Do you remember the long hot summer of 1976? Phew, what a scorcher! It was the longest period without rainfall in British history. Day after day after day of glorious sunshine during the summer holidays was an English schoolboy’s delight. If I wasn’t out running around with my friends, I was inside cooling off watching the West Indies take on England in the test cricket series, marvelling at Viv Richards and Clive Lloyd swatting the ball to all corners of the ground, whilst our own surly Geoff Boycott played a solid straight forward defensive.  

French-trained Empery and Lester Piggott had the audacity to win the Epsom Derby, Johnny Miller beat Seve Ballesteros in the Open Championship at Royal Birkdale, and then there was the Montreal Olympics. Nadia Comaneci scored the first ever perfect ten (the one before Bo Derek), Lasse Viren came down from his mountain top in Finland to win both the 5000 and 10000 metres, ‘White Lightening’ himself Alberto Juantorena  took the 400 and 800 metre titles, and Sugar Ray Leonard was an outstanding champion in the boxing tournament. Happy days indeed. 

The unscripted sunshine however took its toll on the Brits. Fresh food prices rocketed, we were all a little ‘hot under the collar’, and then the water ran out. Do you remember the water tankers turning up and having to queue up for your rations, or the standpipe being erected on every street corner? There hadn’t been a drop of the wet stuff since early June.  

The day the rains came is one of my most vivid childhood memories. It was towards the end of August and I had walked the two streets from my house to my grandparents’ home, with my younger brother and sister. We were sitting inside when Nana noticed that the skies had darkened. She ran to the lounge window and spotted a few spots of rain and we ran over too to witness the much missed spectacle. Then the heavens opened and it began to pour down, really heavy rain.

My short, chubby Nana rushed into the hall and grabbed a handful of umbrellas, gave us one each and then flung the back door open and ran out onto the grass. We all followed. Then, ‘Dynamic Doris’ (as my Nana was known to some), started belting out ‘Singing In the Rain’, and we three joined in, swishing our umbrellas round in circles and splashing through the water, screaming with delight as she led us up and down the garden path to the cheers of the neighbours on the estate who had all rushed out to watch. It was one of the most delightful moments of my childhood. 

Here in Israel we have endured one of the hottest summers for many a long year, the heatwave going on unusually long until the middle of this week when the temperatures began to fall a few degrees a day. Light rain showers were predicted for yesterday but as usual didn’t materialize, so today’s forecast of rain was taken with more than large pinch of salt.  

With a dry winter forecast, the water situation here in the Middle East remains critical. The Sea of Galilee, Israel’s main source of fresh water, is still four metres below the critical line despite serious efforts by the Israeli public to save water both in the home and on the garden. It’s often mooted that the next major war in these parts will be over water, but I reckon other factors might prompt an outbreak of hostilities before that happens. Nonetheless, the parched land reflects a situation which may only be part-remedied when Israel’s massive desalination project comes on line in 2012, and the situation remains desperate. 

At around noon today my girls Tami and Maya arrived home hot and sticky from school, but within minutes of them coming through the door the skies darkened and sure enough the first rains since April started beating down with some force on our roof. Unprompted, the girls ran out onto the lawn and started dancing for joy, taking an open-air shower in the warm tropical style downpour. In the adjacent houses on the street other kids were whooping and hollering for joy as well, doing exactly the same.  

Standing at the lounge door, staring out onto the garden with the girls soaking wet and delighted at the arrival of the rain, I drifted back to 1976 and could still see Nana’s little legs flying sideways (as they had when she was doing the Charleston in the 1920’s), with me, my sister and brother trying to imitate her every move. 

As Hall of Fame baseball legend Yogi Berra so famously stated in his inimitable fashion, “It’s like déjà vu all over again”.

 

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