WINTER'S GRIP '71

The winter of 1971 was as bitter as the grave and as long as any anyone could remember in Snowdonia. 

Snow fell and blanketed the villages and terrible winds wailed across the tops right up until the first days of Spring should have come. But they didn't.

The weather was a like a mad devil and gripped the land in its lengthening claws, a wild vampire sucking the light from the days.

Nothing stirred in that dark wind-blasted season and lost souls were blown off-course in the dreadful months of ice and sleet at the bitten end of the year.

In early March and unexpectedly snug in the tiny Welsh hamlet of Glasynfryn, a man sat with his dog by a warm log fire and listened to Budgie, the new rock trio giving Led Zepp a run for their money. His small place glowed in the fell night like a beacon.

Relaxing to the heavy riffs with a long joint, the man was suddenly startled by a colossal blast of wind outside, worse than anything the whole winter had thrown up thus far and his old cottage rattled and creaked in shock.

With a skid his LP stopped dead and the lights went out. It was pitch black in his living room save for the nodding flames in the grate.

The man fumbled round the kitchen next-door for a candle, which he lit on the fire.

"Christ! What a wind!"

He stared cautiously outside through his window at the snowy windswept world. The mad gust had subsided but a dreadful wind remained. There were now no lights on at any of his neighbours' houses anywhere on the hillside.

"Damn it. Its a power cut! Again!"

He stoked the grate and piled new logs into the basket. It could be a long few days until the power comes back on he mused.

"This winter will be the death of us boy!" he said and smiled at his loyal dog.

With a warming cup of soup he settled back down and gave gave his pet a chew.

"Their you go old fella!"

He patted it's head and drank his hot soup staring into the enchanting flames of the hearth. They seemed to be telling him something, to keep the fire burning.

He must have fallen asleep and dreamt.

It was his dog growling that woke him up.

"What's up fella?"

The two made their way to the kitchen, where to the man's surprise the back door was ajar and the cold long Winter wind and snow were howling in.

"Christ!" he swore and pushed the door back and bolted it this time.

The dog continued to growl and padded to the bottom of the staircase staring up.

Geraint heeded his faithful dog's instincts and headed upstairs carrying his old friend. He found nothing out of the ordinary and neither did the dog.

In the morning the man woke, stretched loudly and staggered downstairs. He lit the stove for a pot of tea and fed the waiting pet, who wolfed down its dry mix in seconds.

The kettle whistled and the man stumbled back upstairs with his steaming mug, slurping along the way.

He glared into the mirror at his grizzled face and shook his head.

"Blahhh!" he complained to his own reflection.

Reaching for the soap he stopped and stared at it.

It was covered in hair. Long white hairs.

"What the ...!"

He turned the bar over and found the hair on both sides.

The man looked at the soap intently as if it explain to him directly what was going on.

He turned and picked up the bar on the bath-side.

"More!" he shouted.

Suddenly he remembered the open door the night before and ran tearing round his cottage looking for an intruder. Finding nothing upstairs he set his dog on sniffing anyone out hiding in the pantry or the woodshed. Again, they found nothing.

He finished his tea and made a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs, sharing some of the cooked rashers with his greying pet.

"You've not been rolling round in my soap have you dog?" said the man chewing on his fried bread.

"Maybe something blew in last night? A seagull or a squirrel? Its all very mysterious mutt" he puzzled stroking his old dog under the table.

The man spent the short spell of late Winter daylight splitting logs for the fire and stacking them neatly in his shed. They groaned as they settled like .... coffins! .... he thought. for some reason He shivered and stood his axe by the door, where a stooped group of snow drops were the only visible signals of a Spring that might never arrive.

That night he carried several large pans full of boiling water upstairs and filled his bath. he had cleaned his two bars of soap and was looking forward to a good hot soak before bed.

It would be days before the power's back up. The phone's were down too so he couldn't even contact the hill farm where he worked each March helping with the lambing high up on the slopes.

As he returned for one last pan-full from the hearth his dog was stood straight, hackles up and snarling at the the bottom of the stairs.

"What is it boy?"

He sprinted the steps as best he could without spilling his water and looked in two bedrooms and finally the bathroom.

Nothing.

"Its OK dog, there's nothing here. Go back to sleep by the fire. I'll be down in a bit and make us both some cocoa".

The man undressed and got into the bath. The hot water rose around him and he slid back into its comforting warmth. On the sill was a lit candle and its flame danced and flicked in the harsh wind mugging its way through the rickety window frame. A jos-stick's scented smoke curled and twitched next to it.

The aches of splitting logs oozed away from his bones and he reached for the soap. He lathered his chest and short grey hair and sang half-lines of Stairway to Heaven.

"If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now....."

He sank himself under the water to rinse his head.

"It's just a spring clean for the May ...."

He put the soap back and wiped his eyes.

The man sat bolt upright as he stared at the soap. It was sodden with long white hairs again. He touched it tentatively as if it were alive and flicked it onto the floor where it skidded to a stop.

He stood and shuddered and without taking his eyes of the hairy thing he wrapped a large bath towel around his waist and stepped out of the tub.

The man backed out of the bathroom and onto the landing.

His dog, standing at the foot of the stairs still, immediately starting barking frantically with its eyes fixed on the man. 

Startled the man turned and caught a glimpse of a wavering outline in the landing mirror. 

There was something clinging to his back shivering.

The man jumped with fright and his dog barked even more, trying desperately to get up the steep stairs but it was too old for the climb.

His shuddering passenger leapt off him like a bat and crouched on the landing staring at the man with a surreal intensity.

It was a svelte, green-skinned, human-like creature with incredibly long arms and legs, which were wrapped round the man. 

It had long pointed ears, huge bright piercing turquoise eyes, a short nose, black lips and a thin mouth full of sharp teeth. It also had a mane of long white hair, which was draped over her back touching the floor. A sinuous tail wove to and fro through its tresses.

The being was perfectly still. Steam from the hot bath rose from its verdant limbs giving it a spirit-like form.

The man's mouth was agape. Never had he seen such a beautiful, elven thing, totally otherworldly, but somehow familiar. He wondered if it might be an alien.

All at once the wind ceased abruptly and the house stopped groaning. A ray of sunlight fired through the bathroom window and hit the creature with a bright orange beam.

It stiffened and sprang up immediately. It sniffed the air noisily.  It ran to the window and gazed at the world outside licking its sharp teeth.

"It's time!" it whispered, its reflection in the mirror disappearing.

It darted down the stairs past the man and the dog and reached the back door in a second, its green features a grassy blur, its tail a gyrating asp.

Clasping the door it turned and looked at the man.

"Thankyou for keeping me!" it hissed through its gleaming fangs.

At once it ran out of the house and into the icy wastes, where its footsteps left sprigs of snowdrops and celandine exploding through the melting snow. Everywhere the sprite leapt new life erupted and the sun burst through the fading grey like magma as the first lambs screamed in the fields.

The man flexed in his towel and the puzzled dog panted. They both stood at the door and looked out onto this green season, a spellbinding cauldron of rising sap and hot blood unfolding in the wake of the growling spirit as it searched for the dying Winter, teeth bared, hungry for its final breath.

It was Spring.

At last.