Snowy night, streets were covered in a calm, carpet of white and since it was Sunday morning, with few cars about, the grubby town looked as beautiful as a fairy tale; till Monday, when traffic would churn snow into yellow, ***** slush and people, in black or drab grey, would have mist coming out of their mouths as they moaned about the weather. In the park, the snow would last for days and I could make my footprints large by subbing my feet on white ground land contrasting black trees and pale sky made for stark beauty; in front of park benches where old men sat, talking ships. Tobacco spittle. Winter 1956, colours only appeared in comic strips, and in western movies.