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I lived in the north when I was there two generations ago, and all I can say is it was cold.
It wasn't cold outside, it was cold inside. A sort of we-build-our-houses-out-of-stone-not-wood type of cold, where the standard insulation level of any house was pretty much R0. It could be above freezing outside and you'd still be bone chilled inside.
It was the type of cold where you would invent, and then be terribly scalded by, heated towel racks. Because even though you were putting a searing hot rail right next to your tub -- where you would inevitably touch it, and burn yourself -- you needed your towels to be warm and dry, because you were forever cold and damp.
It was the type of cold where having a searing hot gas fire in the living room was considered a good idea. (Fuck fake logs, by the way - you want the flame to hit you directly.) Such a fire will immediately destroy fabrics, skin, or really, anything that gets near it. But if there is a searing hot gas fire in the living room, logic says certainly you can convince yourself you're warm. (It's not really true, because anywhere inside five feet of the fire is unbearably hot, while anywhere outside five feet is unbearably cold, and finding a middle ground is impossible.)
It's the type of cold where Brits just leave their eggs out on the counter. You don't need a big refrigerator, because during fall, winter, and spring, the kitchen IS the refrigerator.
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