“A soft day” is a phrase you will hear frequently in Ireland. In the west of the country it is usually followed with a gracious salutation, of “thank God.” These soft days occur regularly where Atlantic mists envelope the mountains.
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A soft day is a description of the weather, and is probably very unique to the Emerald Isle. It is a day when the precipitation is a cross between mist and drizzle and is sometimes referred to as “mizzle”.
The rain does not fall to the ground in heavy droplets, but seems to hover and linger in the air. Yet this rain is too heavy to be classified as mist, and it is not vaporous and rolling like fog. It only takes a few minutes outdoors on a soft day, to be soaking wet.
A soft day is refreshing, and can be unexpectedly bright. The air is crisp, but not sharply cold. It’s just damp, damp, damp.
As I was writing this post I remembered a poem we learned at school describing these soft Irish days. The English poet, Winifred M. Letts, spent quite some time in Ireland as a little girl. Her poem “A Soft Day, Thank God” describes these typical Irish days with magical words. In the first verse she says:
“A soft day, thank God!
A wind from the south
With a honey’d mouth;”
Then in the second verse she adds:
“A soft day, thank God!
The hills wear a shroud
Of silver cloud;”
Waking up on a soft day requires decisions – is it a “day for the bed or the high stool”?
So for anyone planning a trip to Ireland this summer, don’t forget to pack your rain gear. Not many tourists have the opportunity to spend the day in bed, tucked away from those Irish mists.
Slán agus beannacht,
(Goodbye and blessings)
Irish American Mom
Thank you Maired, I love your posts you are a pure Irish Colleen, I learned The Daffodill in school as well and I still love it, and i learned the poem, up the airy mountain down the fairy glin, the name of it wont come to me now, ?, I had a lovely time in school in the late fifties early sixties, it was an old school with a big open coal fire and when 12.30 pm would come we would all put our bottles of tea in front of the fire to get hot, my tea used to be in a brown sauce bottle, you never tasted the likes of that tea it was gorgeous, our toilets were 4 little cubicles with a wooden seat and a hole in the middle of it, oh the lovely memories of my childhood, happy days and not a care in the world. 🙂
Maureen – I remember “Up The Airy Mountain” too. I think the real name of the poem is “The Fairies”, but we always called it “Up The Airy Mountain”. It went something like this
“Up the airy mountain and down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a hunting for fear of little men.
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!”
That’s all I remember. I love hearing your happy childhood stories Maureen. Too many books, like Angela’s Ashes, make Ireland sound like a miserable place to have been reared, but just like you, I have lovely memories of growing up there.
Thanks for stopping by.
Mairéad
Mairead, you are right it was called the Fairies,I loved that poem as well, thats it, the little paragraph you wrote, I can still see it in my minds eye even though i was only about 8 or 9 years,I had a lovely happy childhood growing up, lovely sweet memories, I remember at Christmas my Mother would start filling the press in the room every week with tins of fruit, plum pudding , christmas cake, biscuits, jelly and dates, tea leaves, sugar, birds custard, semonila and tappocia and blamongue thats spelt wrong now, do you remember it was like all different coloured custards, there was lemon flavour, strawberry flavour, chocolate and butterscotch flavour, etc, she must have liked dates and they used to be all goey in the packet trying to get them out was hard, ha, people of that era couldnt afford every thing all together so got a bit every week for that special little press in the room it was like a little treasure trove to me when id sneak a peep. i still think of frog spawn when I think of tappocia ha,when im down the park and see frogspawn i think of my mothers tappocia im sure she used to tell me that, and of course her sweet rice I loved that, and sugar on top of bread and butter, real butter by the way no half measures there, and another favourite she used to give me was golden syrup on bread and butter and i still have all my teeth, ha,
I better stop Mairead im rambling now, dont mind Angelas ashes, think of Maureen’s wishes.
Maureen – I remember tapioca, semolina and blancmange well. And I loved rice cooked in milk with some raisins thrown in. Just delicious! And golden syrup – I loved dropped scones with golden syrup in the batter. I must make some soon and put the recipe up on the blog. I think we both are reminiscing now.
All the best,
Mairéad
Hmm, and the title can be said with a degree of sarcasm and exasperation.
Vince – After a few weeks of endless soft days exasperation definitely takes over. I’m keeping my fingers crossed this summer won’t be too “soft” when we come home.
All the best,
Mairéad
“A soft day” – I love that expression. I’m loving these reminisces too. It sounds like you had wonderful childhoods.
Angela – I had a lovely childhood in Ireland. There are many books about miserable Irish childhoods, but my experience was very different. I like to remember and share the happiness I experienced growing up there.
All the best,
Mairéad
After reading your description of a soft day I now know what to call those days that I experienced in Seattle. The the weather was exactly as you described a Mist in the air that was wet but not droplets big enough to call rain so now I can call it a soft day thank you for your help
Hi Bat – I believe Seattle weather is very similar to Ireland’s. Many a soft day there too. Glad you enjoyed this description of Ireland’s damp days.
All the best,
Mairéad ☘️☘️☘️