It was supposed to be nice today. It was supposed to be sunny. I wasn’t supposed to hear people shrieking as they ran along my road, hurtling into doorways to avoid the rain. For it is said that:
St Bartlemy’s mantle wipes dry
All the tears that St Swithin can cry
You see, it’s forty days since St Swithin’s Day, and therefore St Bartholomew was supposed to staunch the loury welkin. Except it didn’t actually rain on St Swithin’s, so maybe what I observed today was a perverse reverse of what the weather should have been.
Well whatever it was, the lashing doesn’t bode well, for it is also said:
If St Bartholomew’s Day be fair and clear,
Then a prosperous autumn comes that year.
2020 is definitely the gift that keeps on giving. Especially as now:
brings the cold dew
Which doesn’t sound good. I’m really not ready to relinquish summer just yet. Besides, with it being back to school next week, surely that’s the signal for the traditional cosmic joke of a final heatwave? Fingers crossed.
Blackburn, B. and Holdford-Strevens, L. (2003) The Oxford Companion to the Year. An Exploration of Calendar Customs and Time-Reckoning, Oxford, Oxford University Press
Cooper, Q. and Sullivan, P. (1994) Maypoles, Martyrs & Mayhem: 366 Days of British Myths, Customs & Eccentricities, London, Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
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