The Rainmakers Since I spent Whitsun weekend at home, I
am only marginally one of those who are now yelling for the blood of the Meteorological Office and its inmates. And, strongly though I sym- pathise with holidaymakers who were soaked last Monday when they had expected to be boiled, I cannot help thinking that their attitude is a little illogical. If we wish the Meteorological Office to be run on scientific lines, then we must accept that its forecasts are likely to contain a margin of error due to the intractable nature of scientific fact as far as weather is concerned. If, on the other hand, we regard its predictions as a type of sympathetic magic, then, by fore- casting good weather for Whitsun, it was at any rate doing its best. Perhaps a good deal of mis- understanding would be avoided if we frankly adopted the latter view. The spectacle of wild- eyed priests and dishevelled virgins gashing themselves with knives on the Air Ministry roof would surely make up for any little inaccuracies in the content of bulletins. And the expiatory sacrifice of those high officials who had failed to ensure that their department produced the weather the public wants could develop into an added attraction for tourists from overseas.
QUEEQUEG
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