No Business Like Snow Business

In search of snow.

I can only recall, perhaps, half a dozen Christmas Days in my lifetime of 62 years (of course disregarding the first few infant years when I had no awareness of the stuff), when the lightening of the dawn revealed a magical layer of white amongst a hard glaze of frost.

I got a bit confused by the December in 1978 in which major power shortages in the Winter of Discontent meant prolonged periods of candlelight coupled with a heavy fall of snow giving the impression of a month long festive period.

I clearly remember one particular Christmas when our local Co-Operative Store burnt down providing a strong sensory experience that lives on even today and is reactivated with the faintest whiff of smoke, be it from an extinguished candle or the output of an urban chimney pot.

About thirteen years ago, or it could have been longer, there was a 6 week cold snap which saw a temperature range from minus 8.5 degrees Celsius overnight to barely minus 4 during the day. It was a complete white-out and eerily quiet as for once the majority of road users took on the advice of the authorities and decided that all journeys were non-essential, even the usual quick drive to the corner shop for fags and milk. There were tremendous icicles hanging off the eaves of the houses and it was possible to see which home owners had not yet lagged their loft spaces from the slow,melting progression of the thick layer of compacted snow down the roof slopes.

My reliance on the absolute minimum of insulation proved foolhardy as the resultant cascade of snow took with it a few slates and the heavy cast iron gutters on both the front and rear causing damage and a hefty bill.

In the UK, or at least in the lowland areas, the purchase of a sledge for Christmas is not top of the shopping list and consequently any fall of snow of suitable consistency and duration for recreation brings out the enterprising use of alternative means of riding the slopes.

A favourite would be a heavy duty plastic bag, those lying around the garden with a bit of fertiliser left in the folds being most suitable followed by good quality refuse bags and finally sheets of corrugated cardboard although the latter was very much a compromise given its tendency to get wet and turn into a coarse pulp mid hill.

All of the above gave little protection to the bum and spine from the rough ground under the snow on the way down any slight gradient. Any shouts and exclamations of exhilaration of a fast descent were rather grimaced as a consequence.

Snowfall is still a relatively rare climatic condition in my own experience of living in Britain.

Much of my 6 decades has been lived on the eastern side of the country in Lincolnshire and East Yorkshire. If the weather fronts bring in snow from the west then we receive only a light sprinkling. Most of it does not make it over the Pennines. The whitest Christmas periods have been from the arrival of dense clouds and cold Arctic air from the north east and east putting the east of England on the front line.

In the run-up to the end of the year I do keep a watch on the long range weather forecasts in the forlorn hope of a gradual decline in temperatures which would make a fall of snow more likely.

This has not been the case and indeed we have seen unusually high figures of 12 to 14 degrees in past December weeks. The lowest point has only been around 4 degrees and a frost has been largely absent.

I recall that Christmas Day 2014 was bright, clear and snow free where I live.

I did get excited on Boxing Day by the sight of a Premier League Football Match in the Midlands caught in a flurry of snow. I apologise for my glee upon the news of motorists in Sheffield having to abandon their vehicles due to impassable iced-up roads. I did feel a pang of jealousy for the members of a coach trip who had to spend the night in a church hall after getting stranded near Rotherham.

I have regularly searched the skies over local rooftops and the City Hospital in the direction of South Yorkshire for any signs of cloud formations associated with the imminent arrival of snow but have had to abandon the vigil as the dusk drew in.

The rainfall around tea-time just fell as rain although the thermometer was beginning to show a trend towards the low single figures. I expected the faint gurgling from gutters and downpipes to lessen with a fall in temperature until silent but nothing happened to suggest a snowfall overnight. Peering out of the bedroom curtains this morning was disappointing as there was only a pale white frost covering on the ground.

Nevertheless, I am determined to seek out some snow if it will not come to me here. The car will be prepared for difficult conditions and it is off in the direction of the latest news reports of traffic mayhem and chaos.

                Success after a 128 mile round trip to the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, Wakefield

Formica versus Function (or for the love of melamine)

 

New roof every 40 years.

Replace the rainwater fittings every 20 years.
Re-point the external walls on a 15 year rota.
New better performing windows and doors every decade.
Paint the remaining woodwork twice in every ten year period.
Remodel the interior upon each change of ownership which traditionally was held to be on a seven year progression.
Skim plaster ceilings and walls on a whim.
Refit sanitary ware when the next best thing is seen in a magazine be it a fruit bowl basin or a travertine tiled wet and steam room.
Install a new kitchen whenever you get bored of the existing one, perhaps even between meals.

The foregoing is a timeline based on my experience of working in property for well over 30 years.

You would expect my job of inspection, diagnosis and analysis of the structure and installations of a house to be made considerably easier by the regularity of the ongoing process of repairs and renewals but in fact my arrival at a seemingly perfect property only serves to start off my mental alarm system in anticipation of botched, concealed and downright dodgy workmanship and practices.

There are many instances of what the senior generation would refer to as "top show" where superficially everything looks superb but just below the surface there is less than satisfactory detail lurking. I was therefore thrilled today to come across a largely unspoilt house in terms of its features, fittings and amazingly what would be regarded as a vintage range of kitchen units- the forerunner of what we would call a fitted kitchen although barely recognisable as such against those being marketed to home owners today.

It is a limited run of sturdy joiner built rather than flat pack base units, consisting of four white faced hinged cupboards with lime green drawer fronts above although two are dummies incorporated below the enamelled finished sink and drainer.

The enamel is spotlessly clean and unblemished giving the appearance of little use although likely to have been countless times during a domestic cycle of activity.

The adjoining work surface is in granite effect formica, also as bright and shiny as though fitted a few hours ago and not yet commissioned.

Fixed to the wall above are two pantry units but non matching suggesting that one may pre-date the main array and retained for its generous shelved storage and useful sliding glass cabinet beneath. It may have even been part of a more established larder unit but cut down to size and the lower part discarded or in use, recycled in another part of the house.

It is a kitchen combining what would be the all mod cons of the period  and the "make and mend" era that it superseded.

The adjoining wall unit has larger shelving spacing to take dinner plates and a row of 6 dowel pegs for cups and mugs to be hung from.

A stylistic touch is a spice rack in the gap between upper and lower storage and well stocked on the day of my visit.

The taps on the enamel coated metal are elegant swan necks in bright chrome finish and again remarkably sparkling and with no oxidisation or wear and tear. I felt a bit strange having to test that they worked as though questioning their legitimacy over the previous four or more decades.

What of the future of this amazingly preserved vintage kitchen?

The parents of the young couple interested in buying the old house stood alongside me and we were all a bit dewy eyed at our collective recollections of having been brought up with very much the same format of form and function.

Meanwhile, said young couple were measuring the wonder kitchen of its age to make sure that it would all fit in just the one skip.

House Party

I am not sure what the Guinness Book of Records have as the highest number of persons crammed into a tiny house but my experience today in York must have been close.

It was one of those Open Days for a property shortly to be marketed at a National Auction House.

When I say "Open Day" the agents really mean that they are only prepared to give access for 30 minutes strictly at a pre-ordained time and on a specific day. The guidance in the on-line brochure stated that any interested parties can only gain access at that time, no sooner and no later.

I arrived a good hour before the allocated time mainly because of the limited available daylight in early December in which to get a good look at the outside but also to meet the lady from London who had come up on the train to York.

We had spoken only briefly on the telephone a few days prior to discuss what I type of survey and information I could provide her with.

Our meeting was in an establishment called Mrs Greedy's Cafe on the corner of the street just along from the house. From our table in the steamed up front window we had an offset view of the road. There seemed to be an unusually heavy flow of slow moving traffic up the narrow cul de sac but nothing was making the run back which suggested that a parking problem would soon be experienced.

After a coffee and general chat about what was required of me we made our way out into the bitterly cold late afternoon.

There was certainly a bit of a crowd massing on the pavement and spilling out onto the road in front of house number 15.

More cars, mostly big expensive ones with personalised number plates were making their way tentatively through the other haphazardly abandoned vehicles. I did not recognise any of the individuals, the usual suspects, from my previous work in York and the wide range of accents and dialects suggested that, like my Client ,many had travelled some distance to view the house.

Clutching my clipboard I was asked a few times if I was the keyholder or was bombarded with questions about guide price, what the location was like and if I was a prospective buyer.

Exactly on time a man appeared from out of the mass and unlocked the door.

The following scrum was akin to the disgraceful scenes in the shopping malls on the recent Black Friday as the crowd surged and attempted to squeeze two or more abreast through a narrow Victorian front door. I did not help the crush by dragging along my survey ladders causing a temporary blockage and a few grumbling complaints.

The steep stairs ran from only one pace inside the door and those entering had to take a sharp left turn into the cramped living room. Names and phone numbers were requested from viewers and these confirmed the wide geographical spread of visitors. STD codes I recognised were from Manchester, Leeds, Liverpool, Glasgow and even from Eire.

I simply indicated that I was with the Lady from London who by now had been joined by her builder and two prospective letting agents. Whilst our small group now numbered 5 persons we were less than one twentieth I would estimate of the newly arrived occupants of the house.

It was an eerily quiet atmosphere given the number of bodies.

Apart from the rattle of good quality leather soles (male and female) on the bare concrete ground floors no-one spoke beyond identifying themselves to the key holder. It was as though the inspection was of the utmost secrecy. An intensely personal experience.

Poker faces did not betray what the viewers were thinking and certainly not their thoughts on what they might regard as a fair and reasonable price to bid in a couple of weeks time.

There were the obvious dealer types with pointy toed brown brogues below moleskin trousers, checked shirts and sports jackets. Plaster flecked working denims and soiled sweat shirts indicated speculative builders looking carefully on how to minimise outlay but maximise profit on re-sale. A few shifty types I put down as private landlords who would probably, if successful in bidding, move someone in without doing any essential repair work at all. I did notice a few nervous couples who had hoped for limited interest in the house so that they had a chance of getting on the property ladder in a city where this had not yet been possible for them.

There was one other obvious surveyor like myself acting for a client. We gave our industry standard acknowledgement of raised eyebrows and sharp intake of breath.

I had little opportunity to speak with the lady from London in the melee and because she was in a huddle in each of the rooms with her other mercenaries. I dodged in and out of the crowded living rooms and the tiny kitchen. A few had spilled out into the back garden to be met by a wall of brambles as though forming an impregnable barrier around a fairy-tale castle. In this bottleneck there was a bit of jostling and a brief scuffle but rather comical where involving the well-to do.

Upstairs was similarly congested.

The young couples were aghast at the 1970's bathroom suite as though they recalled similar on a visit to an incontinent relative as children.

I was a bit concerned for the ability of the woodworm infested floorboards to take the loadings from a dozen persons, not helped by the builder types doing a trademark jumping up and down to check stresses. I turned my back on my ladders for a brief moment to check that the old windows were openable only to find that they had been assembled and used by a man to clamber up and look in the loft space.

Time had flown by in such interesting company and the keyholder was fidgeting as though to imply that the 30 minutes had elapsed. People were still arriving,perhaps betrayed by their sat-navs or affected by a late running train if travelling from some distance away.

My lady from London looked cold and tired after what had been a long day and we re-engaged on the pavement outside and opposite. She was not deterred in her plans to put in a bid by the high level of interest and the very basic condition and calibre of the house. In fact she appeared more determined than ever to be the successful party.

I got the impression that she would proceed with her plan regardless of what I might say in my written report.

Christmas Puddling in Hull 1921

Imagine doing some Shopping in Kingston Upon Hull in the evening of the last Saturday before Christmas, 1921. 

In the busy commercial Market Place and Lowgate there will likely have been a festive scene from the bright lighting of the shop windows, the pavement array of goods under the canopies, a riot of noise from the traders, barrow-men, the phut-phut of a few motor vehicles and a general hubbub of excited consumers making some almost last minute purchases. 

In order to make the most of a weekends trading the shops will have been open quite late. 

Although one of the coldest seasonal months of the year the weather conditions on that specific evening might have been remarked upon as being quite abnormally windy. Shopping bags and carried packages will have been buffeted about. 

Not too unusual for the depths of winter but what did surprise shoppers and shop-owners was very quickly finding that they were wading through rapidly rising flood waters- the mucky, muddy type. 

At 7.30pm on that night a disaster unfolded that the London Times called "of unexampled magnitude" causing considerable damage on a widespread coverage. 

A combination of freakish conditions of high tide and strong coastal gales caused a bulge or tidal surge to race up the Humber Estuary from its source out in the North Sea. This overwhelmed Victoria Pier on its way West and being funnelled up the narrow River Hull corridor the pressure and height of the wave burst the banks and led to flooding of the surrounding low lying urban areas. 

The unfortunate shoppers will have witnessed the inundation along Market Place, around and into the landmark Holy Trinity and St Mary's Churches and affecting the Town Hall, Central Post Office and Banks.

Of the two places of Worship St Mary's suffered more damage. The ancient oak lectern floated away but miraculously the heritage Bible was thrown clear of the water onto a dry desk top. 

The densely populated housing areas running parallel to and branching outwards from the River corridor became quickly overrun with gates and house doors swept aside by the tidal wave and ground floor parlours and kitchens put under the brackish water. The stricken families in the most part were able to take refuge upstairs and although some narrow escapes were reported there was no loss of life.

Worst hit was the Wincolmlee industrial area just to the north east of the city centre with the large Oil Mills directly affected. A stack of stored barrels, 25 feet high was toppled and swept away, similarly some 200 tons of coal which was waiting for use to fuel the steam powered machinery of a flour mill was taken away by the current down Great Union Street. 

Hundreds of homes were ruined and added to the losses experienced by commercial and retail businesses the estimated damage was upwards of three quarters of a million pounds. 

Areas around Hull did not escape the deluge, particularly on the North Bank of the Humber and the Main railway line at Brough was under water. 

The severity of the tidal surge was thankfully short lived and by 10.30pm the waters had receded. 

Here is a link to a wonderful bit of footage at BFI

https://twitter.com/bfi/status/848127824741359616?lang=en

The clean-up operation was immediately begun as regular river flooding was, and indeed still is now, a major threat particularly with much of Hull's population living on the flood plain. It was a well rehearsed activity of remediation by homeowners, businesses and with the dutiful attendance by the Fire Brigade and their pumps. 

All on an April Evening

 1912 – 14^th-15^th April.

Joseph Groves Boxall (1884-1967) was born in Hull and chose a career at sea. Attaining his Extra Master status from Trinity House in 1907 and following 5 years with the White Star Line on the Atlantic Crossings in their passenger fleet vessels he was appointed as Fourth Officer on Titanic for its maiden voyage.

The following is a monologue edited heavily from the evidence under oath given by Joseph Boxall on the 13^th Day of the Enquiry into the tragic sinking of Titanic. The Enquiry took place from May 2^nd to July 3^rd 1912.  There was Legal representation on behalf of many groups affected by the tragedy and a right to cross examine the witnesses.

“I was on watch from 4pm to 6pm in the evening on the Sunday with the Chief and Sixth Officers.

The course was altered to S36W true at 5.50pm.

I had seen reports in the Chartroom of ice and that conveyed in my mind that the ship would shortly be in the region of ice. The chart had been marked two or three days previously and although I don’t recall I have been told that I marked the chart between 4 and 6 that day, On returning to the Bridge for my 8pm to midnight duty I didn’t see any further marks on the chart.

It was a clear night and I was making stellar observations. It didn’t occur to me that the ship was entering the neighbourhood of ice.

I was coming out of the Officers Quarters and heard three bells which marked the sighting of the iceberg. Just after that I heard the order “hard a-starboard” and when back on the Bridge the telegraph indicated “full speed astern” and I saw the First Officer pulling the lever of the watertight doors.

Captain Smith was on deck and asked the First Officer what had happened. He replied that we had struck ice. He had tried to round it to Port but it was too close. Putting the engines astern was all that he could do.

I went to the Starboard but I could not see the iceberg. Going down to the Third Class Accommodation of ‘F’ Deck I saw no damage but back on deck I saw ice and took a small piece from a man’s hand. The Commander told me to find the Carpenter who told me the ship was making water fast. One of the Mail Clerks said that the small hold was full of water and that the watertight door was closed.

I reported to Captain Smith on the Bridge. The other Officers were called and that was between 20 to 30 minutes after the accident.

The Captain gave the order to prepare the boats and I was assigned to Number One on the Port side.

Then I heard someone report a sighting of a light ahead and I saw it. On the Chartroom Map I worked out the position and after notifying the Captain he told me to take it to the Marconi Room. The lights were the two masthead of a steamer. I sent up between half a dozen and a dozen distress rockets to signal the steamer and then we began Morsing. She was about five miles away and turning around very slowly. The Captain saw her stern light so she was actually going away from us.

 

Titanic was standing still with engines stopped. I kept sending up the rockets for about half an hour after.

I was then sent away in Boat 2 with between 25 and 30 women, several children and one male passenger as well as crew members of a Steward and Sculleryman. As the boat had been lowered I could see many passengers on the deck and filling Boat 4.

I noticed that Boat 1 had got away and the collapsible boat was being made ready. I had an emergency lamp on my boat but others did not, I had inspected the lifeboats in Belfast.

There were no further orders about what to do after getting onto the water. I was off a short distance but someone shouted for me to come back to the Starboard side. That proved difficult because there weren’t enough persons to row. About 200 yards off the foundering ship there was a little suction from the settling down of the vessel which could be seen by watching the deck lights and for that and the risk of being rushed by passengers and overwhelmed I though it too dangerous to go any nearer.

I pulled away further in a SE direction about half a mile.

I did not see the ship sink but heard cries after. I could not see any other boats as they had gone in a northerly direction.

 I did not see anyone in the water and there was no-one to pick up.

At daybreak I saw a lot of icebergs.

The lifeboat of Joseph Boxall and its survivors was the first from the Titanic to be picked up by The Carpathia as it arrived on the scene having responded to the distress signals.

Joseph Boxall had been unwell during his time giving evidence and Counsel for the Enquiry suggested he sat for the duration. He later developed pleurisy no doubt exacerbated by his own ordeal. He returned to the sea serving in the rank of Lieutenant on Torpedo Boats and Shore Duty during the First World War and in the 1920’s on Passenger Liners. After retirement from the service he led a quiet life but to the surprise of many who knew him he was an on-set Consultant in 1958 for the iconic Titanic movie “ A Night to Remember” .

Boxall requested his ashes be scattered according to his calculations on the fateful night of the location where Titanic sank.

The former family home on Westbourne Avenue, Hull has a Blue Plaque in his name.