By Revd Lucy Austin

Yesterday was July 15th, which means it was St. Swithun’s Day – and if you’re anything like most Brits, you probably spent at least a moment peering suspiciously at the sky. Was it raining? Was it sunny? And does this mean we’re in for 40 days of ….. what ……?

According to folklore that’s been passed down through generations, the weather on St. Swithun’s Day determines what we’ll endure for the next 40 days. The rhyme goes:

St Swithun’s day if thou dost rain
For forty days it will remain
St Swithun’s day if thou be fair
For forty days ’twill rain nae mare

Now, before you start planning your next six weeks based on yesterday’s weather, let’s meet the man behind the myth – The Bishop Who Wanted to Get Wet

St. Swithun was a 9th-century Anglo-Saxon bishop who died in 862 as the Bishop of Winchester. He was clearly a man who enjoyed the great British weather. So much so that he specifically requested to be buried outside Winchester Cathedral “where the rain could fall and comfort him” and where “steps of passersby might fall on his grave.”

For over a century, St. Swithun’s wishes were respected. But in 971, the cathedral was expanding, and someone decided his outdoor grave was inconveniently placed. On July 15th, they moved his remains inside the cathedral – directly against his wishes.

And that’s when things got interesting.

Legend has it that a terrible storm immediately erupted. The rain was so heavy that the priests couldn’t do their work and had to down tools. The downpour continued for 40 days straight – presumably St. Swithun’s way of saying, “I told you I wanted to stay outside!”

It’s rather like the ultimate British passive-aggressive response, isn’t it? Instead of a strongly worded letter, he sent 40 days of rain.

Before you dismiss this as medieval nonsense, there’s actually some meteorological method to the madness. Around mid-July, the jet stream typically settles into a pattern that holds fairly steady until the end of August. When it sits north of Britain, we get continental high pressure (translation: decent weather). When it sits across or south of us, we get Arctic air and Atlantic weather systems (translation: pack your brolly).

Of course, the legend isn’t foolproof. In 1924, after 13.5 hours of sunshine in London, 30 of the next 40 days were wet. But in 1913, a 15-hour rainstorm was followed by 30 dry days out of 40. Even medieval weather forecasting had its off days.

Remarkably, Jane Austen wrote about St. Swithun just two days before her death on July 15th, 1817. Her satirical poem about Winchester races tells of the saint leaping from his shrine to the roof, declaring his command over July and promising to “pursue with my rain” anyone who dared hold festivities without his permission.

It’s a delightfully dramatic image – St. Swithun as a sort of meteorological superhero, cape billowing in the wind (or should that be rain?), ready to dampen the frivolities from beyond the grave.

Jane is, actually, also buried in Winchester Cathedral.

So, what’s the takeaway from all this? Well, St. Swithun’s Day folklore is probably more legend than reliable weather prediction. But it does give us something quintessentially British: a reason to blame someone else for our weather, even if that someone has been dead for over a millennium.

Whether yesterday brought sunshine or showers, at least we know who to thank – or blame – for the next 40 days. And if you’re experiencing drought conditions, you might want to pop over to
Winchester Cathedral and have a quiet word with St. Swithun. He’s traditionally prayed to during dry spells, and given his track record, he might just be listening.

After all, this is Britain – we’ll always need someone to talk to about the weather.

Much love and many blessings
LucyA