BREWUP

A Diatribe (not the usual sort) on British Weather.

It is time to welcome the reader to the Loyal but not so Ancient Society known as BREWUP!

Formed to celebrate the wonderful climate of the United Kingdom.

This acronym has been cunningly formulated so as to be our battle cry:

UP with Br itain’s E xcellent W eather!

Let us begin by quoting our National Poet – but who/whom might that be? Milton? McGonagall? Chaucer? Pam Ayres? Tennyson? Clive James?

NO, who other than RUDYARD KIPLING, in the fourth verse of’The Roman Centurion’s Song;

For me this land, that sea, these airs, those folk and fields suffice.
What purple Southern pomp can match our changeful Northern skies,
Black with December snows unshed or pearled with August haze
The clanging arch of steel-grey March, or June’s long-lighted days.

It is time these evocative lines were set to music by our National Composer – but who/whom might that be?
Purcell? Lloyd Webber? Elgar? Lennon? Vaughan Williams? Sting? How about John Tavener?

The Centurion’s sentiments are echoed by a frequent exile FROM Britain whose work seems to takes him to locations with extreme climates, whether tropical beaches, Alpine snowfields or burning deserts – namely James Bond. In Dr. No James regrets the hot ugly winds of the Caribbean and thinks longingly of the douce weather of England: the soft airs, the “heat” waves, the cold spells – “The only country where you can take a walk every day of the year” – Chesterfield’s Letters? Like Bond, I haven’t managed to track down this quote to Letters to His Son on the Art of Becoming a Man of the World and a Gentleman by Philip Dormer Stanhope, Earl of Chesterfield.

To quote Taylor and Yates in their British Weather in Maps: British weather is made up of complex and baffling phases and sequences that defy classification and systematic interpretation. Let us rejoice in, not spurn such invigorating and fertile unpredictability, as does Marjorie Allingham in Cargo of Eagles: The rain was falling in a sweet, relentless fashion as it does in spring in London and it was all very peaceful and pleasant if uncompromisingly wet. Not that it is often wet in summer, or how could there be Test Matches, Wimbledon and innumerable Open Gardens?

What is the programme of action of BREWUP? As the present membership (six) makes all meetings less than quorate, our mandate remains provisional, but our aim must surely be to celebrate our best of all possible climates for doing almost anything at almost any time of year! How absurd to flee to latitudes suitable only for shrivelling prunes and sun-drying tomatoes.

Englishmen! You CAN be mad dogs in the mid-day sun of Britain! In between playing tennis at Wimbledon or cricket at Lord’s, run up a mountain (bare-chested but carrying the full British Mountaineering Council stipulated emergency clothing, shelter and food (no need to worry about drink), then pop down to the coast for a bit of digging in the sand, finishing up with a cream tea in the (Olde) Vicarage Garden! Sun-tan is out, Weather-beat is in!

The Summers of 2007 and 2008 tried the faith of the fellowship of BREWUP. Can Britain’s weather really be The Best of All Possible Climates! Can faith overcome The Problem of Rain? All the subtleties of Meteorolgical spinning may be required, but will not be lacking!

Our fore-parents, unsoftened by unsustainable sun-seeking, gloried in the British climate during the poignantly-doomed Long Weekend of the nineteen-twenties and -thirties. The outdoor Lido Pools of the New Bath Hotel and the exposed Raven Hall Hotel were crowded with bathers, as photographs still on display show. Look now, and a dry, cracked-concrete cadaver occupies the site of our grandparents’ fresh-water frolics at Ravenscar, while a small group of us struggle to stop the paradisical New Bath pool going the same way.

The following, very cheesy, Boy Scout chant does conjure up some of the spirit of those days.

The First appearance was in 1921 as a song in the Boy Scouts Gang Show.

WOAD

What’s the use of wearing braces?
Vests and pants and boots with laces?
Spats and hats you buy in places
Down the Brompton Road?

What’s the use of shirts of cotton?
Studs that always get forgotten?
These affairs are simply rotten,
Better far is woad.

Woad’s the stuff to show men.
Woad to scare your foemen.
Boil it to a brilliant hue
And rub it on your back and your abdomen.

Ancient Briton ne’er did hit on
Anything as good as woad to fit on
Neck or knees or where you sit on.
Tailors you be blowed!!

Romans came across the channe
All dressed up in tin and flannel
Half a pint of woad per man’ll
Dress us more than these.

Saxons you can waste your stitches
Building beds for bugs in britches
We have woad to clothe us which is
Not a nest for fleas

Romans keep your armours.
Saxons your pyjamas.
Hairy coats were made for goats,
Gorillas, yaks, retriever dogs and llamas.

Tramp up Snowdon with your woad on,
Never mind if you get rained or blowed on
Never want a button sewed on.
Go it Ancient Bs!!

Copyright holders please contact us!

As the quorum for motions to be passed is 6, the society remains verbose but otherwise inactive. If you would like to swell the membership by 14.285714% recurring, please contact David Mitchell, at Scarthin Books, Cromford, Derbyshire DE4 3QF, phone 01629-823272, fax 825094 or e-mail us at clare@scarthinbooks.com

To quote Spike Milligan, or was it Neddy Seagoon,

It’s all free, folks!