Post by Jan on May 30, 2005 9:50:39 GMT -5
They always played in the quarry when it snowed. The drifts there were deep and unspoiled, and the rock face sheltered the children from the bitter winter winds. Rabbit tracks zig-zagged along the secret pathways, but most other animals were hidden under the snow, or sleeping the winter away.
John and Simon climbed the slippery wooden steps to the quarry top, ears red with the icy blast of the wind. From here they could see the valley stretching away into the distance - Johns house down there by the river; Sarah and James’s farm there, towards the village; Simons home just along the lane there; Andys smallholding up there on the other side of the valley, white painted against the whiter snowscape.
Below them, their friends were making a snow cave in one of the giant drifts, faces aglow. Giggling they threw snowballs down at the children below and the chase began. Laughing wildly they raced over the cliff face, down the steps, over the spoil heaps deep with snow, the children were having the time of their lives.
It was a winter that would stay with them always. When evening came and the owl sang his haunting song to the night, they tobogganed home, vowing to meet again at the quarry the following weekend and every weekend during the winter. Forever.
The years passed as surely as spring follows hard on the tail of the wildest winter storms, and the children grew up to leave the Dale seeking a living in Newcastle or Darlington ….but 300 years on, their vow still holds true.
If you venture near to the quarry in winter, when the wind has sculptured the drifts into a fantasy-land, and the snow is too deep to run in, they can still be heard. Although no footprints spoil the crisp virgin snow, the sounds of children laughing and playing in the snow echo round the rock face. Venture too close within the sanctuary of that hallowed land, and you are bound to be hit by a clumsily-made snowball.
They always play in the quarry when it snows…<br>
John and Simon climbed the slippery wooden steps to the quarry top, ears red with the icy blast of the wind. From here they could see the valley stretching away into the distance - Johns house down there by the river; Sarah and James’s farm there, towards the village; Simons home just along the lane there; Andys smallholding up there on the other side of the valley, white painted against the whiter snowscape.
Below them, their friends were making a snow cave in one of the giant drifts, faces aglow. Giggling they threw snowballs down at the children below and the chase began. Laughing wildly they raced over the cliff face, down the steps, over the spoil heaps deep with snow, the children were having the time of their lives.
It was a winter that would stay with them always. When evening came and the owl sang his haunting song to the night, they tobogganed home, vowing to meet again at the quarry the following weekend and every weekend during the winter. Forever.
The years passed as surely as spring follows hard on the tail of the wildest winter storms, and the children grew up to leave the Dale seeking a living in Newcastle or Darlington ….but 300 years on, their vow still holds true.
If you venture near to the quarry in winter, when the wind has sculptured the drifts into a fantasy-land, and the snow is too deep to run in, they can still be heard. Although no footprints spoil the crisp virgin snow, the sounds of children laughing and playing in the snow echo round the rock face. Venture too close within the sanctuary of that hallowed land, and you are bound to be hit by a clumsily-made snowball.
They always play in the quarry when it snows…<br>