‘It’s cold’, said my mother, during one of our thrice weekly telephone calls.
‘It is’, I said. ‘I can’t wait for the spring.’
When I was young, in our house being cold was normal.
There was a fire lit in the living room on a daily basis. My father would light it before heading out to work at 7.00 each morning. During particularly cold spells, the fire might have been kept in overnight. There was always a sense of security in seeing the glow of the coke with which it had been banked up. Sometimes, not often, the kitchen fire might also have been lit.
In the bathroom, which was downstairs, there was a paraffin heater that was lit while we washed; but on cold nights, it had to go outside to ensure the pipes in the toilet did not freeze. Warmth in the bathroom generally depended upon filling the washbasin with hot water and plunging one’s arms into it. The other rooms were unheated.
The purchase of a big grey convector heater was a great boon, although it could not be used on a casual basis. In 1972, four electric storage heaters were fitted in our three bedroomed council house, and the toilet was moved inside. It seemed the most cosy house in England, we still had to go downstairs to the toilet, but it no longer had a seat that chilled the flesh.
In the years of ministry in parishes, the cold moments returned. Half of the thirty years were spent in buildings from former times, big rambling glebe houses, dating from times when servants were a customary part of life, it was impossible to keep more than a handful of rooms at a tolerable temperature. People in the parishes regarded the oversized buildings as part of the heritage of the community and many thought clergy should regard themselves as privileged to be living in such houses, had they experienced the places on winter mornings, they might have revised their opinion.
Perhaps the advancing years have caused the blood to thin, or the metabolism to slow down, but there has developed an aversion to the cold. It is not hard to understand why so many people moved to Spain upon retirement, it wasn’t about flamenco or sangria, it wasn’t about beaches or bars, it was just about being warm.
There is cold in the air tonight. It is the sort of chill that penetrates to the bones, and that leaves the whole body shivering.
