We had 6 Winters in Whitby and we were cut off from civilisation, for at least a few days, in 4 of those.
There are 3 roads out of Whitby. One goes to Scarborough, one goes (eventually) to Middlesborough and one climbs very steeply up on to the moors to Pickering and beyond. When the snow came it was never long before at least one road closed. If all 3 closed Whitby was isolated.
The worst cut off lasted a full week, during which the electric power lines were down for 3 days. Our houses on The Patch didn't have gas; we cooked with electricity and had one coal fire and electric radiators in bedrooms and kitchen. Three days with just a fire, a paraffin stove to cook on and a few candles wasn't a lot of fun.
That was the time that Fylingdales almost disappeared under the snow. Colin was "snowed out", in other words he was at home when the roads blocked, but the men who were on shift when the snow came were "snowed in". Among them was my Squadron Leader friend, Will. Things got pretty bad and Will was sent out with the snow-plough - he had to walk in front of it, feeling for trapped sheep. He said it was impossible to know where the road was, everywhere was just white, and it was very, very frightening. In the end they had to give up and go back. It took a few days to be able to dig a path between the buildings.
The town was always self-sufficient when we were cut off. There was never a lack of food, certainly the snow didn't stop the fishermen bringing in their catches, and the one and only supermarket, Lipton's, was always well stocked. Botham's, the bakers, didn't run out of flour and the pubs never ran short of beer. The whole town just sparkled in the Winter sun and the children had fun.
We had lots of visitors when we lived there. My parents would come, regularly, and I never understood why they would ask for an extra blanket on the bed; not until I moved away and went back for a visit. Whitby's a chilly place but we'd got used to it.
My dad and I used to go down to the harbour very early on a morning for our special treat, oysters. We'd stand at the stall and consume at least half a dozen each, followed by a few local mussels. All our visitors would go home with a fresh crab and, sometimes, a lobster. I have to say the lobsters used to rather upset me, stacked in boxes waving their claws, pathetically, at passers-by. They were, however, delicious.
Up on the West Cliff, near the theatre, there used to be a children's roundabout. Its cars were swans, all white except for one black one. My children loved it and would beg for a "go" if we walked nearby. Needless to say, Nana and Grampa always took them on the "Swan Noundabout".
We also had an open air swimming pool on the West Cliff. The cliff was eroding, fast, and we were always told the pool would fall into the sea within 10 years. It didn't, someone bought it and built a house there. We spent many a Summer day at the pool and the children joined the swimming club, Joanne was a Barracuda and Alan was a Dolphin, and learned to swim properly. Jo used to insist on going in the Winter and her dad would take her, at weekends, when it was so cold he got out of the water after 5 minutes - she just swam up and down quite happily. She has, honestly, never felt the cold.
We left Whitby for pastures new in 1972. Colin and I would go back for the odd weekend and even had thoughts of, perhaps, retiring there one day. The last time we went was June 1996. It was the weekend before he died, unexpectedly, and I haven't been back since. My son and his wife are regular visitors to the place and he's even played a couple of gigs there with his band. He says The Patch is now all private houses, the Plough no longer hosts the Folk Club and the Swan Noundabout's gone.
I will go back again, before too long. Until then I just keep the happy memories of a special time in all our lives and a very special place to live.
There are 3 roads out of Whitby. One goes to Scarborough, one goes (eventually) to Middlesborough and one climbs very steeply up on to the moors to Pickering and beyond. When the snow came it was never long before at least one road closed. If all 3 closed Whitby was isolated.
The worst cut off lasted a full week, during which the electric power lines were down for 3 days. Our houses on The Patch didn't have gas; we cooked with electricity and had one coal fire and electric radiators in bedrooms and kitchen. Three days with just a fire, a paraffin stove to cook on and a few candles wasn't a lot of fun.
That was the time that Fylingdales almost disappeared under the snow. Colin was "snowed out", in other words he was at home when the roads blocked, but the men who were on shift when the snow came were "snowed in". Among them was my Squadron Leader friend, Will. Things got pretty bad and Will was sent out with the snow-plough - he had to walk in front of it, feeling for trapped sheep. He said it was impossible to know where the road was, everywhere was just white, and it was very, very frightening. In the end they had to give up and go back. It took a few days to be able to dig a path between the buildings.
The town was always self-sufficient when we were cut off. There was never a lack of food, certainly the snow didn't stop the fishermen bringing in their catches, and the one and only supermarket, Lipton's, was always well stocked. Botham's, the bakers, didn't run out of flour and the pubs never ran short of beer. The whole town just sparkled in the Winter sun and the children had fun.
We had lots of visitors when we lived there. My parents would come, regularly, and I never understood why they would ask for an extra blanket on the bed; not until I moved away and went back for a visit. Whitby's a chilly place but we'd got used to it.
My dad and I used to go down to the harbour very early on a morning for our special treat, oysters. We'd stand at the stall and consume at least half a dozen each, followed by a few local mussels. All our visitors would go home with a fresh crab and, sometimes, a lobster. I have to say the lobsters used to rather upset me, stacked in boxes waving their claws, pathetically, at passers-by. They were, however, delicious.
Up on the West Cliff, near the theatre, there used to be a children's roundabout. Its cars were swans, all white except for one black one. My children loved it and would beg for a "go" if we walked nearby. Needless to say, Nana and Grampa always took them on the "Swan Noundabout".
We also had an open air swimming pool on the West Cliff. The cliff was eroding, fast, and we were always told the pool would fall into the sea within 10 years. It didn't, someone bought it and built a house there. We spent many a Summer day at the pool and the children joined the swimming club, Joanne was a Barracuda and Alan was a Dolphin, and learned to swim properly. Jo used to insist on going in the Winter and her dad would take her, at weekends, when it was so cold he got out of the water after 5 minutes - she just swam up and down quite happily. She has, honestly, never felt the cold.
We left Whitby for pastures new in 1972. Colin and I would go back for the odd weekend and even had thoughts of, perhaps, retiring there one day. The last time we went was June 1996. It was the weekend before he died, unexpectedly, and I haven't been back since. My son and his wife are regular visitors to the place and he's even played a couple of gigs there with his band. He says The Patch is now all private houses, the Plough no longer hosts the Folk Club and the Swan Noundabout's gone.
I will go back again, before too long. Until then I just keep the happy memories of a special time in all our lives and a very special place to live.
