IT’S been a really breezy, not to say windy summer so far, and because I always like to give names to things and indulge in what clever people call taxonomy, which is really just another way of saying that you like to make lists of things, I started to research The Beaufort Scale, which was invented by Admiral Sir Francis Beaufort in the 19th century; it’s a way of categorising wind force from 0, which is ‘calm’, to 12, which is ‘hurricane’, with each level corresponding to observable effects on land.

So for example when the wind is 0, ‘smoke rises vertically’, and when it’s 7 you get ‘whole trees in motion’ right up to 12, when the result is a single word, ‘Devastation’.

I thought it was about time that we had a Barnsley-based version of The Beaufort Scale called, naturally, t’Beaufoort Scale’.

I thought about the visual representation of the wind that I should employ to make the wind scale truly local, and I decided, having seen several elderly blokes hanging on to them for grim death, that the flat cap should be the basis of my categorisations.

Let me make it clear here that, as whenever I write about the flat cap in one of these pieces, I am speaking about the flat cap worn without irony which, as acute observers of the Barnsley headgear scene will testify, is getting rarer and rarer.

You’ll see young ‘uns wearing the flat cap ironically, as if to say ‘I acknowledge that my dad or grandad wore one of these and I’m wearing it in homage (I accidentally typed himage, and I realise that by doing that I’ve invented a word for the kind of homage we pay to our male forebears) as a way to remember him.

No, I’m talking about the true flat cap which, as a piece of bonce-apparel, is under fire round here from all sides, with not only the ironic flat cap but also the baseball cap claiming heads all over the borough.

I’d go as far as saying that the non-ironic flat cap is an endangered species, like the home-made Yorkshire pudding served as a starter on a Sunday, and the dripping sandwich consumed for supper from a plate resting on a stool in front of the TV.

So, back to the Barnsley Beaufort Scale.

0 is characterised as calm, and in this case the flat cap would remain perfectly still on the head, not moving at all, almost as if it has been stuck to the skull with Brylcreme.

One is ‘light air’ and here you would have to look very carefully indeed to notice that the flat cap was just shifting imperceptibly, so imperceptibly that you can’t quite believe your eyes.

Two is ‘light breeze’ and this is the point where your mate might nudge you and say ‘I’ll tell thi summat: it looks a bit like that bloke’s flat cap is sliding rarnd his heead’ but when you look you can’t really decide if it is or not.

Three is ‘gentle breeze’ and four is ‘moderate breeze’ and the accepted description of 4 is that it ‘raises dust and moves paper’ but in our scale it’s at this point you can see the flat cap lifting a little, almost coming loose from its moorings.

Five is a ‘fresh breeze’ and at this point the cap-wearer is lifting his hand to, if not actually hold the cap on, then steady it a little. Six is a strong breeze and ‘large branches are in motion’ and the cap wearer is trying to force his cap to stay on by pressing it down.

Seven is described as a ‘moderate gale’ and at this point the flat cap wearer is getting a rubber band out of the jar he keeps rubber bands in and is fastening the cap to his head. Eight is a ‘fresh gale’ and the flat cap wearer is trudging through town, head down, two rubber bands holding his cap on.

By nine and 10, things are getting serious: flat caps are becoming dislodged and are frisbeeeing through the streets.

People are seen to be ducking.

Eleven is a ‘violent storm’ and the air is full of flying caps; you’ve heard of murmurations of starlings?

This is a chuntering of flat caps.

And by 12, ‘hurricane force’ there are flat caps that are whisked off heads and many are never seen again. Some even turn up in Lancashire, it’s rumoured!