NOW we’re having a bit of cold weather, dramatised by the media, reflection often goes back to the winter of 1947.

I can only write about country living, since then, as now, the countryside was the worst affected, but to the question ‘is it as bad?’ the answer can only be ‘no’.

There was no such thing as central heating in any house, just the one fireplace.

Yes, there were fireplaces in some bedrooms, but who could afford the extra coal to keep them running? Most would have had just a ‘Valo’ paraffin stove for upstairs, mainly on the landing.

There was no double glazing, only rampant draughts through every ill-fitting window or broken slate.

Nearly everyone biked or walked to work, and for the few who drove, there were no such things as car heaters.

Dare I mention the old toilet with bucket at the end of the garden, when it was cold enough to freeze the you-know-whats off a brass monkey?

I remember the first morning of the big snow, living in Fritwell.

After we finally dug our way out to walk to school in short trousers, imagine our delight when we got to the school, only to find the poor old headmaster, First World War veteran Ted Thorn, was snowed in.

We were later joined by the Souldern kids, who had walked a mile-and-a-half over hedgerows and fields to challenge us to a snowball fight, along with one of our teachers, Miss Westbury, until we were all exhausted.

But the real treat was yet to come.

In the distance, drawing ever closer, could be heard the rumble of a tank engine. Then, to our delight, it appeared – an ex-Second World War Sherman tank, equipped with a huge snow plough, carving its way through the drifts like butter.

We ran after it tripping, falling, laughing, and warmed by the hot exhaust gases emitted from rear pipes, while the crew shouted encouragement from the top gun turret, until we almost reached Fewcott.

All able-bodied village men were detailed on snow cleaning, armed with shovels.

We were back at school the next day, older boys clearing snow from playgrounds and paths, while we shivered in our classroom, semi-heated by only one tortoiseshell coke stove, situated at the back of the classroom which stank when refuelled with wet coke.

TONY O’GORMAN, Main Street, Hethe, Bicester