Let it rain
Rain, snow or sunshine affect my disposition, as it does I presume for many people. Sunshine makes me bright and cheerful. Snow renders me to a calm in its shell and rain makes me happy. Sunshine is welcomed on any day of the year, be it summer or winter. A snow-covered vista is not for me. It curtails my activity of a daily walk and driving to do errands. Rain is my companion as it brings to me fond memories of happy childhood days.
Rain drifts over England from any one of four coastlines almost every summer day with a light shower or two, and in the winter months rain falls for days on end. On such days my sister Diana and I sang, "Rain, rain go away, come back on Mother's washing day," which could be any day of the week, as she did not tie herself to a household schedule. Haphazard was the term our Dad used for Mum's disinterest in household chores.
When sun peeked through dark clouds, she would announce, "I think I'll do a bit of wash." On rainy days my sister and I amused ourselves with songs while we sat by the front windows of our living room. We would also breathe on the small panes and with our fingers draw animals, flowers, ships, houses and mushrooms in each. We liked the effect of our handy work as each picture was framed by the dark grey lead that held together 28 glass panes in three panels.
When we had filled one set of panes we moved onto another. The first pictures we had finger drawn would diminish giving us ample room to fill them again. Our mother didn't yell, "Don't mark on the windows. People will think gypsies live here," like the mothers of our friends.
From a very young age, our Mum allowed us the freedom to express our artistic abilities, even to messing up the windows. As I look back on those days of '30s childhood, I doubt that paper to scribble on was existent in our house. We had small drawing tablets and water color paints, which would not work on windowpanes.
When we tired of making pictures Diana and I would pull on our "wellies" and help each other into "macs" to go out in the rain. Mum kept her eye on us from where she sat at her treadle sewing machine, which hummed most hours of the day to make clothes for her growing children and special orders for customers. Looking back, I understand her reason for spasmodically doing "a bit of wash" when she could.
We sisters played a game of counting the raindrops we caught in our mouths. Fast counting was necessary with the rain that pelted down. Being younger than my playmate and not speedy with numbers she always came out ahead. Our hand-me-down "wellies" from two older siblings usually leaked and we'd slosh into the house. Our feet would be soaked.
Our mother shook her head and clicked her tongue against her teeth giving out a "thut-thut-thut" sound, then added, "You must think you are rain fairies. Dry your feet and put on dry socks before you catch cold." I don't know why she bothered to tell us that as I can't remember when we didn't have winter colds due to the damp weather.
The recent stretch of rain hasn't prompted me to sing, "Rain, rain go away." The rhythmic sound of rain on our metal roof is soothing. A walk on a rainy day while listening to the gentle pit-a-pat of raindrops drum on my large brown, floral "brolly" is music to my ears and it brings forth flash-backs of a happy carefree childhood with my sister Diana.
Note: Diana, my constant companion through childhood and young adult years, before I immigrated to Montana, left this world for a better one on Sept. 26, 2005 at age 83.