NEARLY all the Christmas songs refer to snow - “Let it snow, let it snow” and of course “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas”. These were not written for our Cardigan Christmas.

We are more likely to get rain. However we can always hope.

In fact what snow we get is in the months after Christmas. Of course, once you go inland even a little to Newcastle Emlyn and Crymych, the story is different with snow if not up to their eyeballs then certainly significant.

I remember the snowfall and bitter cold of 1963; it was so cold that the Teifi froze over as did the Cenarth Falls. I have photographs of both these events and of the snow drifts on the B4333 which I foolishly attempted to travel .

I eventually met a snow wall where the snow plough had decided enough was enough. Turning around was a nightmare.

At that time I was sharing a flat with another pair of reprobates while my fiancée lived in Cardigan.

At the beginning of the snowfall, empowered by bravado and hormones, I attempted, in the evening to drive to Cardigan. I slithered to the top of the hill heading down into the town then saw headlights ahead of me doing a gentle arc in the sky. Whoa.

A step out of the car - a very low Austin Healey Sprite frogeye - and I sprawled on the compacted snow. Scrambling back in, I was able to slither round to the way I wanted to go.

She married me a few weeks later.

I don’t remember much snow until 1983 when we had another dollop. We’d just moved to the Gotre Estate and were promptly cut off.

The council cleared the Gwbert Road but the Ferwig Road was left to its own devices. In fact a local farmer dug us out But even then we had to walk as my old Triumph 2000 refused point blank to go up our sloping drive forwards or backwards.

Yes I’d like a little snow, but not enough to trap us again.


Christmas is just around the corner. To some, a regrettable minority, it is a highly significant and joyous day. For most however it is a break from work and a period of much eating and drinking.

The latter probably think of it as it is expressed by many of our transatlantic cousins as a happy holiday.

We have been bombarded in the post and on TV with items that are “only” some inflated price especially for children. That’s a form of “make you feel bad if you don’t buy” blackmail.

Santa Claus is no longer a benevolent gent who rewards children who have been good with a few small presents, he is now a representative of multi-national chain stores and is expected to unload his sleigh with most of that shop’s goodies.

Once the day is over and wiser heads prevail, there is the nagging worry of how all the expenditure is going to be paid for. Ah, but it was worth it!

If old Santa gets tired or a little too merry from the alcoholic thanks left out for him, and is unable to continue driving his sleigh, I have a replacement driver well and eager to take over.

During a holiday in Lapland some years ago, Beryl and I had a ride in a reindeer drawn sleigh.

We were the first ride of the day and Rudolph, or whoever was eager to show off his paces. He went off like his tail was on fire, tongue lolling about and grunting.

The course was a railed-in area so he had to follow it round. Otherwise we would have disappeared into the distance. When we got to the finish line a unique braking system was employed.

The owners stood on either side of Rudolph’s projected trajectory, and as he passed them each grabbed an antler, leant back and dug their heels into the snow. We slithered to a stop, were given a hot drink to overcome the shock, and then each presented with a reindeer driver’ licence.

So if Santa’s reindeer know where they are going I’ll happily ride in the sleigh and yell “Ho, ho, ho”.