Snow in England.

The snow rarely comes in the form you see described. On pretty Christmas cards or winter antartic scenes. Glistening and dry, sparkles of majestic sweeping piles covering as far as eyes can see. Fun and games and laughter for every age;  invigorating and reminding the aged of their youth.
No, where we live, except in exceptional times, those one off ever to be remembered times; snow is like this.
A sloppy slush of snapped shards in a iced gravy, a slippery gritty danger underfoot. Broken bones,  strains and sprains, torn ligaments and dislocations. Parents scared for both old and young alike. Teenagers and adults want a piece of what you describe and  see. So they gather and squeeze the mess that is snow; into balls. The ammunition built for fun and laughter can take an eye, cut a cheek, leave the accident and emergency department full. Cars skid up footpaths ploughing into unaware pedestrians, who moments earlier wobbled and grasped at the coat of a stranger to save a fall. Now they lay still, in  the cold soup; which chills in to their broken bones.
The elderly wary of a fall which will end them; stay put. Watching, waiting for some passer by to knock and check that he/she is o.k. Turning the heating as low as they dare for fear the cold snap will stay, and money will not stretch to pay the bill. So those who once stood strong against armies, who have done their bit for the peace of man. Huddle close, breathe in the damp air; eat less to make food last. Many succumb to chest infections, influenza or pneumonia . Others fall, due to their undernourished bodies leaving them lightheaded. Some are found weeks later (once remembered) by a relative; frozen in a chair.
For many, the toboggans and snowmen, the snowballs and fun are memories of thick wintery weather. For far too many, especially here in this great place; snow means fear. The picture postcards of winter, the reality of it will never be seen or sold;  just felt.
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