Toe in the Water

A Few Thoughts on Weather

A Few Thoughts on Weather

There is a ridge that runs between Coventry and Birmingham. You would not notice this unless you travelled the main road between the cities. Although gradual, the road rises steadily for several miles and then, as you approach Birmingham Airport, it starts descending until it arrives in the outskirts of Birmingham. It may seem an insignificant feature but this echo of the more dramatic Edge Hills to the southeast has a surprising influence on the weather in both cities.

It was several years before I noticed that Coventry has much better weather than Brum and points west. It was almost inevitable that, while the western midlands was receiving snowfalls that paralyzed traffic and rain that caused the Severn to flood, Coventry was lucky to get a frosting of snow or a pleasant drop of rain that threatened nothing.

Being of a geographical mind, it did not take me long to connect the weather with the fact of the ridge that I had noticed on only my second or third journey between the two cities. It was obvious to me that the prevailing winds arriving from the west were forced upwards as they left Birmingham and released the worst of their moisture before they reached the crest of the ridge. Being able to descend to warmer levels after that, their fury lessened and Coventry experienced a milder precipitation in consequence. It's called a rain shadow, I believe.

This is all very well until summer arrives. If England decides in her wisdom to have a warmer summer than usual, then Coventry will bear the brunt. That ridge milks any rain clouds long before they reach the city and the inhabitants will suffer in the unrelenting heat and humidity of a desperate few weeks. Inevitably, thoughts turn to the coast and a release from the stifling heat that Coventry can suffer at such times. And so was born Coventry Fortnight, two weeks in July when the factories shut down and every man and his family, friends and dogs made their way to the sea.

Coventry is situate bang in the middle of England; indeed, a little village named Meriden is no more than a couple of miles from the city and claims to be the very centre. There is a stone cross on the village green that is reputed to be the exact spot. This means that the Coventrian is spoiled for choice when it comes to coastlines; whichever direction he chooses, it will be a hundred miles before he can see the ocean.

Closest by a mile or two are the open sands of Norfolk or Lincolnshire on either side of the Wash. Norfolk especially is beautiful in spite of its reputation for dreary flatness and it has that wonderful sandy beach running all the way around the bulge from the Wash to Wells-next-the sea. To the soul who finds peace and rest in emptiness and huge skies, it should be Norfolk. There remains the unfortunate fact that it is the North Sea we're looking at here (for who would dare bathe in it?). Psychological it may be but I swear it is colder than the waters on Britain's west coast. The name hardly helps either.

So we must turn our thoughts westward and that means Wales, if we don't want to drive too far. Going for the shortest distance means North Wales, spectacular mountains, deep valleys and narrow winding roads that will leave us exhausted by the time we reach the coast. It is worth it and was one of our favoured destinations. A little more distance brings Pembrokeshire within reach and this, too, is a good choice. With better roads than in the north, even more interesting coast and more English than anywhere else in Wales, this became a favourite destination too.

But the champion has to be Cornwall. Not the dreadfully over-popular North Cornwall but the extreme southwest, the Lizard Peninsula indeed. Almost unknown to other vacationers, the Lizard is the secret gem of the British coastline with beaches the equal of any tropical isle, secluded coves, tiny fishing villages and climate so mild that it's best not to tell anyone for fear of it becoming generally known.

In truth, however, any of these would be acceptable as an escape from the humidity of Coventry in a hot summer. Whichever you choose and no matter how bright and cloudless the day, a British coast will provide a stiff breeze that blows away the memory of sweaty summer nights and endless blazing days. And the Atlantic is bitterly cold if you're used to the Indian Ocean but it is just about bearable if you immerse yourself carefully.

Which brings me to the point of this exercise. How could I talk of New England weather without first considering Olde England? They are so similar that the American version deserves its name but also so different in ways that awaken one from the dream of English winters and summers. New England is like our beloved island but more so. In America weather is extreme; choose any part of the country and the weather will have a way to kill you. In New England it would usually be a blizzard on loan from Canada but there are other tricks up its sleeve. A few years ago western Massachusetts experienced a storm big enough to have a tornado or two at its edges. And when it gets hot here, it is as humid as Coventry but hotter.


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