The world is
largely covered by water and most of it seems to have fallen on Britain in the
last few months. It is not surprising that Brits are ridiculed for talking so
much about the weather, since we do. It is also not surprising we should talk
about the weather when it is so changeable and hard to predict.
Last winter
was unusually mild and dry leading to hosepipe bans in many parts of the
country. Then it started to rain, and April proved to be the wettest April
since records began. Things cheered up a little in May, but it started to rain
at the beginning of June (just in time for the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee) and
didn’t really stop until the Olympics had concluded at the end of August. It
proved to be the wettest summer since 1912, though as it turns out records only
go back to 1910 it’s hard to say where it stands in a league table of wretched
summers.
An all-time
list would probably have to include the first Elizabethan era when it seems
there were heavy rains in May, June and July of 1594 and a further bad summer
in 1596. These appear to have inspired Shakespeare’s description of a soggy,
miserable world which he gave to Titania in A
Midsummer Night’s Dream, (apaprently written between those years). In
argument with Oberon, she declares,
Therefore the winds, piping to us in
vain,
As in revenge, have suck’d up from the
sea
Contagious fogs; which falling in the
land
Have every pelting river made so proud
That they have overborne their
continents:
The ox hath therefore stretch’d his
yoke in vain,
The ploughman lost his sweat, and the
green corn
Hath rotted ere his youth attain’d a
beard;
The fold stands empty in the drowned
field,
And crows are fatted with the murrion
flock;
The nine men’s morris is fill’d up
with mud,
And the quaint mazes in the wanton
green
For lack of tread are undistinguishable:
The human mortals want their winter
here;
No night is now with hymn or carol blest:
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,
No night is now with hymn or carol blest:
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,
Pale in her anger, washes all the air,
That rheumatic diseases do abound:
And thorough this distemperature we see
And thorough this distemperature we see
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts
Far in the fresh lap of the crimson
rose,
And on old Hiems’ thin and icy crown
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer
buds
Is, as in mockery, set: the spring,
the summer,
The childing autumn, angry winter,
change
Their wonted liveries, and the mazed
world,
By their increase, now knows not which
is which:
And this same progeny of evils comes
From our debate, from our dissension;
We are their parents and original.
One
immediately striking fact about the passage is its length and detail, while
adding almost no development to the drama. The second obvious thing is that it
doesn’t sound very much like the Mediterranean. When we think of Greece, we
think of financial crisis. We don’t tend to think of ghastly summer weather (or
Morris dancing, come to that).
This clearly
didn’t bother Shakespeare. Whether he was writing about Ancient Greece, or Rome
or Illyria or Bohemia, he was really writing about our damp, green island – and
his audience would have appreciated an extended grumble about the weather. The
speech begins with a tenuous link to the plot when Titania asserts that the
cause of all the flooding is her dispute with Oberon. Their quarrel having
upset the natural order, this resulted in ‘contagious fogs’ being sucked from
the sea and dumped on land, causing the ‘pelting’ rivers ‘made so proud’ to
overflow their ‘continents.’
She then moves
on to describe the ruined harvest, the ox and ploughman who have worked in vain
and the green corn that ‘hath rotted ere his youth attain’d a beard’. Despite
the gloominess of scene, Shakespeare couldn’t here resist a metaphorical
flourish, though likening the wispy growth on the ears of wheat to a young
man’s downy beard is a deft touch. The crop is lost and livestock equally
affected. The sheepfold stands empty in a drowned field and crows fatten
themselves on the corpses of diseased animals.
It all sounds
grim. For us, a spoilt harvest means little more than a few pence more for a
loaf of bread, not the absence of bread. We can buy grain on the world markets.
Prices will be high because whilst we have had months of rain, wheat producing
areas of the US and Russia suffered drought. Global supplies are short, but we
won’t starve, though people in the poorest countries will. Unrest there may
follow; ‘A hungry man is an angry man,’ to quote Bob Marley. In the 1590s
scarcity of food led to riots in London and in the 1780s a series of calamitous
harvests was a contributory cause of the French Revolution.
Shakespeare
explored the link between grain shortage and rebellion in Coriolanus (c1607-09)
in which plebeians attack the nobility for allegedly hoarding grain at a time
of widespread starvation. This might make Shakespeare seem like the people’s
friend, though in 1599 he had been accused of holding ten quarters of corn and
malt at a time of grain shortage in Stratford.
We’re unlikely
to starve and most won’t face other privations. As it rained outside over the
summer, the majority of us were indoors watching the Olympics. Shakespeare’s
contemporaries lacked sporting distraction, their nine men’s morris ‘fill’d up
with mud’ and ‘quaint mazes’ abandoned on the green. Such pastimes were
obviously important in rural areas, without even theatre for solace and it’s
interesting that he lists lack of entertainment above another consequence of
the rotten season, ‘rheumatic diseases’ that ‘abound’.
It all sounds
miserable. Most of us have warm, centrally heated houses. Most of us also have
the option of escaping to hot and sunny places like, well, Greece. A Tudor
peasant would have just had to sit it out on rat infested straw in a cheerless
hovel that was damp, cold and draughty. It was all too much like winter, but
without even the compensation of nights with ‘hymn or carol blest’.
The sense that
the seasons are deranged is familiar. This year saw the second hottest March
day recorded in England (only one in 1938 was hotter), later followed by the
coldest night in August on record. Things aren’t as they should be, ‘the
seasons alter’. The world is ‘upset’ with ‘seasons out of joint’ and changing
‘their wonted liveries.’
At the end of
Titania’s long speech, Shakespeare steers us back to the plot by a reminder
that the cause of all this ‘progeny of evils’ comes from her ‘dissension’ with
Oberon. The two of them are its ‘parents and original’.
We are more
scientific and prefer global warming rather than the spat between a fairy king
and queen as a likelier explanation of bad weather. It might be that in a few
centuries time our concerns about climate change seem fanciful and
superstitious. That might prove to be the case, but the fact is that while we
were watching the Olympics, the Arctic sea ice was melting at a faster rate
than ever before. A satellite image taken on August 27 showed the ice cap
covering 4.11 million sq. km, 50% less than forty years ago. This year, 11.7m
sq. km of ice had melted, 22% more than the long term average of 9.18m sq. km.
We should be
alarmed. It is believed that melting ice and warming seas will lead to severe
disruption of global weather systems. We may well come to look back on a wet
summer as the least of our problems.