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In Competition No. 2405 you were invited to write a poem in praise or dispraise of the month of August. ‘The English winter — ending in July,/ To recommence in August,’ grumbled Byron when he was particularly fed up with the island. On the other hand Day Lewis wrote a delightful poem, ‘A Windy Day in August’:

Dust leaps up, apples thud down,The river’s caught between a smile and a frown…

Though August is with us we wither in weather
More near to November than holiday times
And when we would simmer and swelter this summer
Is chilling our bones as in Arctic climes.

For water is everywhere, raining and running
In gutters that gargle as drains overflow,
In mists that are draping the hilltops and dripping
Ice-cold through our clothes as we cower below.