I don’t think anything excites Brits, weather-wise, more than snow. There’s a sense of awe and wonder when it first arrives – quickly followed by panic-buying and a media-frenzy that puts us to shame. I love this poem by Allan Ahlberg which captures beautifully the yearning children have to be out it it, instead of stuck in the classroom.
Outside, the sky was almost brown
The clouds were hanging low.
Then all of a sudden it happened:
The air was full of snow.
The children rushed to the windows.
The teacher let them go,
Though she teased them for their foolishness.
After all, it was only snow.
It was only snow that was falling,
Only out of the sky,
Only onto the turning earth
Before the blink of an eye.
What else could it do from up here,
But fall in its usual way?
It was only weather, really.
What else could you say?
The teacher sat at her desk
Putting ticks in a little row,
While the children stared through the steamy glass
At the only snow.
Taken from the anthology Please Mrs Butler (Puffin 1983)