‘Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun’ so the ditty goes. Written by Noel Coward and performed in his play Words and Music (1932) it became demanded fare in his repertoire. In the 40′s, even Winston Churchill recommended that he go out and sing it ‘when the guns were firing’ after Coward inquired as to how he should best make a national contribution for the war effort.

Ever the quintessential English dandy, Coward jibed the Englishman’s penchant for broiling one’s flesh like a lobster, when even the so-called natives eschewed the ‘violet rays’:

Mad Dogs & Englishmen
Go out in the midday sun.
The Japanese don’t care to,
The Chinese wouldn’t dare to,
Hindus and Argentines
Sleep firmly from twelve to one,
But Englishmen
Detest a
Siesta.
In the Philippines
They have lovely screens
To protect you from the glare.
In the Malay states
There are hats like plates
Which the Britishers won’t wear.
At twelve noon
The natives swoon,
And no further work is done,
But mad dogs and Englishmen
Go out in the midday sun! (N. Coward)

Ah, the deadly, killer rays of high noon. We have since had benefit of decades of solar damage research beyond Coward’s post-modern understanding of the sun’s glare. Back then, Coco Chanel practically invented the suntan as a fashion statement when she accidentally got sunburned on the French Riviera.

We are now well aware of melanoma, sunspots, heat stroke and freckling, not to mention those crow’s feet. Despite the fact that most of us all look ‘healthier’ with a little color, we know it is harmful and carcinogenic and dries us out like old boots.

Avoidance is of course best from 10 to 2, and sun-block in the extreme SPF range is now a matter of course in everything from lotions to clothing. Apparently, the Australians who know all there is to know about UVA’s and UVB’s, even have a pill with SPF, for goodness sakes!

Gone are the days of shaking bottles of baby oil mixed with drops of iodine to deepen the tan. The silver-foiled handheld face screen is also a no-go these days. Tanning beds are likened to death traps–you might as well sleep in a coffin.

Now, its all fake bake, day glow, airbrush or bronzer, accessorized with a wide brimmed hat, sunnies and a generous beach brolly.

But still we are drawn to those tingly, sizzling white heat days of summer, with some of us seeking the sun like hothouse orchids, gurning our faces towards it on auto-pilot. We secretly encourage our tan lines, and hate to see them fade by summer’s end.

Maybe we are all just a little mad, or, English!