大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by AJ Murray from CSV Action Desk on behalf of Mr Colin Loose and has been added to the site with his permission. Mr Loose fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

It did happen. I was there. I saw it. I felt it. Heard it. So why, in the succeeding sixty years have I never spoken to anyone else who has any recollection of it?

It was the winter of 1939-40 in the northwest at least cold and hard enough to rank with any of modern times 鈥� even 1947and 1963 when my 90-year old mum finally admitted it was colder than 1897.

The 5th Training Battalion Royal Engineers 鈥� the cream of his Majesty鈥檚 troops 鈥� were billeted in the Galtney district of Chester and working (?) in a disused shipyard alongside the river Dee.

The fun started a few days after Christmas with perhaps about a foot of snow which in that flat countryside often drifted to 15-20 ft. As there were no battles on at the time and no fair maidens to be rescued we were employed on menial duties more usually performed by the Brigade of Guards or other second line troops. In a month or so we must have moved thousands of tons of snow from dairy farm trucks so that they could get the milk out. One day we were given a map reference in the middle of nowhere and told to look for a double-deck 鈥榖us buried there. The location yielded nothing but flat, pristine snow as far as the eye could see. Eventually it transpired that the road dipped under a railway and we found the 鈥榖us under the bridge with the car that had gone to look for it tucked in behind. Not even the parapet of the bridge rose above the smooth surface of the snow.

Meantime the freeze continued. Temperatures remained below freezing all and every day and dipped to the low twenties deg. Fahrenheit at night. This, of course, led to - mostly minor 鈥� blips and inconveniences for all and sundry and His Majesty鈥檚 troops were not immune. Our canteen was a large marquee on church property at the end of St Mark鈥檚 Road, and part of the breakfast entertainment was to balance our knob of margarine in our spoon over our mug of tea and hope it melted before the tea froze. There was a short, steep hill down from St Mark鈥檚 Road 鈥� I wonder if it鈥檚 still there - and on one occasion a hundred of the army鈥檚 finest troops were set to march down it on their way to the public baths. The surface was like glass. Someone called out 鈥淪tep short in front!鈥� but it was too late. After a few seconds of contorting more speciality dancing than military drill the whole company slid jumbled gracefully down on bellies, bottoms or whatever portion they happened to have landed on, finishing piled up at the bottom like cabbages on a costermonger鈥檚 barrow. Noone was grievously hurt.

But it was the River Dee herself who stole the show. Frozen three feet thick she had suffered skates, cyclists, even motorists and even into early April nothing seemed to change. But underneath the ice was being steadily eroded. Finally, the tidal bore forced its way up under the ice and disturbed the peace in spectacular fashion. Chunks of ice a ton or more were hurled six feet into the air, falling back cracking, grinding and growling. I doubt there has been such a noise since the beginning of time and it seemed to go on forever. Noone who heard or saw it could ever forget it. There must be someone else somewhere who remembers it. I wait to hear from you.

1895216 Sapper Loose, C.

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