16 MARCH 1985, Page 16

Bad climate

Jo Gnmond

One of the most curious features of the last war was the number of lectures to which the troops were subjected; they bore them with good-natured tolerance. A brother officer of mine went slightly off his head and took to lecturing on his family tree. He gave universal satisfaction until removed in the army equivalent of a strait-jacket. Once after an earnest exposi- tion of the British Way and Purpose we were asked about our aspirations for the post-war world. 'Never, never, to go north of the Thames again' was one answer.

To soldiers from the central belt of Scotland the south of England was a revela- tion of heaven. Young miners if asked whether they would prefer to settle in Brighton or Cowdenbeath would have chosen Brighton. Indeed, why not? I do not know how it compares with China or Peru, but in my experience the country lying between the Thames, Rhine, Danube and the Mediterranean is peculiarly suit- able for human beings.

What then are we to make of the Scottish climate? Its virtues, such as they are, boil down to variety and occasional mornings, noons and evenings of different beauties. There is the beauty of a suddenly calm sea from which islands rise, sharp in outline and bathed in colour like shells in Botticelli's pictures. There is the beauty of Scottish gardens in June and the ferocious beauty of Scottish sunsets. But against these moments of pleasure must be set the pervasive damp, the wind and the debilitat- ing cold. I know that there are those who maintain that the east coast of Scotland is dry. It is not. It is only slightly drier than the west. I know too that Scottish wind and cold are said to be healthy, even bracing. It is true that if you survive 40 years in, say, St Andrews you have a good chance of topping 70. But for the most part Scottish cold is cold enough to spread rheumatism (a universal Scottish disease) but not frosty enough to be exhilarating. However, it compares well with Siberia or the Sahara. How should it be handled?

The rich with that streak of masochism which bolstered their imperial successes made a virtue of its drawbacks. Long soaking days on the hill crawling up burns or cowering in butts were topped off by

whisky, hot baths and huge dinners, served , and washed up by a cohort of retainers. Luckily for the Scottish tourist trade the national masochism still persists. There is a terrible ordeal called sea fishing in which after paying quite a substantial price for the torture you are tossed around in an open boat, fingers numbed and feet among fish of horrifying ugliness and inedibility. Hikers are to be met on every high road bowed under their packs and very wisely thumbing lifts. The Highlands, the Bor- ders, the Stewartry, the Islands, indeed all parts of Scotland outside the industrial areas are very beautiful. But human beings worship the sun, and if you only have a fortnight's summer holiday it is disappoint- ing to spend it in a rain-lashed boarding house with the mist down on the hills.

Disappointing — that is the key to enjoying the Scottish climate. A wet fort- night in summer is disappointing. But no one, or at least not I, expects good weather in Orkney in winter. There are no flowers to be beaten and shredded by the rain, no leaves to be prematurely shrivelled by the salt wind, no picnic to be cancelled. By half past■three even those brought up to believe that fresh air and exercise are essential to the good life can retire before the onset of night. Darkness is down by four in the evening, not to lift until nine-thirty the next day. The weather is shut out. The world is what you make of it. You are not, dependent on the 'brute and blackguard who ruins summer days. But if you are going to spend 18, often 24 hours in it, the house is of greater import- ance than it is in climates where even in winter you can move freely in and out of it. Mud is an ever-present enemy. In London You can wear your outdoor shoes indoors. Not so in Orkney. Damp sneaks in and Pops out in unexpected corners. Draughts Whistle. Yet human beings remain quite remarkably incompetent in providing shel- ter for themselves. Rabbits seem able to make a decent burrow — though I some- times wonder what they do about the damp and the mud — but we still suffer from immensely expensive and on the whole immensely unsatisfactory housing. Slates and tiles are still lugged up to be blown off our roofs in gales which gust up to 150 miles an hour. We have abolished the old black stoves which stuck out into the room but produced a most satisfying fug and are now being bankrupted by 'all electric' devices giving much less heat at much greater cost.

What effect has all this on the character? Grappling with the hostility of their climate is said to have made the Scots what they are. But what are they? Great fighters? But, apart from Bannockburn, as an inde- pendent nation they never won a battle. They established a tradition in certain games, notably golf and football. But it is some time since they were pre-eminent in either — or in rugby football. This is perhaps largely due to economics. If Scot- land should produce a great golfer or footballer he would be bought and ex- ported. Determined, dour and thrifty? But the Scottish underground, which I am glad to say persists, can be pliant, irresponsible and irreverent. And historically the Scots have never shown the long steady devotion to their national traditions, real or sup- posed, which has distinguished, for inst- ance, the Semites. As for thrift, when the Scots get rich it goes to their head. No nation has ever rivalled the eruption of Scottish baronial architecture among rich Victorians.

Nevertheless, the climate leaves its mark. Perhaps long-windedness is encour- aged by length of the winter evenings stretching ahead. Tweed is, I imagine, a Scottish invention. Whisky we share with the Irish. The admirable planning of old Scottish towns all hugger-mugger keeps out the wind. Scottish dances warm up the blood in draughty halls. All those national manifestations show a determination to make the best of our climate, not to pretend it is something it is not. In the far North at least you must learn to enjoy winter and endure the disappointments of summer. Nowadays nearly everyone can escape to the South for a week or two. They are wise to do so, returning like the Vikings to long winter evenings of fires, tea, books, alcohol and television.