Another old saw teaches that "Ill weather is seen soon enough when it comes," but this is indefensible, for while it is a wise counsel not to meet troubles half way, to exercise no forethought at all is mere lunacy. Such a proverb, again, as this, "Though the sun shine leave not your coat at home," is much too rigid in its insistence, and the advice, whether taken literally or metaphorically, would be at times absurd. If we try it, for instance, in this guise—Though surrounded by loving friends carry suspicion ever with you—we feel that the tension is needless. A much truer saying is this, "When the sun shines nobody minds him, but when he is eclipsed all consider him," and we realise at last on the withdrawal of the benefit of how great value it had been to us.
A wise and helpful Latin proverb is, "Sequitur Ver Hyemem"—spring succeeds winter, and sunshine follows rain. "After a storm, calm," or, as the French have it, "Apres la pluie vient le beau temps."
"What, man, plucke up your harte, bee of good cheere,
After cloudes blacke wee shall have wether clere."
"Heaviness may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning," is no discovery of yesterday.
"March winds and April showers bring forth the May flowers," and the French recognise the welcome assurance in their version, "Mars venteux, Avril pluvieux, font le Mai gai et gracieux," while across the Rhine the saying is again, "Märzen Wind and Aprilen Regen verheissen im Mai grossen segen." The value of dry weather at sowing time is indicated in the saying that "A bushel of March dust is worth a king's ransom"; while "February fill-dyke" is a testimony to the abundant rain that is ordinarily characteristic of that month; in France it is said that "Fevrier remplit les fosses: Mars les seche." This rain is of great value, and "All the months of the year curse a fair Februeer," and "If the grass look green in Janiveer 'twill look the worser all the year." The exigencies of rhyme are responsible for the miscalling of these month-names. A great many of these rustic weather proverbs are thrown into more or less, and ordinarily more, uncouth rhyme, no doubt as an aid to memory; thus we are told that "No weather's ill if the wind be still," that it is well should "September blow soft till the fruit's in the loft," and that "If the first of July be rainy weather, 'twill rain more or less four weeks together." We are taught again that "In February if thou hearest thunder thou wilt see a summer's wonder." Undoubtedly a thunderstorm in February might well be regarded as one of the least likely things to happen in July, while the hearing of its sonorous peals would certainly be a remarkable feat of vision. As the literal acceptance is so impossible we must perforce look a little below the surface, and when we recall that our ancestors were great at prognostics we see that we are expected to regard this ill-timed storm as an omen of coming events of startling nature. Thus Willford, in his "Nature's Secrets," teaches that "Thunder and lightning in winter is held ominous, portending factions, tumults, and bloody wars, and a thing seldome seen, according to ye old adigy, Winter's thunder is ye Sommer's wonder."[266:A]
The countryman has abundant opportunity of studying the varying aspects of Nature, hence he has discovered that "An evening red and morning grey will set the traveller on his way";[267:A] though he seems to have also observed that "If the sun in red should set, the next day surely will be wet." The two statements appear to directly contradict each other. On the other hand we are told that when the reverse happens, "The evening grey and morning red make the shepherd hang his head"; and that "If the sun should set in grey the next will be a rainy day"; the sun setting in a bank of clouds—the west in this country being the direction in which we ordinarily look for wet weather—the result on the morrow will probably be rain. Hence, "A rainbow in the morning is the shepherd's warning, a rainbow at night is the shepherd's delight"; or in Germany, "Regenborgen am Morgen macht dem Schäfer sorgen: Regenborgen am Abend ist dem Schäfer labend."
The statement that "The moon is made of green cheese" may be mentioned in passing. Shacklock, in the "Hatchet of Heresies," written in 1565, says, "They may make theyr blinde brotherhode, and the ignorant sort beleeve that the mone is made of grene chese," and many old writers introduce this venerable belief in their plays and other works. We now-a-days associate the idea with age, the green suggesting mouldiness, but the word here means the very opposite, and refers really to a cheese not matured; the moon being new every month, the material of which it was composed never got beyond the green or unripe stage.
It is popularly held that "When the wind is in the east 'tis good for neither man nor beast," and a quaint Spanish proverb advises, "Ask no favour during the Solano." This Solano is a wind that blows over from Africa, and is exceedingly hot and dry. It is also known as the sirocco. The moral clearly is that when people are in a state of irritation it is not advisable to lay one's needs before them, the time being inopportune.
Many of our weather proverbs are very naturally associated with various saints' days. Thus we get "St Martin's Summer" and "All Saints' Summer" in reference to the bright clear weather that we occasionally get in the late autumn, All Saints' Day being on the first, and St Martin's Day on the eleventh of November. Allusions to both will be found in Shakespeare; thus, in "I. Henry VI."—"Expect St Martin's Summer, halcyon days." The eighteenth of October was in like manner called "St Luke's little Summer." Another old adage was, "If the day of St Paul be clear, then shall betide a happy year"; this day, the festival of the conversion of the saint, was in the calendar ascribed to January the 25th.
Another well-known belief is summed up in the old rhyme: "St Swithin's day if it do rain, for forty days it will remain." This date is July 15th, and it may not be generally known that, taking the year round, July is often a very rainy month. The Saint was Bishop of Winchester, and when he died, in the year 862, he desired to rest where the sweet rain of heaven might fall. His desire was respected, but later on the monks thought it beneath his and their dignity that he should be laid to rest in the graveyard, and so they proposed to re-inter the body in the choir, but when the day came the rain was so terrific that they had to postpone matters till the next day. This, however, was no better, nor was the next, or next, till at length, after forty such postponements, it dawned upon them that their late bishop felt a strong objection to the removal of his remains, and they at last had the sense to decide to let him rest in peace as he had desired, whereupon the sun burst forth, and it is to be hoped that they all lived happy ever after.
