INTRODUCTION & DISCLAIMER - In Essex, England next-door-neighbours Janet and Derek grew up together and have always been really good friends, until both turned 18 and Derek's feelings for Janet turn to romantic as he develops a crush on his pretty friend. Unwilling to risk their friendship and not sure whether Janet would feel the same way about him, Derek's feelings for Janet seem set to remain unrequited until the frigid winter of 1962-1963, where one windy, freezing cold and snowy night things take an unexpected turn ....
An entry in
this year's Valentines Day contest
, travel back 60 years into the past and have fun with Derek and Janet as they endure the longest and coldest British winter on record, The Big Freeze. Although this weather event was real, the characters and events in the story are fictional, and any similarity to real persons living or dead coincidental and unintentional. Only characters aged 18 and older are in any sexual situations. Please enjoy, and be sure to rate and comment.
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"So Ginger, I think it's your turn to go out to the shed and get some more coal," I said to the large marmalade cat, who had laid his long body out on the floor right in front of the coal-fired stove in the sitting room to gain maximum warmth.
The cat looked up at me with his green eyes, but did not move, his expression clearly reading, 'Get lost Derek, you are the human and I am the cat of the house, it is your responsibility to make sure that I am warm and comfortable at all times.'
"Shall we take a vote on it, Ginger?" I asked. The cat wagged his tail at his annoyance at my disturbing him, and went back to sleep. "Glad it's settled then, its Derek's turn to go outside and get more coal."
The fire definitely needed more fuel, but getting up from the settee in front of the television to go outside and retrieve more was going to take some motivation on my part. A gust of freezing wind blew snow and sleet against the windows, and the lights flickered momentarily. I hoped very much it would not be another blackout, and this time my luck was in and the power stayed on.
Outside, the cold winds picked up again, sounding like the wailing of banshees on this freezing Friday evening. The foul weather caused the picture on the TV to go fuzzy momentarily and then the black and white picture righted itself. Ironically the TV show I was watching -- about teenagers enjoying summer at the beach in California -- made me feel colder still.
I wished I could jump through the TV and join them on their warm beach where they walked around in swimwear. Even with the fire and my layers of clothes -- I wore a coat over a knitted jumper, a long-sleeved shirt and trousers on top of thermal underwear, regular underwear of a vest and boxer shorts underneath all this with a scarf around my neck and thick woolen socks and sturdy shoes on my feet - I was still bloody cold.
Getting up out of my position on the settee, I again addressed the sleeping cat. "Next time Puss, it really is your turn," I promised him before grabbing my overcoat and a woolen hat to brave the frigid weather conditions on my way to the coal shed.
Going through the kitchen to the back door, I was immediately hit by a blast of frigid night air, like I had walked out of a research base near the South Pole and into the Antarctic evening. But I wasn't in Antarctica, in fact I was on the other side of the world in Essex, England, not too far out of London.
English weather could be cold and damp at times, but in the southern counties we normally enjoyed far better weather conditions than those in the north of the country and into Scotland, where they were used to much colder winters. But this winter, nobody in Great Britain or Ireland were free of the bitter winds, freezing sleet and huge downfalls of snow that filled gardens and streets like no other winter.
From those in John O Groats in the far north of Scotland to Lands' End in Cornwall, from Ireland and Wales to the south east of England, we were all in the same positon, chilled to the bone and living in cold and dangerous weather we simply were not used to. The prolonged cold snap was creating chaos up and down the country with icy roads, problems for the trains as snow needed to be cleared and blackouts as the electrical substations struggled to cope and power-poles and electrical wires failed in the adverse conditions.
Shivering as the icy night air seemed to go right through the layers of clothes I wore, I made my way to the coal shed. The howling winds picked up, blowing sleet and snow into my face and I shivered. Opening the coal shed, I filled up a metal bucket with coal and looked up at the dark snowy skies, wondering whether the freezing weather would ever clear. Perhaps we were entering another ice age, and wooly mammoths and sabre toothed tigers would be roaming the streets of London within weeks?
An unusually cold December for Southern England was a taste of things to come. The overnight frosts were quite severe and a heavy pea-soup fog that enveloped London and the surrounding areas for some days -- the yellow-tinged smog taking my memories back 10 years to the Great London Smog of 1952 - had led to a rare white Christmas for Essex in 1962 with light snowfall which got even heavier on Boxing Day. It was such a novelty to have snow for Christmas in this part of England, but a month later and with January 1963 nearly at an end, the appeal of snow was well and truly gone.
I turned to go back inside and the wind picked up in intensity, blasting snow at me. "I bet the bloody cat is nice and warm by the fireside," I grumbled under my breath which was prominent in the icy air, when a loud from next door's garden made me jump. It was a cracking noise, followed by the sound of glass breaking.
Alarmed, I dropped the coal bucket and ran to the fence as I heard the back door of the house next door slam open and a young female voice exclaim in her Essex accent, "What the hell!?"
Looking around, I grabbed a wooden crate and put it next to the fence, standing on it to look into the neighbors' back garden. It was pretty obvious what had happened. The strong winds had detached a branch from the tree and sent it through a window, smashing the panes.
Surveying the damage was my neighbor Janet Hutchings. Aged 18 like me, we had grown up together one family each side of the semi-detached house we called home. Janet had been born on a day that was impossible to forget -- 6th June 1944 -- D Day.
In the Hutchings house back then in the later days of the war the father Fred, mother Martha and two-year-old brother Billy were kept awake at nights by a screaming baby girl. In the Wilson side of the house, the crying baby next door also kept awake the father Tom, the mother Alice and their two-year-old daughter Susan. However, at this stage Alice was heavily pregnant and 10 days after Mr. and Mrs. Hutchings welcomed their infant daughter Janet, Alice Wilson gave birth to a baby boy -- me. Now there two screaming infants next to each other keeping both families awake late at night.
So close in age, Janet and I had grown up the best of friends and were always playing together along with our friends, siblings and cousins, walking to school together, helping out with chores and doing homework together. We were still great friends now as young adults, Janet working as an office clerk for a large company in town and me an apprentice mechanic.
At the sound of my voice, Janet jumped and turned around. "Derek, what the hell?!" she exclaimed.
"Sorry Janet, did I scare you?" I asked.