Did it snow, or has it snew?

However, one of the curious elements was the use of dialect words that were particularly apt for a serious dollop of snow, and most are still in use today.

The word dollop really means a shapeless lump of something, such as mud or even uncooked dough, and I’ve heard it used to describe an avalanche of snow that slides from a roof or falls from a thick tree branch as the thaw begins. Sometimes, though, it was used to describe a thick, but lumpy, drift.

Often pronounced as snaw, snow in the process of drifting was invariably described as stowering. The word indicated light snow that was blowing along in clouds. I’ve heard it spoken as stowering ower t’- moor.

The same word could also be used when clouds of dust or sand blew along the ground before settling somewhere, and it was also featured when low-lying mist was blown along in clouds.

Pronunciation of stower varied from dale to dale, or even village to village, sometimes emerging as stoor, and it can be spelt in various ways such as stoor, stour or stower. If the stowering was driven along by a very strong wind or gale, it was known as stevvening; when the wind howled, it was said to stevven.

Stevven indicated something loud, like a howl, but it could also mean someone shouting.

A fierce blizzard was described as “Snaw that was stevvening and stowering.”

If a person lost his or her temper and began to shout and wave their arms about, they were also described as stevvening, while a snowstorm being driven by a strong wind was often known as a snaw-stower or snaw-stoor.

When deep snow had fallen over a large area without drifting, it was said to be reg’lar away because it often covered a large flat area, such as a field or sports ground with a large even coating. The smooth snow often obliterated any lumps and bumps on the ground to give an appearance of constant depth, hence re’glar away.

A combination of reg’lar away snow and stowering snow would often produce a situation where everything was smothered. Deep but level snow combined with drifting in exposed places meant that the entire countryside was covered and the word to describe this was happed. It was generally pronounced without the h, ie ‘apped and so the phrase was ‘ivverything gat ‘apped in wi’ t’snaw.’ The word hap simply means to cover. It was used to describe other occurrences such as when the harvested potatoes, turnips or mangels were placed in large heaps known as pies, often on the edge of a field. These were covered with earth and straw to preserve them until the contents were required, but the general term was that they too were ‘apped in.

According to A Dictionary of the Dialect of the North Riding of Yorkshire by Sir Alfred Pease, the word hap or ‘ap was also used to describe a burial.

If an undertaker announced “We ‘apped ‘im up yesterday”

it meant the unfortunate chap had been buried, in other words covered up with earth.

Sir Alfred provides a lovely story when a Quaker was buried at Danby in Cleveland and a friend stood by his grave, looking down upon the coffin to say: “He leeaks varry comfortable doon yonder, thoo mun ‘ap ‘im up.” And so the ceremony was completed in the traditional way as earth filled the grave.

In the moors of my youth, if a very light fall of snow arrived to coat the ground with what appeared almost like a thin layer of sugar, the word to describe this was strinkling. It was said to be a strinkling of snow. Strinkle appears to have been a local word for a sprinkling, because it was also used when someone sprinkled a light covering of sugar or flour upon articles of food.

Once more resorting to Sir Alfred Pease’s dictionary, it provides two wonderful tales.

One concerned a baptism when he reported: “When t’- priest slapt watter ower t’bairn and strinkled his heead, he nivver skriked oot.” Skriked meant screamed.

The second tale is rather more baffling because a woman said: “We allus strinkles t’carpet wi’ tea-leaves afoore sweeping it.” Perhaps there was a perfectly good reason for doing that; if so, I am unaware of it.

One curious dialect word so far as snow is concerned is the use of snew. A person might say: “It snew hard last night”, when they mean “It snowed hard last night.” This form of language is still widely used in the North York Moors and it could be argued that we might say: “The wind blew hard last night”, so why is it odd to say “It snew hard last night?”

MY correspondence this week includes a letter from the owner of the two holly trees to which I referred recently (D & S Times Dec 11).

Readers might recall my notes where I mentioned that the two trees in question managed to retain their crop of berries while others nearby lost theirs to hungry birds. The hollies are close to Neasham, near Darlington, and belong to a gentleman who has been collecting trees over the years so that he now has his personal arboretum. He was puzzled as to why those two trees had retained their crops while others had lost theirs.

However, his recent letter informs me that during this winter, his two hollies have now lost their berries. This happened before the severe weather of the recent Christmas period, so were those clever birds anticipating the snow and frost?

One very common piece of weather lore tells us that a good crop of berries in the autumn heralds a severe winter.

Maybe our wildlife knows that.

I thank my correspondent for keeping us informed.

ANOTHER note comes from Bainbridge, high in Wensleydale. It relates to the Raydale Project, which has been created by a group of local people, and one of its aims is to make use of the rich water supply in that area.

The plans arise from the former Bainbridge Electric Light Company that was formed in 1912 by John Leyland. His grandson, Peter, lives in Bainbridge and is now in his 90th year. He is married to the Dales artist, Janet Rawlins, whose work is so well known in the district.

When the Electric Light Company was formed, the old mill leat in the bed of the River Bain took water into a header tank in High Mill Garth, now the site of Unicorn House.

From there it passed underground through a large ceramic pipe to the disused mill wheel where an enterprising Askrigg firm, W.H. Burton, had installed a turbine. This powered a generator to supply local people with electricity.

When John Leyland died his widow moved to York but returned to Bainbridge to read the meters and keep the accounts, but in 1947 the electricity supplies were nationalised and in 1953, she received compensation of £1,415. Now the proverbial wheel has turned full circle with local electricity again being proposed in Bainbridge.

An Archimedes screw will be installed in the River Bain opposite the former site of High Mill Garth, and water taken from the river will be channelled down the screw to power a generator. This is the reverse of normal procedure – Archimedes screws usually raise water – but in this case the water will be returned to the river after use.

It is proposed that shares are issued and that the electricity produced goes into the national grid. Peter Leyland will invest his mother’s compensation in the project to celebrate his 90th birthday. I wish the project, and all associated with it, a very happy and successful venture.