If the sun fails to shine as much this summer, blame it on the weatherman (From Darlington and Stockton Times)

If the sun fails to shine as much this summer, blame it on the weatherman

3:26pm Friday 22nd May 2009

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DURING the past couple of weeks or so, my newspapers, along with television and radio weather forecasts, have been heralding the strong possibility of a long, hot and dry summer.

However, even though we are making use of the best possible equipment that has been designed and developed specifically to forecast our weather, the traditional British uncertainty remains.

Among the many publicised forecasts, I noted that the experts did not categorically state that we would enjoy a wonderful summer; even the chief meteorologist at the Met Office would only say that there was an odds-on chance that we might. Others said the signs were encouraging, or that we should plan for a long, hot summer, especially if we have a garden.

Certainly, our ability to forecast the weather has greatly improved in recent years, particularly in the short term. There is no doubt the forecasts for my own part of England, covering little more than a couple of days or so in advance, have been very accurate but, quite understandably, long term assessments are much more difficult.

It was during my morning walk that I began to wonder whether our ancient and traditional country methods of forecasting were better or worse than the highly complex official system.

As the media was reporting the strong possibility that we might have a long, hot and dry summer, I noticed that the oak trees along my route had burst into leaf while the nearby ash trees were still bare.

In fact, as I am compiling these notes, it seems that every specimen within sight of my study is in leaf, except for several ash trees. Their branches are still bare.

Naturally, I recalled the ancient and well known piece of weather lore that says “Ash before the oak, we shall have a soak; oak before the ash, we shall have a splash.”

This piece of lore has often been subjected to criticism by sceptics who suggest the appearance of foliage on those trees depends on what has happened in the recent past, ie a dry or wet autumn or winter.

Country folk, however, consider the message expressed by those trees to be very accurate – if the ash comes into leaf before the oak, then we can expect heavy rain while if the oak is first, the coming months will be dry – as just might possibly happen this year.

The message of the ash and oak is not the only one that seeks to inform us about the forthcoming weather. Such forecasts are – and certainly were in the past – of great relevance to farmers and those who worked on the land. It follows that a great deal of old lore concerns matters such as crops, harvests and the welfare of livestock.

Among the pieces of lore, there are simple ones such as: a late spring is a great blessing. This is contradicted by another that says a late spring is bad for cattle but an early spring is bad for corn while if the spring is cold and wet, then the following autumn will be hot and dry.

There is a general belief that the final 20 days of March, June, September and December will rule the following seasons while a similar piece of lore suggests that the first three days of any season rule the weather for that particular season.

In general, spring is said to be the mother and father of us all, but if spring is cold and wet, then the following autumn will be hot and dry.

Likewise, a wet spring means a dry harvest.

In days of yore, it was evident that spring was considered the finest of indicators for the year that followed, with lightning in spring heralding a good year for fruit. The first sign of thunder in spring was said to mean a wet season in the south of England but a dry one in the north.

There is another old saying that a late spring is something we can tolerate because it is far better than an early spring with lots of blossom and strong winds.

I think the message there is that strong winds will destroy the early blossom with a corresponding reduction in the crops of fruit.

There are lots of very short pieces of lore that might contain some truth, for example: a pear year, a dear year; a cherry year, a merry year; a plum year, a dumb year; a year of mushrooms, a year of poverty; a year of radishes, a year of health; and a year of snow, a year of plenty.

Nowadays, there is much comment about the extreme weather conditions that occur around the globe but in fact these have been happening since time began. I have a piece of lore dating to around 1890 that says extreme seasons are said to occur from the sixth to the tenth year of each decade, especially in alternate decades.

Whether or not our modern forecasting systems conflict with ancient lore or whether they support it is probably a topic for research but here is a lovely old verse about our British seasons:

Spring – slippy, drippy, nippy.
Summer – showery, flowery, bowery.
Autumn – hoppy, croppy, poppy.
Winter – wheezy, breezy, sneezy.

ON RECENT mornings, my daily walk has been enlivened by the sight of a patch of beautiful blue mist amongst a mass of varied green vegetation growing upon the bankside.

From a distance, the sight is almost surreal with the blue vision apparently floating above the ground, almost like a miniature sky-blue cloud that has somehow dropped close to earth.

In fact, it is nothing more than a bed of forget-me-nots that are flourishing at that point. Forget-me-nots are just as happy growing in the wild as they are within cultivated gardens and parks.

Close inspection of the flowers and foliage will reveal there are several varieties whose family includes plants like the bugloss, hound’s tongue and common comfrey.

The common blue forget-me-nots with which most of us are familiar grow throughout Europe and seem able to flourish in the most difficult of conditions both in the shade of woodlands, in our gardens and in open uncultivated spaces. The tufted variety favours marshy ground near rivers and ponds but most varieties will fade very quickly if they are picked.

The name of forget-me-nots always attracts interest and there are two stories that seek to explain it. One concerns a knight and his lady who were strolling along a riverbank.

The knight bent down to pick some flowers for her but the weight of his armour caused him to topple into the deep water and sink. When he realised he was drowning, he threw the posy to his beloved and cried, “Forget- me-not.”

That incident is said to have occurred in Germany from where the story spread across Europe, with some sweethearts wearing the flower as a sign that they would remain faithful.

In England, during 1802, the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote a poem based upon that story and called it The Keepsake. In his verses, he referred to the flower as ‘Hope’s gentle gem, the sweet forget-me-not’ and it is said that, from the time of publication of the poem, the English gave the flower that name.

ANOTHER curious sight on my morning walk was a pair of crows standing and pecking on the backs of some cattle in a nearby field. Clearly the birds had found something worthy of their attention but the young beasts in question did not seem unduly concerned.

They were content to allow the birds to gather mites or whatever they were seeking, and did not even flick their tails to dispense with their visitors.

Perhaps the cattle recognised the usefulness of the birds.

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