Open Writing

"Just look at that sky, Chivers. Did you ever see anything so lovely?" Mary Carpenter picked up her ginger torn and carried him over to the window of her cottage. Rubbing his ear tenderly, she struggled to remember the constellations she had recognised as a child.

"See, Chivers, that's the Plough and that, I think, is Orion's Belt. My word, there'll be a keen frost tonight, that's for sure. Come on, let's settle down by the fire. You'll sit on my knee and keep me warm, won't you?"

She drew the curtains and sat down in her comfy armchair and soon Chivers was purring contentedly, her companion for the long, lonely winter's evening ahead.
January in Little Heston, a village in the grip of a severe cold snap. Commuters arrived home, glad to be off the icy, country roads. Televisions were switched on for the evening: some sought warmth from their pints in the Black Horse. Only The Gang were hardy enough to brave the keen, night air, the smoke from their cigarettes mingling with the vapour issuing from their mouths.

There were usually about a dozen of them, boys and girls. Some of them sat on their motorbikes, revving every few minutes. They shovelled fast food into their mouths and chucked the packaging onto the grass around the war memorial on the village green, while they drank from cans and bottles that followed suit. They thumped each other playfully, used foul language and played loud, repetitive music. Nobody ever went near them if they could avoid it.
The frost continued without a break for days, then weeks, crisp, bright days, severe frosts by night. One morning Mary was buying her groceries in the post office that also served as the village store.

"This must be global cooling," said a young woman as she waited in the queue. But the older ones knew better.

"Reminds me what it used to be like when we were young," said Mary. "We used to have proper winters then. Have you seen Burrough's Pond, Albert? More than a foot thick. Safe as houses, my old gran would have said. Brings back lovely memories."

"It does that, Mary," he said with a grin. "Do you think you're still up to it, lass?" Albert lived in a cottage two doors away, a life-long neighbour.

"Now, I don't know," she said, "it's been many a long year since I tried."

Mr. Burr, weighing potatoes behind the counter butted in. "You two want to be careful at your age. We don't want you ending up in hospital." But Mary and Albert merely grinned at each other.

That evening The Gang were in for a surprise. About six-thirty the door of Mary's cottage opened and out she stepped, wearing a red skirt, which reached down to her ankles and a thick black coat. A long scarf, hat and mittens, in a matching red, complemented the outfit. In her right hand she carried a black bag.

"Look who's coming? Where you off to Grandma?" someone shouted.

"Don't be so cheeky, lad. Mind your manners," said Albert, as he joined her. He, too, was suitably dressed to face the cold and he carried the same sort of bag. "Come on, Mary. Take no notice of them. Now, hold on to my arm."

Mary and Albert walked across the Green and into Dart Lane. The Gang followed, making a lot of noise. Albert opened a gate and there it was, Burroughs's Pond, silver and shiny in the moonlight. They sat down on the crisp white grass and opened their bags. Out came two pairs of ancient ice-skates. They put them on.

"Hey, look at them! Did they come out of the Ark?"

"This'll be a right laugh. Good job we've got our mobiles. Might as well dial 999 now."

Here we go, here we go, here we go," chanted The Gang.

"Take no notice of them. Are we ready, Mary? It's like riding a bike, you never forget. Just take it steady to start with."
The two of them stepped out on to the ice and gingerly took their first strides. Soon Mary's skirt was swaying with the rhythm of her movements, her long scarf flying behind her. Albert's cap perched jauntily on the back of his head. They speeded up a little as they gained in confidence and giggled like youngsters and soon the only sound was the hissing
of the blades on the ice, for The Gang, for once, was silent.
After a few minutes Mary and Albert came to a halt at the side of the pond.
"Cool!"

"Can I have a go?"

"Will you show me how to do it?"

"No, me first. Your feet are too big."

"Just a minute," shouted Albert. "Have you ever though of saying please?"

"PLEASE!" yelled The Gang.

And so it was that in Little Heston, one January evening, under a sparkling sky, The Gang took it in turns to perfect the ancient pastime of ice-skating, and, for an hour or so, young and old were as one.