This chilly weather reminds me of a day last century when winter was winter and men were men. I was on duty in Wick Radio, a marine radio station which maintained two distress watches and handled essential traffic. Some of us trudged from outlying hamlets through a blinding blizzard and drifts to be there for the shift. One of the lads made it from the airport, a mile and a half away, but his next door neighbour failed to turn up. That was worrying – “is he OK?” we wondered. Eventually, the chap who made it from the airport volunteered to go back and check on his mate’s wellbeing. A couple of hours later he was back – alone. “What’s happened?” we wondered, “where is he?”
“He says he’s snowed in,” was the answer
