English Obsession with the Weather
Those that regularly read my Hubs will already know what I am about to say. For those that don't, here goes. I am no spring chicken. Bet you wondered what I was going to say, eh?
I start this hub with this statement in order to explain that, the English obsession with our weather is not a new phenomenon. It is not linked to global warming, climate change, cows producing to much wind or whatever other crank theory is doing the rounds right now. Neither is it because I am young and have nothing to compare modern weather to.
English weather has displayed extremely erratic patterns always.
So by my age you would think that I should be getting used to this by now. Well I am not. In line with so many other English people I seem to be obsessed with our weather.
In the good old summertime. Well at least we had something to talk about
If I cast my mind back to the fifties I look through my rose coloured glasses and see my friends and I happily skipping in the summer sun, building snowmen in winter, watching the flowers begin to bloom in spring and running through piles of fallen leaves in traditional autumn weather.
Of course these memories are fairly accurate but it is the frequency of their occurrence which I doubt.
Memories are made of this.
In reality the great English weather always has liked to have fun with its population.
As a child in the fifties and early sixties money was in rather short supply in our home. We usually managed some sort of holiday but nothing exotic. In fact far from exotic. However we usually had great fun.
Sometimes we would spend a week or two at a caravan park just outside of Withernsea. This was our local seaside resort. It was never much to write home about as they say but as kids we loved it. There were plenty of attractions back then plus a great beach.
Our residence was a caravan of sorts. In fact it was a converted railway carriage.with wooden steps outside to gain access. For kids this was a brilliant place to stay. The weather was not always kind though. In fact more often than not it wasn't.
One particular two week vacation in August had to be abandoned after just a few days. Torrential rain began to make the caravans sink. Our weight converted railway carriage was the first to give up the ghost. The final straw was when other husbands were carrying their wives across a seemingly ever increasing lake of water. Dad flatly refused to carry mum who was no lightweight and off we went home.
A re-think was necessary for the next year's summer holidays.
At that time the local buses soldwhat was called a weekly rover ticket. For one price each ticket offered as many bus journeys as you wanted in a week, within a certain area. The area included Hornsea, Withernsea, Bridlington and Scarborough and represented great value.
That is it would have been great value if not for the weather. Three particular memories spring to mind.
My mind drifts back to the sea front at Scarborough one very wet and windy summer's day. The icy blast of the North Sea makes it feel more like winter than high summer and the tourists are going home on mass. Not us though. We are made of sterner stuff. Dad is sure that the weather will improve as the day moves on. Luckily our Rover tickets include travel on the bused at any of the resorts.
So we take a few trips around the town on the bus. We catch a bus to Bridlington and travel around there for a while. The weather has not improved but Dad feels sure it might have in Scarborough. An hour's bus journey later and we are riding around a sodden Scarborough again. Finally, Dad has to accept defeat and a very soggy family return home, beaten.
One moment whilst, just like Dumbledore in Harry Potter, I gather a few shards from my memory and we are off again.
This time it is a very cold, wet and windy Bridlington.
Most of the day trippers, like us, have arrived ill prepared for the weather, as we have seen a glorious start to the day. There is a run on the shops. Goods are flying off the shelves. What goods? Plastic see through macs, umbrellas and rain-mates. You remember those see through plastic hats. Those that look as if the wearer has put a plastic bag on their head.
After much jostling Mum finally bags what she can. My Mac is about ten sizes too big. I know I was a tubby child but really!
As we all get buttoned up outside of the Woolworth's store I catch sight of myself in the shop window. I was probably aged about eight. I am wearing a mac that goes down to my ankles, with sleeves that reach to my knees. Thank God YouTube did not exist then.
Digging a little deeper into my memories I recall the open air swimming pool at Withernsea. This closed years ago but when we used to visit it was brand new. We had arrived at Withernsea for the day and it was beautiful and sunny. No there was no rain. It was a glorious summer's day or was it?
Mum did not swim but she helped my brother and I get ready. Dad loved swimming and was fearless. As he hastily got his trunks on he could not wait to get into the pool. Mum tried to get him to be cautious but he was having none of it. With nerves of steel he went straight to the deep end and dived in.
His dramatic exit from the pool was the stuff of cartoons.
He shot out of the freezing cold water, blue from head to toe. He looked shell shocked and had to sit out for a quite a while. Our biggest problem was keeping straight faces.
The English Obsession with the weather.
All of this leads me baffled as to why I and other English people are so obsessed with the weather. We should know by now that it will never play ball. Plan an outside summer event and nine times out of ten it will rain, snow, blow a gale or be freezing cold.
There were some episodes of unusual good weather also. Even as a child I remember hot dry weather which was too hot. I remember tar melting on a road and women's high heeled shoes getting stuck as they attempted to cross the road.
Sure the southerners often fair better but not much.
It is strange then that all we seem to do is talk about the weather. Get on a bus and your fellow passenger will remark that it is-too cold, hot, wet, dry or windy today. The conversation may develop into weather forecasts such as-I hear we are going to have a good, bad, wet, dry, cold or hot summer, and it may still only be the middle of winter.
When I was young weather forecasters seemed as if they simply guessed at the weather. These days they can predict our weather fairly accurately. They still get it wrong at times though.
English weather forecaster Michael Fish, after a long career, remains famous for getting the weather wrong.In 1989 Hubby and I were taking a coach holiday in Austria and Switzerland. As our coach approached Dover we heard the news and weather forecaster Michael was reassuring a caller that England was not about to be hit by the tail end of a hurricane. He was wrong and many people felt the wrath of the weather. Our ferry crossing to Calais was a bumpy ride to say the least. Poor Michael felt the wrath of the general public and never lived it down.
Deep down I know it is the English weather's unpredictability that has resulted in our obsession with it. When you come to think about it though it is a waste of conversation, time and effort. Still the weather as a conversational subject will have helped bridge many differences, started many conversations between strangers and kept us guessing for years.
When I was young I was taught that the bonus of our unpredictable weather and temperate climate was that at least we did not have extremes such as earthquakes, hurricanes and the like. I am not so sure that is true anymore. Having experienced a slight earthquake, a couple of years ago, has, I suppose, at least broadened my obsession with English weather.
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