For the first time in my life, today I went out wearing 2 scarves. This was due to it being very cold, but also I’d forgotten I’d put on one scarf in the morning and hadn’t taken it off. This incident brings back memories of my childhood and one particularly cold winter which seemed much colder than the others. It brought memories of sliding down the frozen slopes of the South Downs, opposite my school, on tin trays; memories of my father putting on chains on his car tires to help grip in the solidly packed snow on the road; and above all memories of me standing in the middle of our lawn at home, in the Christmas holidays, staring up at the grey-white sky and letting the soft snowflakes fall on my face in sheer delight. I could actually hear the snowflakes falling through the air, it was so quiet. The quietness when it snowed, the magical transformation of everyday features into a fresh icing-sugar layer of snow, and the thrilling feeling of being outside but snug and warm inside many layers of clothes, made an indelible impression on me.
But I am pretty sure that even then, I never wore two scarves at the same time, so today, 57 years later, was the very first time. ( I also remember making a snowman by rolling a ball along and gathering the snow in a huge roll like a carpet. The winters since then have never been as cold, or as exciting, it seems to me).