Raindrops, by Gillian

How can it be that any time I hear the word rain, I am immediately transported back to my youthful years in Britain    I must say, though, that in my memories of rain there and then, raindrops are not writ large. In my memories, rain does not arrive in gentle, single, drops.  It comes in more or less solid sheets which saw and slap disdainfully at any exposed skin and soak all clothing in mere seconds. But that is the essence of raindrops, is it not? Like oh so many things, they are relatively unnoticed in ones and twos but when they gather together - watch out!

Where I lived, at least, umbrellas were rarely seen. They serve little purpose against slashing, driving rain which comes from a different direction instantly and often. And anyway, in a farming community, who has hands free to handle flailing umbrellas? Might as well expect to see firemen and soldiers huddled beneath the things.

Much more practical to 'bundle up' against the weather the best you can; a rain hat of some variety, a completely waterproof plastic or oilskin coat over your other clothes providing layers for warmth as well as dryness, and a pair of sturdy rubber boots up to your knees. And all that might be effective against mere raindrops, but against those horizontal waves of water it stands no chance. A few moments of exposure and the water is pouring down inside collar and boots, the only difference being that your clothes are getting soaked from the inside out rather than from the outside in.

But, other than cricket and tennis, I rarely recall anything being cancelled because of rain. Well, you'd never get to do anything, would you? I remember county shows with apparently obliviously-contented sheep and cattle steaming in the pouring rain, while critical farmers proclaimed their opinions and puffed hopelessly on pipes which sizzled sullenly, all hint of flame long extinguished. Meanwhile we kids slipped and slid and frolicked and rolled in the wonderful sticky, stinky, mud, and would have felt quite cheated should the sun have had the temerity to drive away the rain.

It is a truly rare thing to hear a Brit complain about the rain.

'Grand drop of rain, this,' they'll say, appreciatively, and the completely serious response will be, 'Ay. Good for the garden.'

Has nobody noticed that it's been absolutely bucketing down for a week now and every garden is awash? I actually believe it's some kind of national collective denial over how bad the weather in Britain actually is. A wit once remarked that the difference between summer and winter there is that the rain isn't quite as cold in the summer. I truly do enjoy rain, but then I live in Colorado where a 'grand drop of rain' really can be a rare and beautiful thing.

I usually trawl the internet for quotes, when we have a topic such as this one. One of many rather gooey sickly-sweet ones I came across, was; life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain. Which, I guess, makes the Brits the best dancers in the world.

  

© 16 Apr 2016 

About the Author 

  

 I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30-years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have been with my wonderful partner Betsy for thirty-years. We have been married since 2013.