Coming to terms with the rain
IT’S been as dry as the devil’s dandruff for months and then whoompah.
The big fella upstairs lobs a barrage of gutter-gushing pitchforks our way with nary a thought for the welfare of our fancy new suede boat shoes.
You might even say, for some peculiar reason, that it was raining cats and dogs.
It is a very weird term, conjuring up images of some historical phenomenon where the wind hit such an offensive pitch that street-hounds and wayward tabbies by their thousands were swept up in a gale, eventually dropping to meet their wet and grisly death on the cobbled stones of Old London Town. Problem is, that never happened. Much has been written about the true etymology of “raining cats and dogs”, with several common theories but no real consensus on where the phrase came from.
It did not me take long to find a heaped handful of possibilities, but it is a never-ending rabbit hole once you start looking.
One theory, seemingly born more of speculation than documented evidence, delves way back into mythology.
Cats have historically been held in high regard on sailing ships for their vermin-killing abilities, but that esteem was often coupled with a sense of reverent fear.
One common superstition was that felines had magic stored in their tails that could be used in anger to summon a tempest, meaning sailors had to pay extra care to keep their furry shipmate well-fed and manicured.
The storm god Odin was believed to be accompanied by two wolves, named Geri and Freki, whose names translated to the “ravenous” or “greedy one”.
He also had a couple of ravens, Huginn and Muninn, but that is neither here nor there.
In this admittedly far-fetched theory, an especially savage storm might be caused by cats (summoning the rain) and dogs (causing a different type of wind to the kind they are usually blamed for).
Others believe “cats and dogs” is a throwback to the archaic French term “catdoupe”, meaning a waterfall or cataract.
Some say it referred to curs and kitties falling off slippery hay roofs in old England, although that seems a dodgy spot to take shelter from the rain in the first place.
Everybody seems to agree that the first utterance of the term that really brought it into the popular usage we know today was a grim little line by Irish satirist Jonathan Swift in 1738.
His Complete Collection of Genteel and Ingenious Conversation did not paint a shining picture of 18th Ccntury hygiene, with a very descriptive account of the kind of vile debris that might wash down the street during a deluge.
“Sweeping from Butchers Stalls, Dung, Guts, and Blood,
Drown’d Puppies, stinking Sprats, all drench’d in Mud,
Dead Cats and Turnip-Tops come tumbling down the Flood.”
The world offers some marvellous alternatives to the tired old cats-anddogs routine.
In Wales they say it’s raining old ladies and sticks, it’s wheelbarrows for the Czechs, and those mad Norwegians reckon it’s raining female trolls.
A popular Irish Gaelic phrase translates to “it’s throwing cobblers’ knives”, while in Portugal has “frogs’ beards” on the menu.
That leads us to Australia’s great hyphenated contribution to this sodden opera – it’s a frog-strangling gully-washer.
Send ’er down, Hughie!
IN WALES THEY SAY IT’S RAINING OLD LADIES AND STICKS, IT’S WHEELBARROWS FOR THE CZECHS, AND THOSE MAD NORWEGIANS RECKON IT’S RAINING FEMALE TROLLS