Now that May is out

Whenever I look down from the aircraft window at the kind and welcoming city of Valencia, where I live but which I’m leaving yet again, I wonder at the irony of an existence that has taken me somewhere so pleasant but prevented me staying there any length of time.

The Jacarandas are flowering in Valencia

The feeling is particularly strong when I leave my home bathed in sunshine in 24-degree weather (the mid-twenties are my favourite, warm enough without being too hot) and I’m heading for England where, the pilot assures us, the temperature has struggled to get into double digits and the rain is chucking it down. Why, I wonder, am I exchanging early summer for mid-autumn?

Joyous welcome at Heathrow

Ah, well. England has many charms – the glorious green, for instance, the upside of all that rain – and I suppose one just has to live with the conditions, doesn’t one? After all, it’s often said of the country that it has no climate, only weather. Cold, wet June? Unexpected, maybe, but Britain is the country where it’s best always to expect the unexpected.

In any case, England has no monopoly on lousy weather. Valencia may have less but when it lets itself go, it can be thoroughly maddening. My family from Scotland joined us in Valencia at Easter and had to put up with day after day of rain, while the weather at home was apparently glorious.

Bad weather is international. Indeed, it provides one of the more entertaining illustrations of the cultural links across nations, at least in Europe. Weather wisdom shows just how strongly we all belong to the same family, across our continent, and that our differences are matters of degree only.

For instance, many countries have old sayings warning people of the need to keep wearing warm clothing later than they might think. In England, for instance, we say:

Ne’er cast a clout till May be out

Just for clarification, this has nothing to do with getting the leader of the Conservative Party out. Theresa May’s out already, and the pantomime to select a successor’s already under way. Topical though it might be to interpret the proverb as relating to her, it is in fact meteorological, not political.

I’ve always enjoyed the double ambiguity of the expression.

The first ambiguity is easy to resolve. Since a ‘clout’ can mean a blow, ‘cast a clout’ sounds like ‘throw a punch’ or slap someone. But it only takes a moment’s reflection to realise that in this context, ‘clout’ must be clothing in some archaic form of English, so we’re being told, ‘take off not a single article of clothing’.

But what about ‘May’? It could mean the month of May. My suspicion, though, and other authorities seem to agree, is that it might mean the ‘mayflower’, hawthorn. So don’t abandon any of your clothing until the hawthorn’s in bloom – which happens at the end of April or beginning of May. A little early, in my judgement, given my experience of what an England do in late April or early May.

Hawthorn in bloom:
England can be lovely when the may is out

The French are more explicit:

En avril, ne te découvre pas d’un fil; en mai, fais ce qu’il te plait

“In April, don’t take off so much as a thread; in May, do what you like.” France is further south, of course, so maybe they can afford to take more of a chance.

Strangely, though, travelling further south still, to Spain, leads to a far less optimistic view of the weather prospects:

Hasta el cuarenta de mayo, no te quites el sayo

“Until the fortieth of May, don’t take off the tunic.” Possibly they mean a smock, rather than a tunic. It’s a more rustic form of traditional clothing, and I suppose most of these weather proverbs have agricultural roots.

Isn’t it amusing that all three nations have such similar advice? All three use a little epigram, with an internal rhyme and a witty structure, to generate a smile and stick in the memory. There is only a small difference on the dates. But that’s a mere detail, in contrast to the similarities between nations that obviously belong to the same family and have so much culture in common.

It’s curious, too, that the Spanish advise going right into June before casting a clout. The fortieth of May would be the tenth of June. That felt inappropriate as I made for the airport this morning, on just that date, through the sun and warmth.

It seemed far more applicable in England, where the pilot had to warn us about stepping from the plane to the jetway, where driven rain had made the floor slippery. And where the first thing I had to do once I’d recovered my suitcase was pull out a sweater and a waterproof jacket (yes, I’d had a little foresight).

In England, I had to put on an extra clout or two though May was well out. For any understanding of the word May: blossom, month or Conservative leader.