Puzzled tourists and generous blood donors are part of the human tapestry in snowy city, writes MICHAEL PARSONSin Kilkenny
IT REALLY was a day for those immortal words: “I am just going outside and may be some time”. Kilkenny wasn’t quite Antarctica yesterday but, like Capt Oates stepping out from the infamous tent and into a -40 degrees blizzard, the effort required true grit. After another bitterly cold night, Groundhog Day began with a light fall of fresh snow on a landscape worthy of Pieter Bruegel.
At the Black Quarry Service Station, on the appropriately named Gallows Hill, cars gingerly negotiated the slippery incline, watched by a robin perched on a petrol pump. Windscreen de-icing aerosols had sold out “over a week ago”. The car-wash service, coffee machine and customer toilets were all out of action as “the water has frozen”.
A shopper looked askance at a tabloid headlined: “Dempsey: I’m Stuck In Malta.”
Kilkenny Castle looked like the palace of Disney’s Snow Queen. Its frost-encrusted turrets overlooked parkland normally emerald green but now carpeted with a crisp white powder. This looked like classic snowman-building territory but the castle and its grounds were closed – for “health safety” reasons. Cabin Fever may have replaced swine flu as the latest malaise but “Walkin’ in a Winter Wonderland” clearly has limited appeal. Most of the people out and about were not Irish.
Maya Czechak (32), from Poland, who had taken daughter Dagna (2) to play in the park, expressed surprise as they peered forlornly through the locked black gates.
German tourist Michael Holzner (31), on a first visit to Ireland, wondered “why everything is “closing with only 3cm of snow”. He was planning to drive his rental car, first to see the Rock of Cashel, and then on to Co Kerry. When told that the Irish polizei had warned against all “non-essential” travel, he burst out laughing and said “what would they do if there was one metre of snow like in Munich?” He was planning to spend last night at a BB in Killarney.
At the Marble City cafe, barista Chris Miller (29), whose home village of Duns, on the Scottish Borders, “has a foot and half of snow right now”, complained that business was quiet because “the people are too soft over here”.
Polish waitress, Agi Lewandowska (29) agreed. “You [Irish] are too panicky. There’s a little bit of snow and you close the schools. Minus 30 degrees, that’s when you close the schools.”
But blood donors showed real community spirit. By noon, about 80 people were queuing patiently at a special clinic set up by the Irish Blood Transfusion Service at the Rivercourt Hotel.
Outside, Patrick Grace (53), lit a cigarette and said he had just given blood “for the 35th time” and hoped “it’ll be good for somebody”.
Salt has replaced Nama as the four-letter national preoccupation. Rumours of fresh shipments – from Carrickfergus or Foynes or the port of Cork – are awaited with an anxiety last witnessed when New Yorkers gathered at the harbour to hear the fate of “Little Nell” from passengers arriving from England. At Superquinn, the shelves had been stripped of the new gold-dust, Saxa Rock Salt, although Maldon Salt Flakes – at the foie gras price of €15.96 per kilo – were available.
At County Hall, officials led by Churchillian county manager Joe Crockett, met at noon for their daily emergency co-ordination meeting. The Army had been dispatched to Tipperary, he said, “to collect bottled water”. The venue was a hive of activity and Dunkirk spirit. Not since D-Day have weather forecasts been more closely scrutinised.