THE PROVERB is maith an scéalaí an aimsir (‘weather is a good storyteller’) is true on so many levels.

Weather is a continuous story generator, offering insights, anecdotes and fresh narratives for us to celebrate, bemoan, connect with and commiserate over on a daily, and even hourly, basis.

There are other ways too in which weather is a scéalaí (‘storyteller’), such as how references to storms, floods and droughts in the old mythological tales and historical accounts give us insights into life long ago.

The words used to describe the weather conditions can be especially helpful in bridging the gap between us and our forebears.

This little book is a celebration of these words and an exploration of how those who came before us were able to observe and describe the specific characteristics of every form of meteorological experience, from hoar frost to heat haze.

It’s an attempt to reach back in time to connect with them and to reflect not only on the climatic conditions they endured and enjoyed but also on how their experiences impact us today, in an era of climate change.

Some words and phrases offer an almost choreographic description of our reaction to weather, such as that for a cold morning, maidin le bheith ag pógadh na gcopán (literally, ‘a morning to be kissing the kneecaps’, summoning an image of staying underneath the covers with your knees tucked up underneath your chin), or gaoth a bhainfeadh an craiceann d’fhíogach (‘wind that would skin a dogfish’, in reference to a harsh east wind).

Others manage to capture the uniquely unpredictable and capricious quality of Irish weather, such as lá na seacht síon, le gaoth mhór, báisteach, sioc agus sneachta, tintreach, tóirneach agus lonrú gréine (‘a day of seven weathers, with high wind, rain, frost and snow, thunder, lightning and sunshine’).

A surprising number of days in Ireland can be described in these terms.

Each of the rain words gathered here likely arose from countless sodden, shivery experiences on this Atlantic-swept island of ours. Reading them offers a visceral sense of what the generations that preceded us endured in a world without Gore-Tex or central heating. The writer Frank McCourt is sometimes lampooned for his fixation on the wetness of his Limerick childhood in the memoir Angela’s Ashes, and yet the multitude of terms our people amassed suggests he may actually have downplayed the ubiquitousness of báisteach fadó (‘rain long ago’).

Researching and collating this litany of weather words has left me with a compassion for, and a closeness to, those who coined the terms. Without their fortitude and their ability to endure the downpours, it’s possible that we wouldn’t be here today.

Some of the terms were likely created by the weather specialists of their era: the néaladóirí (cloud-watchers), réadóirí (stargazers) and fiachairí (those who observe ravens for signs of weather change). The closeness with which they observed every advancing cloud and pressure front is evident from the sheer richness and variety of terms they amassed.

There may not have been the sophisticated technology of today, but our forebears were skilled at reading the signs of birds, trees, animals, insects and fish, as well as markers on land and sea. Birds were particularly good forecasters: swallows flying low foretold rain, as did hens roosting early, curlews calling, ducks loudly quacking and seagulls seen far inland. The heron’s behaviour offered many hints: Aimsir chrua thirim nuair a bhíonn an corr éisc suas in aghaidh srutha chun na sléibhte (‘When the heron flies upstream to the mountains, the........

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