ST VINCENT is the patron saint of drunkards. The Vincent in question is not the charitable 17th century French priest who devoted most of his life to workings with the poor of Paris, and who is remembered by us as Vincent de Paul: the latter, as far as we can tell, was never known to touch a drop. No, the former Vincent was Archdeacon of Saragossa and lived during the reign of the Emperor Diocletian in AD 304 he was martyred at Valencia for his adherence to the new religion. And today is Vincent's feastday.
The importance of this worthy member of the Calendar of Saints to the calendar of meteorology rests on the traditional belief that conditions on his feastday dictate the weather pattern for the remaining 11 months of the year. According to an ancient, rhyme:
Remember on St Vincent's
Day,
That if the sun his beams display,
Be sure to mark his transient beam,
Which through the casement sheds a gleam;
For `tis a token bright and clear,
Of prosperous weather all the year.
If, however, you happen to miss the signs today - or if, indeed, they simply do not suit your purpose - another long range forecast is available to you later in the week. Next Thursday, January 25th, is the feast of the Conversion of St Paul: it recalls the dramatic events which overtook Saul of Tarsus on the road to Jerusalem to Damascus, moving him to change not only his lifestyle, but his name as well. The heavens, it seems, have, signs to offer all of us on this particular day:
If St Paul's day be faire and cleare
It doth betide a hqppy
But if by chance it then rain,
It will make dear all kinds of grain.
If the clouds make dark the skie,
The neate and fowles this year shall die;
If blustering winds do blow aloft,
Then wars shall trouble the realm full oft.
The 18th century English poet John Gay took this somewhat awkward message, and, redelivered it in more professional lines:
Let credulous boys and prat tling nurses tell
How, if the festival of Paul be clear,
Plenty with liberal horn shall strew the year;
But if the skies dissolve in snow or rain,
The labouring hind shall yoke the steer in vain;
And if the threatening winds in tempest roar,
Then war shall bathe her wasteful sword on gore.