However, they were just one couple out of more than ten thousand on the Iberian Peninsula alone who had been dealt a bitter blow by the snow two thousand miles away.
It was a relaxed and invigorating life on the campsite, playing Petanca, lawn bowls, tennis and golf in the local area. They hired a car for trips out and shopping excursions – so they were totally independent – and as long as the ATM at reception functioned, their life was joyous and complete.
However, when it started snowing in the UK in mid-December, their troubles quickly began to multiply.
They, like everyone else on the campsite, had friends and relatives in Britain or other parts of Western Europe. By the eighteenth of December, all contact had been lost – telephone, internet, Skype – all gone. Flights had been cancelled into and out of the UK. Mail was not getting through and then the ATMs stopped accepting UK based cards on the morning of the nineteenth.
They, like every other Brit on the campsite, were panic stricken. They had no news of their children, parents or friends. They had no idea what was really going on back home – because no-one outside of the UK really knew. They garnered snippets of news from their Dutch and German friends, but it was all doom and gloom.
Some couples had immediately packed up their 'vans and set off towards France, or to the ferry at Santander in Northern Spain in an attempt to get home. This was over ambitious at best and proved to be naïve in the extreme. Not only did most run out of fuel before they had travelled five hundred miles, because their credit cards had stopped working, but if they actually reached the ferry, they discovered it was cancelled until further notice – and they had nowhere to park the ‘van.
At the Franco/Spanish border, Brits were refused entry into France and turned back unceremoniously. When they tried to obtain a pitch, on which to park up on a new campsite, they were out of luck. Even if there was a space – and there weren’t many – they were refused entry when they produced a British passport. The campsite managers correctly assumed that they would have little or no cash and were not prepared to suffer the potential loss.
Consequently, Northern Spain was littered with motorhomes and caravans, parked up on the edge of towns creating quasi-gypsy sites. At first the Guardia Civil tried to move the campers on – but many had no fuel or money – so they eventually conceded defeat and let the small communities burgeon. The campers soon began to rely on charity from the local Spanish community, but this support was waning quickly and the situation was growing increasingly desperate.
Finally, the British authorities in Spain intervened, and slowly but surely supplies started to filter through. No fuel was dispensed, but food and water became available – to a certain agreed financial limit at Spanish LIDL supermarkets – with the British Embassy in Madrid promising to pick up the tab in due course.
Sanitary conditions deteriorated and living conditions with them. Their idyllic life in the sun had rapidly turned from a dream into a nightmare.
The more circumspect campers, like Sarah and Jack, had stayed put – possibly, and luckily, through complete inertia – and it was probably the best option. Although they were frantic with worry about their relatives, the immediate reality of having no money was fast becoming the major issue.
Jack learned later that day of the campsite decision to temporarily waive fees until the crisis was over. The British authorities had assured all businesses that they would be fully recompensed, so for the time being one huge worry had been resolved.
However, food supplies were fast becoming critical. Most campers carried a supply of staples – pasta, rice, dried goods - and a few items of fish and meat in their small freezers. Unfortunately, few people had had the foresight to ration these from Day 1, and food was now in incredibly short supply. Supermarkets would give them only so much and queues were horrendous.
Fortunately, as with the stranded travellers in Northern Spain, similar concessions had to be made for static residents – those living semi-permanently in ‘immobile’ mobile homes. This included temporary holidaymakers out for Christmas visits, and a percentage of permanent residents who were not fully absorbed into the Spanish financial system.
Anyone who relied on a UK based bank for Credit, Debit or Money Storage cards was thwarted when they tried to extract money from an ATM or even from a local bank. However, Spanish Bank cards continued to work.
This was the situation in which Jack and Sarah found themselves on the fifth of January. Although they learned that the snow in the UK had stopped that morning, it was of little comfort. They were trapped in Spain with no money, no news of loved ones, probably no property at home and very little to look forward too.
These were the realities of life that millions of Britons faced - across the globe!
Day 23
Monday 6th January
Tesco Supermarket, Brighton
Patric Silver was lying on his makeshift bed in the freezing cold aisle of the supermarket, which had become his temporary prison.
But not for much longer!
At 3.50am, he turned over and nudged Joanie awake. She looked startled, but quickly realised where she was and what was about to happen. It was do or die! Tonight’s action could be the catalyst that drove them onto real survival.
He grabbed a full tin of processed peas – which was to be his makeshift weapon, and moved silently around the living space, gently stirring his partners in crime.
He found his two main cohorts, whose job was to silence one of the snoozing guards, and then made sure that the other trio were ready to go. The two other groups were also assembled behind him. About a dozen – both men and women – were to slowly approach the metal staircase which led up to the sleeping area that the ‘committee’ had allocated themselves. When Patric gave the go ahead, they would storm up the stairs and ensure that the ‘committee’ were trapped inside their sleeping area.
Simultaneously, another fifteen or so ‘inmates’ would creep round to where the remainder of the guards slept and conduct a short, sharp assault on the six men and restrain them. They would be dopey from sleep, so odds of three or four to one should be ample.
Patric had emphasised that, if necessary, excessive force should be used. If these thugs regained control of the store, the mutineers could expect no mercy. They had proven their utter ruthlessness already – many times – so it was perfectly reasonable, in his considered opinion, to fight fire with fire!
Patric was fully prepared to take another life if it meant protecting Joanie. The experience at the caravan park had hardened him immensely. He fully realised that they were fighting for their lives.
When he was satisfied that everyone was ready, at exactly 4am, Patric gradually parted the sheets which acted as a privacy curtain at the end of the row.
He stepped out into the main aisle and froze as a bright, white light flashed on and shone directly into his face.
‘Nobody move!’ shouted a fierce and clearly angry voice.
‘Thought you could outwit us, eh? Well, think again. Everybody; drop your weapons and lie down flat on the floor!’
Day 23
Monday 6th January
RNeth Air Force Volkel
Brady stood back and admired the Ambassador.
‘I thought it was you. But you’ve changed – the blonde hair, the heels – the job, you’ve done fantastically well for yourself. I always knew you would though, Dame Ann.’
‘I try, Andy, I try!’ she countered.
Brady had first met Annie Fletcher in the late eighties. He was a newly graduated commissioned aircrew officer, straight out of the RAF College Cranwell and she was a university student, coming to the end of her degree, studying politics at Cambridge. She was three or more years older than Brady when they met during the Graduation Ball at Cranwell, to which she’d been invited by her brother, who was a fellow officer graduate of Brady’s - and the rest was history.
There was a whirlwind courtship ending in a registry office wedding in Grantham three w
eeks before Andy was posted to Yorkshire to complete his Navigation Training. The post-graduate course was well over a year in length, and they expected to move into married quarters whilst Brady finished his professional studies. Following that he would probably be sent to RAF Germany for three years after completing an Operational Conversion Unit for the Tornado.
Things were idyllic at first, but then Annie was head-hunted by the civil service – she had obtained a First at Cambridge – and was offered a very good job in the Foreign Office, at a very good salary.
She and Brady talked it over at great length and, and after much heart searching, initially decided to decline the job offer in London. She would, instead, follow him in his career and become the perfect RAF wife! Perhaps she would have a chance to take on a post-graduate degree at some time in the future.
That agreement lasted about a month. The instructor’s wives at the training base treated her like an idiot – and most of the other student’s wives were vacuous and shallow, spending their days talking about babies and empty-headed pop stars. This was the source of great strife between the pair and Brady’s work began to suffer. When he failed one particularly easy exam, Annie delivered her ultimatum.
She couldn’t bear to stay in Yorkshire, or follow him to Germany, or abide to see him fail because of her needs. The ambition to fulfill her undoubted potential was causing her to burst with frustration.
She would be taking the job in London.
The next morning she phoned her contact at the Foreign Office and started work the following month, whilst Brady moved out of married quarters and back into the Officers Mess.
They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. Not so in this case. They saw less and less of each other, moved in very different circles and grew gradually further apart. After six months Annie was posted to Hong Kong – probably deliberately she postulated in later years – and the separation was complete.
They spent one final night together in a hotel in St Ives, near Cambridge and went their separate ways – both apparently heartbroken.
A quickie divorce followed, uncontested and granted suspiciously quickly! Annie flew off to Hong Kong and a stellar career in the Diplomatic Corps, and Brady flew off to Germany for an equally sparkling career in the military.
They hadn’t seen or contacted each other since – by mutual agreement. Brady eventually re-married, but Annie had remained single.
‘Well, well, well; after all these years we should meet like this – and in these awful circumstances?’ marvelled Brady.
The Ambassador was phlegmatic.
‘I know, Andy, it's horrible, utterly horrible, but we’ve got a job to do. We’ve a duty to those poor souls trapped at home. We must deploy everything at our disposal to effect their rescue.’
‘I completely concur,’ came back Brady, ‘but what have you got in mind for me, specifically?’
Annie paused and mentally gathered her composure.
‘Andy, I know that your family were lost in the storm, and I am truly, deeply sorry. I know you want to go back and give them a decent burial and there will be time for that. However, there is something far more important – for us personally – to be done.’
‘What the hell are you talking about, Annie?’
She looked directly into his eyes and dramatically blurted it out:
‘Andy, we have a daughter, and she’s trapped in the snow!’
Day 22
Sunday 5th January
Selby, Yorkshire
Josh and Josie Driver spent a long and restless night, first discussing the options for coping with the roof collapse, and then tossing and turning, unable to sleep with the worry. Finally, they dropped off but woke again at 7am with the stress of it all.
They grabbed a quick breakfast – they realised the energy value of hot food – and prepared to resolve their serious structural problem. After recovering from the initial shock of the roof failing under the weight of snow, Josh decided that he need to investigate further to determine whether additional damage had been caused in that bedroom, as he had been unable to force the door open the previous night during their initial investigation. Being so early, it was still disconcertingly dark in the house, so they required their torches and had dressed up warmly once more.
There appeared to be no further change in conditions downstairs, so they proceeded to the first floor, one step at a time, scanning the ceilings and walls carefully with their powerful lights. They observed nothing unusual, so cautiously approached the door of the bedroom which concealed the breach.
Josh had been into the garage, which directly adjoined the hallway outside of their dining room hideaway. He had recovered a manual drill and fitted a large bit. He had also brought a chisel and a large hammer. The plan was to create a small ‘access window’ in the door so that they could observe conditions in the bedroom.
Josie concentrated her torch beam on the door whilst Josh started to drill a series of holes, very close together, through the pine. He quickly formed a six-inch square in the centre of the door at eye level. He had already prepared a twelve-inch square of plywood, taken from the garage, which he would screw over the patch to keep any snow from coming through in the future.
Josie passed him the hammer and chisel and Josh started to force a gap between the drill holes and the door. After a few minutes he had loosened the window sufficiently to allow him to tap it out with the hammer, and it fell harmlessly into the bedroom.
‘What's inside?’ urged Josie.
‘Hang on,’ said Josh, ‘give me a chance to have a look!’
What he saw made unwelcome viewing, but not as bad as he’d imagined.
The roof had indeed apparently caved in because there was damage to the ceiling. However, the joists in the loft space had not yet completely given way. Plaster from the ceiling was scattered all over the floor mixed with a fair amount of snow and debris from the loft. The real problem, he assessed, was the drip, drip, drip of melting snow coming from the loft into the bedroom below.
‘Let me see,’ called out Josie, and she elbowed Josh out of the way.
‘Oh, God!’ she exclaimed.
‘It's not as bad as I thought,’ said Josh. ‘The joists have held well, but the ceiling plaster will soon absorb snow melt and completely collapse into the room, which will allow more snow and water onto the carpet below. In turn, that will initially act as a wick, but eventually, over maybe a few days, the water will seep into the sitting room below that.’
‘How long have we got?’ queried Josie.
‘I don’t really know. It's very difficult to assess. The good thing might be that now we have a roof breach, the pressure on the rest of the roof may have been relieved. However, I am not certain about that. We are just lucky that the opening is not above our living space. Surely it cannot go on snowing forever. I'm just hoping that the seepage into the sitting room will not start for another week - but we will have to closely monitor the situation. We should examine the sitting room ceiling very closely for water ingress. Then we should build a sort of a barrier to prevent water flowing towards the dining room.’
‘When will this nightmare ever end?’ cried Josie. ‘How much longer can we carry on like this, Josh? I'm coming to the end of my rope – I'm just too old and tired to carry on much longer!’
‘I know, Josie, I know. But we can't give up now. It must stop snowing eventually, and then we can get out of this tomb.’
In the final analysis, this was an unfortunate choice of words.
Day 23
Monday 6th January
RNeth Air Force Volkel
Brady couldn’t quite believe his ears.
‘What do you mean – a daughter? My daughter is lying under the snow in Grantham.’
Ann Fletcher took a deep breath.
‘No, Andy. We have a daughter – alive - in London.’
‘How? I don’t understand – you had better start explaining, Annie, I just don’t get it!’ Brady was beside hi
mself with puzzlement.
His ex-wife continued with a full and frank explanation.
‘That last night in Cambridge, just before the divorce and the split - when we….slept together one last time. I fell pregnant. I don’t know how because I was taking precautions – and the last thing my new employer wanted was a single mum on their hands. Nevertheless, it happened and on 17 May 1989, our daughter, Chloé Fay, was born.’
She paused as Brady slumped back into a chair.
‘I'm really sorry Andy, but I just didn’t know what to do for the best. I had the Civil Service bleating in one ear and my bloody parents in the other. Between them they coerced me into keeping the news from you and shipped me off to Hong Kong. My parents supplied a nanny and my mother rented us a flat in Kowloon, where she stayed and supported me until Chloe was ready to start school. For once my parents’ mountain of money was of some practical use. I was able to continue my work and returned to the UK when Chloe was four. She boarded whilst I pursued my career, and my parents cared for her whilst I was abroad. I am really so sorry Andy,’ she repeated.
Brady was completely overwhelmed by the news of an unknown child. From one perspective he was furious with Ann for not telling him about this Chloe, but from another he was overjoyed that he had a new daughter – and with a great amount of luck, was still alive in the UK. He tried his hardest to be calm and circumspect. There was no point in being angry and apportioning blame. What was done – was done, and in the final analysis he had a child! He could afford to be forgiving.
‘Annie, I'm stunned and more than a bit peeved by this news – but in many ways I'm absolutely overjoyed! Now, tell me all about her – and more importantly – how we are going to get her out alive?’
The Ambassador almost fainted with relief. She stepped forward and the couple embraced warmly as Brady rose from his chair. They held each other for some time before parting, smiling at each other. After sitting down on the sofa in the office, Annie began the story of Chloe’s life.
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 49
