The Pharmaceutical Journal Vol 267 No 7171 p624
27 October 2001

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Commanding the rain
Abusing insulin
Sparing the holly

Commanding the rain

Samuel Pepys wrote in his diary in 1662: "But methought it lessened my esteem of a king, that he should not be able to command the rain." We read in the Book of Ecclesiastes that: "He that observeth the wind shall not sow; and he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap", but elsewhere we learn that "thy clouds drop fatness". It has always been a fond thought of cultivators of the soil that ability to order rain at will, and to postpone it for our pleasure, offers an attractive prospect. It is probably fortunate for us that human efforts to change the time and extent of a rainstorm have hitherto shown little success, since rain for one person may be welcome, while to his neighbour across the road it may be anathema.

Considerations of equity have not prevented people from taking pains to control the weather. It is reported that the ancient Thracians used to shoot arrows into hovering thunderclouds in the hope of dispersing them. In Malaya a woman who filled an earthenware pan with water and half-drowned a cat in it was believed to provoke heavy rain. In Central Australia among the Arunta, rain has been encouraged by a ceremonial dance performed by a man who has inherited the power of rainmaking from his remote ancestors. I myself have a near neighbour, kindly regarded by his acquaintances as "eccentric", who from time to time indulges in a mysterious dance when oppressed by an extended period of drought, and claims to bring on the showers. I understand that this is one power associated with the so-called "earth mysteries" organisations, although I have hitherto failed to discover the basis for the belief. It remains true that in his sublime arrogance Homo makes strange decisions on the strength of doubtful outcomes, and that often he does more harm to our planet than he intends.

The murky side of weather control is revealed in the recent suggestion that the frightful Lynmouth flood disaster of 1952, which I remember vividly, was the result of rainmaking experiments carried out shortly before the disaster by the Ministry of Defence. On that August day in 1952 millions of tons of water and thousands of tons of rocks descended upon the village of Lynmouth, killing 34 people and destroying many buildings. This all happened within the space of a few hours. It was attributed to the sudden bursting of the mass of Exmoor peat bog, which had been swollen beyond its capacity by a succession of heavy falls of rain and had taken the line of least resistance by way of the narrow valley of the Lyn. Shortly before the flood a number of flights had been made in the area to collect data regarding cumulus cloud temperature, water content, air movements, icing rate and cloud droplet and ice crystal formation. Chemicals are believed to have been used for seeding clouds to encourage precipitation, including salt, silver iodide and solid carbon dioxide.

These materials have been tested previously on many occasions to see if they would promote condensation and start precipitation, and it is known that they do have an effect, even if it is rather uncertain in practice. One complication of employing them would be that, in the event of their being followed by destructive flooding, the seeders might be held responsible in law for causing the disaster. This seems to be the present situation regarding the new inquiry into the Lynmouth disaster, and it will be interesting to see what the outcome will be.

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Abusing insulin

In these days when some critics wonder whether there are any limits to the abuse of drugs by athletes and so-called sportsmen in the overriding desire to win at any cost, however deceitful or dangerous, it is disconcerting to learn that even so tricky a compound as insulin is being injected by would-be winners who believe that it increases their physical prowess.

An article in New Scientist for 11 August draws attention to the hazards of relying upon hormones that play an essential part in our metabolism but have no place as performance promoters. The misuse of insulin as a bodybuilder was promoted some years ago, and has now spread to other aspects of sport. Insulin benefits athletes by assisting anabolic steroids such as testosterone and growth hormone to consolidate muscle tissue and promote further muscle growth by preventing the breakdown of the tissue. Moreover, in runners it enables glycogen stores to build up in muscles when injected together with glucose. However, when an excessive dose is used a lethal coma may rapidly be induced. Insulin is deadly if misused.

From the standpoint of the athlete, insulin has the virtue of a half-life of only a few minutes, so that it is virtually undetectable when taken illegally. It appears that, although the supply of insulin in Britain is permitted on prescription only, there is a thriving black market in it. Athletes who have the necessary contacts can obtain it without too much difficulty. Moreover, it is not unknown for diabetic sufferers to supply their friends in the sporting world.

Short of police tactics involving search and detention there is no way of overcoming this particular abuse. And an athlete can only be detected abusing it if it is discovered in his or her possession.

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Sparing the holly

With the coming of the feast of All Hallows on November 1, I am reminded of the superstitions associated with the still popular celebration of Hallowe'en on the night preceding it. This now rather tawdry occasion, with its begging and its terrorisation by children, is generally reckoned to have originated in a druidical fire-feast known as Samhain, meaning "summer's end" and marking the onset of winter.

Hallowe'en has a connection with the holly plant, which is also beginning to attract interest as a pre-Christmas feature, since it has the reputation of being a witch-deterrent. This evergreen was once freely planted near domestic dwellings and in churchyards as a protection against evil influences, a function that it shared with yew. Holly in particular was anathema to witches, and people wandering in the countryside or driving coaches made a point of carrying a stout holly staff or a whip with a holly-wood handle to reassure them as the sun went down. However, felling a holly tree was long regarded as unlucky. In particular, hedges were planted with holly standards at intervals, and these needed careful trimming and were never actually felled. For one thing, they were often useful landmarks. For another, they impeded the swift progress of witches on their broomsticks along the tops of hedges on such festivals as Hallowe'en. For this reason hollies in the hedge were spared.

I suspect that there is an element of reasoning in this phenomenon of the hedge-skimming witches. On many occasions I have encountered barn owls in broad daylight coasting heavily along field hedges on the lookout for small mammals. So large a bird, with its white face and underparts and almost silent gliding progress, becomes highly impressive and somewhat sinister if met in semidarkness. When it utters its long shriek it can prove uncanny for a nervous person. I can imagine our ancestors having such an encounter and assuming that they had met the local witch on her nightly travel along the hedge boundaries. Small wonder that they cultivated deterrents in the form of holly clumps to impede her flight.

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