Photo via rspb.org
Clive Bond walked in with pupils as big as saucers.
“Has he been on the tea again?” Phil asked.
The cat stared at him. Or rather through him. What passes for Clive’s mind was somewhere else. He was gone, baby, solid gone.
Everywhere he goes, the small black puma who haunts the house gives the distinct impression of being energised so that every atom of his little quivering body is exciting all the others. He is a phenomenon of natural electricity, a storybook character from the same pages as Frankenstein, a conduit of electromagnetism.
It’s not the tea. I am meticulous about making sure Clive’s beverages are water or milk based, and we are getting very good at removing the mugs of tea before he can sample them. No. It is Spring: despite the torrential rain we in Britain are walking about, sniffing tentatively, taking long drafts of air and telling each other we can smell Spring. It’s in the air. It’s on its way.
The light may have something to do with it. I sit here writing at 7:07am, and daylight has fully arrived. It will stay until six tonight, and even on a workday the dog can have a decent evening run in the forest without bumping into any stray trees.
And we are all a little like Clive. The mild-mannered people of this set of islands, the same people who are renowned for queuing meticulously and taking afternoon tea, these same have a dangerous light in their eyes; and it is possible the light has been borrowed from the stealthily returning sun as the globe tilts imperceptibly, by tiny degrees, in our favour.
It is, I feel sure, where the Mad March Hare came from. The hares, Durham University researchers found, do not begin boxing in March; it has been happening under cover of darkness before we even looked out of the window. Contrary to popular folklore, the male hares are not boxing; rather, the females are rebutting the unwanted advances of the males in a way which leaves no room for doubt.
The concept of a mad March hare is an ancient one.
One of its earliest mentions comes from someone who, one might argue, has a lot to atone for: for he was Henry VIII’s tutor.
John Skelton was his name, and besides his teaching post to the young Prince Henry, he was a clergyman, and poet laureate to Oxford, Cambridge and Louvain. His poetry – and reputedly his life – was constantly laced with barbed wit.
His work is sprinkled with references to our March hare: in his Replycacion, 1528: “Aiii, I saye, thou madde Marche Hare”; and in Magnyfycence, 1529: “As mery as a marche hare”.
There is something of the March hare madness about the man. Like us right now, he had one foot in the dark, born in 1460, in the aftermath of the middle English world of Chaucer ; and one in the light, the glare of the printed word, and the foreword to the reign of Bluff King Hal. Printer William Caxton knew and recommended him, and he was the first poet widely circulated using the printed word.
Though a clergyman,there is much unpriestliness about this man. Tittle-tattle of the time betrays shady stories of kept concubines, illegitimate children and jesting of rare wit and considerable eccentricity. His works, always blunt and outspoken with a meter which cudgels, sometimes preach, sometimes leer. Typically outspoken is the couplet Skelton circulated when Wolsey removed the right of bishops to meet at St Paul’s Cathedral:
Gentle Paul, laie doune thy sweard
For Peter of Westminster hath shaven thy beard.
A strange, clever and complicated character, a mad March hare, Skelton was buried at the high altar at St Margaret’s, Westminster. But the scandalous tales continued to populate local folklore for years after his death.
Like Skelton, we stand at a crossroads between what is masked by darkness and what is revealed by light, with a mad light in our eyes.
And the light encroaches a little more every day.
Kate Shrewsday 
Encroaches?! It’s very welcome here, it’s feeling like we’ve had a year-long winter. 🙂
Try five years, IE 😦
I can see Spring, Kate. I can taste it in fact!
Wonderful moment, isn’t it, Tom. Is Spudley wide-eyed too?
I’ve not seen Spudley for a few weeks now, Kate… I don’t think she likes the winter months. I did see her basking in the sunshine a couple of days ago, but she was too far away to speak. I bet she’s anticipating Spring…
And autumn creeps in, wrinkled leaf by wrinkled leaf
We always have this strange see-saw business, don’t we, Sidey? I watch our Spring and think of your garden, beginning to prepare for what passes for Winter there. The globe is a complex place.
Wonderful balance between us
I just love this moment of being on the cusp. Anticipation is always delicious and then we get to complaining about another shitty spring and summer.
It’s true. We’d better enjoy this moment, full of possibility, Roger. Disillusionment so often follows here…
Enjoy every sunshiney day!
We shall, Tandy!
The Lowcountry of South Carolina enters into Spring with a bursting of flowers and lovely 60’s and 70’s. Best time of the year is April with its gorgeous, clear blue skies and lack of the smothering humidity of summer.
I’m getting on a plane, Lou….it sounds too good to miss. What our Spring should be like, but so rarely is these days.
I am ready for that light. Time to say ‘so long’ to all this winter gray.
It is. And also, good riddance. It has rained or snowed all this winter long here.
Today is warm (50 degrees) and sunny in northeastern US. There is a sense of mating in the air. Birds are posturing with their plumage hoping to scoop of up best mate. You gotta love spring! Love the story. Of course, I love witty scoundrels.
I’d love to have known more about this one, Kate. He sounds charismatic in the extreme. Your Spring sounds as if it is shaping up nicely!
Here’s to the encroaching light which heralds the arrival of spring and boxing hares, mad as hatters and full of swift wit! 😀
Hear, Hear!
Isn’t it amazing how these moments of light slowly creep up on us until we finally notice that it has turned a corner and spring is coming? I found daffodils in the snow yesterday and squealed with delight. Now, all this march hare madness has me looking for another read of Watership Down.
Definitely the time for it, Penny. Life is beginning again.
The implosions of spring create the same wide-eyed stare from Duc le Chat. Deep pits of sensuality target some nothingness just beyond my left ear. It’s love and it’s somewhere outside. Now.
You sum it up so well, Amy 😀 The imperative of the call of the wild.
The March hares are surely valid – it is when they are observed that counts. Is it in-hare-ited and they just can’t hare-lip themselves?
Another Skelton you have taken out of the cupboard for us to inspect. I wotted not of him.
Skelton, Hal’s tutor. I wotted not of him this time a few days ago; history is full of these absorbing people who have been all but forgotten, Col.
Mad March hares. I had no idea there was any basis in reality.
You’ve reminded me that tonight I must change my clocks to Daylight Savings Time. I’ll do it reluctantly. It signals spring, and yet we’re still so desperate for more snow before warm weather settles in.
Ha! A different perspective on the snow all togther, PT! We can’t wait to see the back of the cold dark weather!
I can feel your “readiness” for spring, and I’m feeling truly happy for you to know the day’s length is buoying your spirit, Kate. Even if it is energizing your “bunny” Clive! This was fascinating to me on so many levels. I didn’t really have any frame of reference for March hares, and I have heard of Skelton, maybe through you at some time? But learning more about his wit, sharp mind and tongue, I think he is worth knowing better. 🙂
Apparently that is only possible through his poetry, Debra. There are only about 20 records from the time concerning his life. But the poetry is, to my mind, extraordinary. I not only love it, I feel an affinity with him too.
I am almost wishing we had bleak winters,so I could experience the excitement of that ‘encroaching’ light! Our excessive sunlight must be the cause of our lethargy Kate 😀
I feel sure every part of the globe has its charged moments, Madhu. Sunrise and sunset at yours must be spectacular.