A superstitious Devon woman who lived and died in the residential home run by my parents, used to reckon that, if her first glimpse of a new moon was through a window or in a mirror, she was in for a month of rotten luck. If she first saw the new moon when she was out of doors, however, she was pleased, because that meant she was in for a month of good luck. If she glimpsed the new moon first over her right shoulder, she said, that would be very lucky indeed. It had happened to her mother once in her lifetime, but never to her.
She’d lived all of her life in an isolated village. If she saw me sit on a table, she’d say, ‘Sit on a table, meet a stranger!’ If I dropped a spoon, she’d say, ‘Dropped spoon — stranger at the door!’ And once, when she saw me scratching my elbow, she exclaimed, ‘Itchy elbow, end up in a stranger’s bed!’ She was a maiden lady so the thought of ending up in a stranger’s bed was to her an extraordinary one. Violet Joint was her name. She had no teeth, but her gums were so hard she could bite an apple with them.
I thought of her again a fortnight ago when I glimpsed this present moon as a ghostly sliver in a purple sky over my left shoulder as I was getting out of the car at dusk. Left shoulder, note, not right. So I’d seen it out of doors — good — but over the wrong shoulder. Would that cancel out any benefits? All bets were off in any case, probably, because the day before the new moon I’d found a robin in the house.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in