jane did the same, the poles were passed through which they grabbed and attached to their wrists. Finally, the goggles were pulled over their eyes, a final wave given and off they went into the storm. George slammed the window shut; they both peered after them and after about thirty seconds, Jane and Brady were gone.
Day 7 – West Willoughby, Lincolnshire – 9:00am
George turned to Chris and smiled.
‘Right, let's get some cold remedy into you, wash the dishes and I’ll give you a proper tour of the property and show you exactly how everything works round here – just in case something happens to me.’
Chris’s eyes lit up. He was more than just a little bit relieved not to have to go back into the storm, and George seemed genuinely pleased to have him as a houseguest – and there was always the promise to try to find his mum again. Things were looking up.
The rest of that day was spent with George explaining the location and function of all resources within the house and outbuildings, which mainly concerned the cellar. By the evening, an exhausted Chris collapsed into an easy chair for a supper of bangers, mash, peas and gravy, feeling as if he had lived here forever. George said he would spend tomorrow testing Chris’s knowledge with practical tasks, whilst he looked at a plan for finding Chris’s mother. He wasn’t at all confident about reaching a solution to this problem, but an idea was forming at the back of his mind. He may have to borrow from Machiavelli!
Day 7 – Brighton Camping Site – Noon
The Silvers woke up early on that Tuesday morning – it was freezing and Patric got out from under the two duvets stacked over them to turn up the electric heater. To his dismay, he discovered that the electric power was off, so he was forced to light the gas fire if they wanted any heating in the 'van.
‘I was expecting that,’ he murmured. Patric looked out of the window and gasped.
‘Oh, shite! It's bad out there. Looks like it hasn’t stopped snowing all night and the snow is very deep. We’re not getting out of here in the 'van today!’ he told Joanie.
He jumped back into bed after lighting the gas for the whistling kettle.
‘A nice cup of tea will warm us up,’ he laughed.
Joanie looked worried and clearly wasn’t in the mood for jollity. She had spoken to her family via telephone and Skype the night before, but now with no electricity they only had battery power remaining on the laptop, and she was extremely concerned for her ageing parents, who lived just along the South Coast – so near yet so far!
‘Do you think they are all right, Patric?’
‘I really don’t know. They seemed fine last night and we did advise them that they should stay at home and take some precautions. I’ll send them both a quick e-mail today, listing everything they should do and consider to stay warm and safe. We can't do much else until we can get out of here ourselves. We have to think about that first. I know it's worrying, but what more can we do for now?’
The kettle started whistling and as they finished their cuppas, a knock came on the window.
‘Who the heck is that?’ exclaimed Joanie, ‘it's only eight-thirty.’
‘Take a look and you’ll find out,’ quipped Patric.
Joanie dropped the window blind, removed the extra padding inserted the night before and revealed the face of the site warden. He held up a piece of card which requested the presence of one member of the 'van at a campsite meeting in the main shower block at twelve noon. Joanie read the missive and nodded her assent, whilst giving a firm thumbs-up sign. He immediately departed and Joanie resealed the blind.
‘One of us needs to go to a meeting at noon to see the site warden. There must be a problem, probably to do with the power supply,’ recounted Joanie.
‘I’ll go, if you don’t mind,’ suggested Patric, ‘it’s effing cold out there.’
They dressed quickly and spent the morning re-assessing their plight. Patric ventured out for fifteen minutes to complete an inspection of the ''van. It wasn’t good news for Joanie on his return. The roof had collected about nine inches of snow which helped with insulation; but about two feet of snow had drifted up against the front of the 'van. Luckily they had backed into their pitch, so could drive straight out when it became viable, but clearly that option was not now possible in the conditions. What's more, they were on bright yellow levelling blocks, so some manoeuvring was also required. The general depth of snow was about fifteen inches and transit to the gates would be extremely tricky, and climbing up that hill before a thaw was all but impossible. In the absence of a snow shovel, he grabbed a short handled plastic rake used for redistributing stones on pitches and moved the bulk of snow away from the accommodation door. He was then able to extend and retract the electric doorstep using the 'van battery. Talking of batteries, clearly the solar panel was useless. One way of generating a supply to the two 110amp leisure batteries – in the absence of mains power - would be to run the 'van engine. He had a full tank of diesel, so running the engine for an hour or so twice a day should help keep essential services running – like water pumping for the toilet. He could also use an inverter via the cigarette lighter to recharge phones and the laptop whilst the engine ran. The fridge could stay off – it was plenty cold enough and no gas need be
wasted on that – perishable food could be stored just outside the habitation door. The three-way switch would boost the fridge whilst the engine ran, and it would also help to heat the 'van with the cab heating. They had insulated the 'van by stuffing towels and other padded items in between the window panes and inner privacy blinds, and the outer and inner windscreens were covered. It was snug as a bug in a rug – for now – but if the gas ran out it would get cold very quickly.
Patric returned to the sanctity of the inside of the 'van and reported his findings to Joanie, who had been on the computer – or at least trying to get on line – but with no success. The television was also on the blink. The 12v batteries powered the television, but very few stations were transmitting. She was beginning to worry a bit.
‘Wait until I’ve been to the meeting and then we’ll have a better idea of just where we stand. It’ll be OK, Joanie – it's bound to stop snowing soon – it always does – doesn’t it?’ Patric tried to be comforting.
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 31
