Send it Down, David! (Please)

The “David” mentioned in the post title is the patron saint of Wales.

He is believed to have been born somewhere in the last half of the fifth century in Pembrokeshire, Wales, and he lived most of his early religious life as a teacher and preacher.  He rose quickly through the ranks as a result of his oratorical and organizational skills, becoming the Welsh archbishop shortly after performing a miracle in which a small hill spontaneously appeared beneath him (elevating him and allowing the crowd to see and hear him preach more easily), while a dove settled on his shoulder.  David is also credited with several additional miracles,  including those involving the resurrection of a dead child, and the restoration of a blind man’s sight.

It appears that David’s monastic rule was rather rigorous, and seemingly at least–like many early Christian saints–vegetarian.  His monks pulled the plows at their abbeys themselves (so as to spare the animals), and:

They resolved to maintain a diet of bread and vegetables, with just a sprinkling of salt, so as not to inflict unnecessary suffering upon any creature by taking its life for food–Holly Roberts, Vegetarian Christian Saints

Bless.

David is believed to have died around the year 600 and some records indicate that he was canonized around 1120 by Pope Calixtus II.  Dozens of churches founded by and/or named for David still exist in Wales today, and his shrine at St. David’s Cathedral in Mynyw, which was a popular pilgrimage destination during the Middle Ages, is still the Cathedral Church of the Western Welsh See.

I know not why St Patrick (March 17) is first among equals of the Saints of the British Isles and Éire.  First glance might indicate that it’s something to do with the difficulty of wishing someone a “Happy St. David’s Day,” (March 1) in Welsh (Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Hapus!)  But that’s probably not it, as I don’t guess that “Happy St. Patrick’s Day” (March 17) in Irish Gaeilge is a day at the beach either.  And “Happy St. Andrew’s Day” (November 30) in (Scots) Gaelic (Latha Naomh Anndra sona dhuibh!) is just impossible.

How lucky we are to have English to solve all these ticklish problems. LOL.

But even that hasn’t saved poor old St. George, whose own day (April 23) languishes in the doldrums, virtually uncelebrated for hundreds of years, without much of a presence in popular culture at all.

I’m going to go out on a bit of a limb here and ascribe that fact partly to the well-known (and regrettable) reluctance of the English to wave their own flag and toot their own horn without a sense of deep embarrassment (“it simply isn’t done!“), and partly to the difficulties associated with George’s infernal “bloody cross” and all the unwelcome, unwoke, and bothersome historical, religious, and cultural baggage it evokes and has come to represent, even more so in the last seventy years.

There are some indications that this trend is reversing, although while St. Patrick’s Day and St. Andrew’s Day are bank/public holidays in their respective countries, neither St. David’s Day nor St. George’s Day is in theirs.

This year, I’ll just set all those matters aside and take my saints one at a time, starting with Dewi (Dafydd, David), the one for whom my father was named.

But what (I hear you asking) does any of this have to do with the title of this post?

I’m getting there:

“Send it down, David!” was my mother’s joyous shout in the event of much-needed rain. The origin of the once well-known phrase, might have come from here:

…British Army slang going back more than 100 years. One authority defines it as “A soldiers’ greeting to a shower of rain likely to postpone a parade.” Although the “David” in the phrase is not otherwise identified, I maintain David refers to St. David, Welsh bishop of Mynyw during the 6th century, patron saint of Wales. Wherefore, the phrase may have started with a Welsh regiment’s distaste for regimentation in the rain, and their invocation of their homeland’s patron for deliverance.

Deliverance, right now, would be super-good.

Jam to-morrow and jam yesterday – but never jam today–Lewis Carroll. Through the Looking Glass

Substitute the word “rain” for the word “jam,” and that’s pretty much how it feels in this neck of the woods, at least for anyone foolish enough to place much stock in any immeditate forecasting for the SouthWest PA area.

Pray for rain.  We haven’t had any for about three weeks. The flowers are suffering, the vegetables are wilted and shrunken, the fields are brown, and the ground is like concrete. I won’t mention the well, because to do so might tempt fate. Also, the highs are in the mid-90s, and don’t show much signs of abating.

Pray for rain.