Rainfall Record a journey of the imagination
26th June 2010

In January 1958 - the month of my birth - a man living in Geraldine bought a simple school exercise book. On the cover of the book was a pen-and-ink illustration of a Greek temple, the name ‘Classic’ in flourishing cursive and a small template stating it met the New Zealand Standard.

He opened the book and ruled twelve columns across the first two pages. Above the columns he wrote the months of the year and in the margins he numbered the days of the month. On the cover he wrote, in block capitals as crudely drawn as the stones of the Greek temple, the words ‘RAINFALL RECORD.’

Thus began a momentous undertaking, a private odyssey that spanned a working life. When the final page of the book was completed in December 1996 this steadfast chronicler had recorded every drop of rain that fell, firstly upon Geraldine (until 1973) and then upon Woodbury, for 38 uninterrupted years. He began his measurements in points and inches – 100 points to the inch - and kept faith with this system as the world turned metric.

This was not a man who wielded a pen with ease. The numbers are heavy, often overwritten several times until the blue ink is a black gouge upon the paper. The occasional notations (“dry gales all Jan.” “Hurricane 110mph”) are written in block capitals.

Though the writing is clumsy the maths is pinpoint accurate. The figures for each month are totalled at the foot of the column and the columns collated to produce a “Total For Year,” recorded with a small flourish at the bottom right hand corner of each annual spreadsheet.

The author’s diligence is breathtaking. In the entire record there are only two noticeable slips: a two month period in 1979 when the entries are in a different hand and a moment in late October 1982 (Labour Weekend?) when he compressed three days of rain into a single figure – and noted the lapse of form.

At first and second glances the Rainfall Record carries no hint of the author. The columns of numbers stand mute upon the pages. The pages gather like a deck of bizarre Housie cards.

But look closer and you find small, tantalising glimpses of identity. On 5th April 1979 the rainfall – 17 points – is bracketed by the initials FS written in both red and blue ink, with the words “left from London Vic” beneath. Wedged into the spine of the book in 1983 is the stub of a baggage label with the name H. Simpson and a rusty stain that may have been a watermark. On the front cover, in small cursive writing in a style different from the hand of the recorder is the name M. Simpson.

Slightly more revealing – and infinitely more mysterious – is an inscription on the inside cover: “La Donna Mobilae (sic), Women are Fickle. Riggaletto By Verdi. Arnold’s 1933 musical memory while travelling to Rarotonga on RMS Makura.”

This unique document has fallen into my hands and I am captivated. The numbers are enormously powerful. They have the effect of a strange crystal ball that enables me to predict tiny details from the past with unerring accuracy. I can tell you that between 1973 and 1996 it never rained in Woodbury on 7th January. I can tell you that 8 inches of rain fell between the 12th and 17th of February 1986, followed by another 7 inches in a single day on 13th March, with the word “floods” like the toll of a bell.

I am captured too by the uncanny parallel with my own life. As I read the Record I picture myself as a child, a youth, a young man. The final entries were written just a month before I moved to Mid-Canterbury. By then I had lived in 16 or 17 homes in my 38 years while the quiet collector of the rainfall had lived in just two.

And that’s the greatest fascination – imagining the life of the author. Who was he? Indeed, was it a ‘he’? Could it have been a woman who went outside each day and checked the rain gauge nailed to a fence post or hanging from the end of the verandah? Who is “FS”? Why was Arnold travelling to Rarotonga in 1933?

Should I search for the facts? Or has the Rainfall Record always been, ultimately, a journey of the imagination?