I SAT in my study reading your Star Letter this week in dumb amazement as the tiles on my roof were rat-tat-tatting and my windows rattling like a very loud beat of the drums in Hawaii with the wind that, apparently, we don’t have in the Glandale Valley.
Then reading the letter from Old Bewick carefully, the readings have been taken in the three months which are usually the calmest of the year.
I have lived in the area for 56 years and often been terrified by the winds generated in June, when the Mistral takes the wrong direction, November and January to March, while my mountaineering husband, more used to the wind of the Himmalayas, laughed at my fear and in the summer my delphiniums were knocked flat.
In the last two weeks, the non-existant wind has blown a gale force of 90mph on two days, driven me and my dog to shelter on a shoot behind an Army-type vehicle while the wind drove a horizontal rain so hard there was a white out and for several nights, sleep has been disturbed.
However, it dawns on me that Mr Sturrock lives underground in a molehill protected by the forest of holly trees from winds of the winter months from the north-west, the north and the east and under a cover of three or more acres of highly-impenetrable brambles.
It is so very different when you think I was advised to get my ailing seven-year-old daughter out of the North East winters by my Geordie father (the best neurosurgeon this country has ever seen) in 1963. It is well-known medically that the north-east wind is responsible for the many illnesses we are heir to up here.
I would hardly regard the winds up here as moderate while I do know from my early years that wind is not a brilliant possibility for power in the South East of England where I grew up for 21 years.
I remain yours sincerely,
Anne Wrangham MBBS,