An Irishman writing for a German blog about the English language – it sounds like a joke. And while joking, joviality and the jocular are undoubtedly character traits often associated with the Irish – when it comes to the Irish weather – there is little joking to be had. As a child I remember wonderful summers spent in a gypsy caravan in the tiniest of tiniest villages in the south west of Donegal where if it was lucky it might only rain for 40% of the two weeks we were on holiday. One particular summer it rained for 13 days and nights without stopping. On the fourteenth day it stopped – it was the day we were due to go home.

It was as if the Lord was doing a test run for another flood. Little ditches, or schuks, turned to violent streams, hay rotted in the fields, turf turned to sponges, animals took shelter and shivered against the wet. As a child I don’t remember being terribly upset though – it was just a chance to turn my soldiers into pirates and my battles on dry land into struggles on the high seas. Oddly enough weather has played a pivotal role in Irish history. In 1794 the French were due to land with an almighty army of the coast of Cork. They were to join with the United Irishmen and help create a revolution that would drive the English out and give birth to an Irish republic that would be home to Catholic and Protestant alike. Alas the worst weather in memory led the to the French being unable to land – and after a month of waiting for the storms to subside they gave up and went home. Never were Catholics and Protestants to be united in the name of Ireland again.

Much more recently I revisited the haunts of my childhood summer with my own son. The weather was not untypical for August: blustery, cold and wet, but undeterred I took my son and wife to the very aptly named Silver Strand. After descending the 165 steps to crescent cove we stumbled about the beach, swayed by the wind, our heads low; trying to shield ourselves against the rain. There was no one else on the beach save ourselves and a man and his dog. We greeted him -“isn’t this awful weather?”. He looked at us, paused a moment and replied; “there’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothes.” And of course he was right – so if you happen to be passing by this way and the weather is lousy – don’t feel too bad – it’s been like this for centuries, so wrap up, pop into a pub and have a pint. More of which next time.

Donal Michael O’Hagan: teacher and poet currently living in Raholp, Ireland.

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