Miraculous March
March came in not merely like a lamb but like an angel. After an abnormally dry February the days, from the first to the sixth, had almost the lofty blue tranquillity of midsummer. The noons were really hot ; one wrote out of doors from eight o'clock onwards. The spell, for England, was miracu- lous. Yet the spring seemed backward, the primroses extremely shy, daffodils not out, many trees of hazel still bearing catkins as stiff as frozen sausages. It is true that a Chateau de Clos Vougeot showed not only buds but a split of colour as fine as the wine itself, but there were no nests where, a year ago, nests were already far advanced. Roses, in fact, made too easy growth everywhere, but almonds seemed reluctant ; there was no sign of blackthorn. The cause was the temperature at night. The frosts were intense. Days had ten hours of sunshine, but Tunbridge Wells could record a maximum and minimum, on the 4th, of 6z and 27 degrees. In country districts prophets revelled. " Nice weather ? Too nice. I s'll be sucked in if we don't pay for it." They saw arctic tomorrows in May. " Fog in March, frost in May." On all sides the corn looked superb, the new ploughed land magnificent. " But you wait," they said.
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