The Joy Of A Wet Day.

We have said winter is brighter. How about wet days? Even more so! Many a woman, cheerfully donning a colourful and well-cut raincoat and unfurling a knobby umbrella en suite, smiles tolerantly at the poor male who, struggling into his overcoat with one eye on the clock and one on the weather, wonders distastefully whether he'll make a dash for it, or wait, risking missing an appointment, on the off-chance of its being only a shower. Wife or daughter has no qualms. A wet day is no longer the dull, depressing thing which the shapeless dowdy macintoshes, dingy black umbrellas, and heavy goloshes made of it in days of yore. So the “weaker sex” bravely faces the elements.

What an interesting outing it can be. Rain falling seems to muffle our little world, to let down a curtain round it. The very streets seem more familiar and companionable, cars slither past less blatantly, shops have a homelier air. Little knots of people collect under verandahs, each one measuring the distance to the next shelter and anxiously watching the splash of the rain in puddles for any sign of lightening. One braver than the rest, or in more of a hurry, suddenly makes a dart onward. The rest cast sly glances at one another. Is anyone else going? Is the rain really lessening? Probably there will be a concerted rush to the page 50 page 51 next oasis of dryness. It is surprising what a feeling of companionship is established without spoken word after several meetings under verandahs on a wet day. By the third meeting, venturers probably risk a half-smile at each other.

Yes, a wet day can be an adventure. Even the automatons behind the counters slip their masks a little. We are on a less impersonal footing because there is a minimum of shoppers. We linger over a purchase, converse a little about the weather, about the quality of the goods, and even grow confidential about the style in which the garment is to be made. The shop assistants have time to chat a little to each other as well as to customers. There is a “happy family” feeling about even the big emporiums.

On our way home we do not take a tram until we have to. It is far more interesting to watch the wet-day street procession—the sprint across the road of the portly gentleman, his expansive smile as he reaches the pavement and pauses to breathe; the flick of shapely legs as two young things dash for a tramcar; the problem of the parcel-laden shopper with the inadequate umbrella—which shall suffer, herself or purchases? Then each approaching blob of colour may reveal a friend. “Oh, it's you, Helen!” “Fancy you coming out on a day like this!” “Well, I couldn't resist it.” “Do you like wet days too? What fun!” Have you noticed that people are more themselves on wet days, and therefore more interesting? They seem to have left their shell at home and to have ventured out to see a younger world.

Then, at dinner, we wonder why the men folk giggle about the weather.

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