There’s a free story from Maud is Moving at the end of this post!
Finally, the rain is back. I know that there will be too much rain, as there was too much sun before, and too much wind next, but right now, I love the rain so much. Every morning I wake up and hear it. Here in Brighton, we often have weeks on end of it, and that is one of the reasons I moved here.
I’ve always loved the rain. As a child, I once convinced my best friend to go out dancing in a particularly good downpour, dressed in particularly chosen rain dancing clothes, and we did only realise after quite a long dance that everyone on their lunch break in the factory next door was at the window, watching. I still think it was a perfect thing to do. I still wish people agreed and came out in their rain dancing shorts.
Recently, two books came out that I’ve been involved in which both celebrate the rain.
One is The Flying Machine Of Dreams, written by Kate Wakeling who really gets it. There’s one poem about a happy forgetful man, Mr Tring:
He splashes in puddles, forgetting his boots
He talks to bananas, forgetting they’re fruits.
Here he is.
Then there’s a poem about picking up worms… “Regenwurm”, “rain worm” they are called in German, and I vividly remembered feeling like they must be my friends. The poem agrees, here’s a bit of it:
The mud’s your friend, I know:
the mud, the rain,
the leaves that float
down
from the tree.
All of these,
your friends,
plus me.
That was the poem that made me say that I wanted to illustrate this collection even before I had finished reading it all.
And finally, there’s Raindrops. When Kate and I went to our first library reading it happened to be the hottest day in the year as yet, and it had not rained in such a long time that her reading that poem with the children felt like an invocation. They all drew the rain into the air with their fingers: pitter patter, pitter patter. I was happy feeling like the entire room, for a moment, shared my secret great love of the rain.
Rain, to me, is a sensory bliss. Every morning shower is a dream of being allowed to just run outside in a rainstorm.
In my first chapter book, Maud is Moving, there’s an entire story that’s a love letter to the rain, from me. In it, Maud writes her own love letter to the rain and worries about it until she meets Gitta, the girl next door who will become her best friend – and I think the reason is that Gitta knows when she has met someone who really knows how to love, and Maud (after a while) knows when she’s found someone who does, too.
Here’s that entire chapter for you, it’s a complete little story in itself (most of them are).
The Important Letter
Maud was sitting by the playground, in the sun. She was reading a letter.
Another girl came to sit on the other end of the bench. She had shiny shoes on and her feet almost reached the ground. Her dark hair was plaited very neatly. She was smiling.
“Hey”, said Maud after a while.
“Hey hey,” said the girl. “I’m Gitta. I live across the road.”
“I’m Maud. I live here. Up there, not on this bench.”
“I know,” said Gitta. “I see you on the balcony sometimes. – Is that a letter?”
“Yes.”
“Is it bad? You look worried.”
“Not bad. Although I don’t know if it’s good,” said Maud.
“Who is it from?”
“Me”, said Maud. “I haven’t sent it yet.”
“It’s an important letter”, Gitta guessed.
“Yes,”said Maud. “Do you want to hear it?”
“Yes, please”, said Gitta.
So Maud read.
“It is my birthday tomorrow, and I know you want to come.
Dad says he hopes that you won’t.
I’m sorry.”
“Oh no”, said Gitta. “That’s bad.”
Maud nodded, and read on.
“I know that you’re there, right outside the window as I am writing this.
Even when you’re quiet, I notice you.”
“What? Right outside the window? That is really spooky, Maud! And also, you live on the sixth floor! Who is this?”
It did sound quite spooky, Maud realised. “It’s the rain,” she explained. “It is a letter to the rain. I should have said.”
“Aah,” said Gitta, relieved.”Yes. You should start with Dear Rain, then.”
“I did leave a space at the top”, Maud said. “I was not sure if the rain had a name.”
“Ah”, said Gitta. “Keep reading.”
“I drew a picture of you yesterday. Dad thought it was a sheep with a million legs, but it was you.”
“You should put the picture with the letter”, said Gitta.
“But I want to keep it”, Maud said.
“Fair”, said Gitta. “Go on.”
Maud read: “I like you so much.
You are a great dancer. You make me laugh.
I’m proud when you make the grass grow, and the trees, and the forests. You are amazing.”
Gitta nodded.
Maud carried on. “I check the weather forecast to find out when you’ll come around so we can run down the street together.”
“You do?” Gitta asked.
“I used to ask Dad to check it for me, but he got fed up,” Maud explained. “The weather forecast is very interesting, anyway.”
“I see,” said Gitta. “Read on.”
“In dry summer, I keep some water in a bottle on the shelf to remember you by, and when you come back I pour it out and call:
WELCOME BACK!”
“Wow,” said Gitta. “That is so romantic.”
Maud sighed. It really was.
Gitta had a thought. “Doesn’t the rain already know that you are doing that? Because it is in the bottle AND in the sky?”
“I hope so,” said Maud. “But I’m not sure.”
“Is it puddle water in the bottle?” Gitta asked.
“It’s usually tap water,” said Maud. “But all water goes around all the time, so it’s all rain, really.”
“Wow. Yes. – I think then you don’t need to tell it,” Gitta said. “It must already know. Or at least the rain must remember how it was in a bottle when you pour it out and it all gets mixed back together.”
“All right,” said Maud, “I’ll take that out then,” and she crossed out the lines about the bottled water and read the next lines.
“When I am sad, you don’t dry my tears. You know that crying is fine.
I love when you bring me a thunderstorm.”
“The rain probably enjoys thunderstorms, too,” Gitta said.
“It must do,” Maud agreed, her eyes shining with remembered lightning. She read on. “I don’t know if you have a birthday, but I am happy about you all year.” She looked up. “This is the most important bit now.”
Gitta closed her eyes to listen better.
“Rain.
Come to my party.
Soak the picnic. Soak everything.
Let everyone else run for shelter.
Soak the cake. Bring me your rainbow.
It is my party, and you are welcome.”
Maud took a deep breath and finished:
“Rain, you are my friend.
Your friend, Maud.”
Gitta opened her eyes. “Yes,” she said, very seriously. “It is a good letter, and yes, I think that the name of the rain is Rain. It sounds right when you say it.”
“Thank you,” said Maud. “I’ll write it out properly and send it.”
“How?”
That was what Maud had been worrying about earlier, sitting and frowning on the steps. “I’m not sure,” she said.
Gitta looked thoughtful. “What does the weather forecast say for tomorrow?” she asked.
“Slight chance of rain,” Maud replied sadly.
“Hm,” Gitta said. “Who else is coming?”
“Just Dad,” said Maud. “We only just moved here. Dad said we could invite everyone who we know a little bit, but I said no. I like people, but my birthday is important and people are a bit difficult when there are a lot of them. One day I would like a party with many people, just not on my birthday. But I would like the rain to come. Very much.”
“Did you tell your dad all that?”
Maud thought about it. “No,” she said. “He was already worried that I might be sad, and about the weather.”
“Can I come?” Gitta asked. “I am not a lot of people.”
“Do you want to?”
“Yes.”
“All right,” said Maud, after a little thought. “But the rain might not be there, you know.”
Gitta clapped her hands, excitedly. “Oh! If all water is rain, maybe we can fold the letter into a boat and put it on the river,” she said.
So they did. Gitta taught Maud how to fold a boat, and they set it on the water from the bridge with a long branch and watched it float away.
“Tell your dad there will be guests,” said Gitta.
*
The next day it was Maud’s birthday and they went to the park.
Dad looked up to the grey sky, and took an umbrella along for himself and for the cake.
Gitta was waiting outside. She had brought a beautiful green jar for the rain and for Maud, as a present.
The rain brought itself.
Maud poured out her bottle of water, and Dad did not mind that it went on his shoe.
Then there was dancing.
Everyone she had invited was there, together, exactly the people who should be there.
It was Maud’s best birthday yet.
From Maud is Moving, published by Walker Books
This was also one of the first stories in the book that I wrote, years ago. Back then, I could not convince editors that loving the rain was not a sad thing. I think maybe you get it.
That’s all from me – there’s golden autumn sunlight outside now, and I will go and have some of that. Thanks for reading! The books are in the shops if you want more. Or in your local library, I hope.
All best!
Viv
