A Tale of Superstitions

Report of the Competition THE extremes of the country of Britain have met in very lively and various rivalry over the competi- tion for the best story of a local superstition. If it were a question of competing districts the first class would probably be confined to South Ireland, the Shetlands, and Devon and Cornwall. It is surprising that Western Wales is not a runner-up ; for nowhere do superstitious beliefs find livelier exponents than in "Little England beyond Wales." A good many competitiors send accounts of strange remedies varying between the incantation of the Eighth Psalm, and black wool. There is no reference to a belief not uncommon in villages quite close to London—which is inimical to superstitions—that a spider enclosed in a nut and hung round the sufferer is a sovereign remedy for measles.

Two beliefs over which a number of competitors meet are that the Devil in some way curses blackberries in the month of October. The view prevents country people— as the writer knows by experience—from eating late blackberries in North Devon and in Suffolk. It seems that it is strong also in Sussex and Ireland, where it has a preciser explanation. The Devil spits or spat on black- berries on October 10th. Another is that if a girl is christened after a boy in the same water she will ultimately grow a beard. One competitor gives a very lively descrip- tion of an old Scottish woman who knocked the christen- ing bowl out of the minister's hands with an abusive flood of Gaelic.

As literary episodes the contributions from Ireland are the best. They are sometimes more grim and tragic, sometimes more humorous than most others. It has not in all cases been easy to decide how far the tale is an essay in fiction, how far a true record of fact. The following is worth quotation for its literary merit. It comes from Oxford but concerns Ireland THE SIN EATER.

Maureen was an unusual child ; they called her " quare " in Ballinaineh.

When old Tim died, her heart was wrung with pity for the lonely old man—dead and no one to wake him !

No one else cared. Was he not that utterly detestable creature, a Sin Eater ? Who, for money, took on himself the sins of the dead ? For it is well known all over Ireland, that if you eat food, placed on the breast of a corpse, you take its past sins on yourself, leaving the departed soul as clean as a chrisom child. They might be poor in Ballinainch, but they would loathe to earn money that way. So Maureen alone was sad, thinking of the dead man, with his heavy load of sine, his own and others. In the early dawn she stole from her cottage, white and trembling, but resolved. She took the road to Tim's cabin.

They found her next day ; dead on the floor by old Tim's bed. the cruipbs of that last awful meal still on her lips.

The women whispered :- ' Holy Mother forgive her ! She didn't understand." But Father James murmured :- " Greater love hath no man, than to lay down his life."

North View, Carterton, Oxford. ELLEN Cusestsw.

Another tale in the same vein concerns Cambridge, but comes from Cornwall. It describes the death and burial of a kindly old white witch who lifted a curse from a haunted house. She died (in consequence ?) a fort- night or so later. Those who regarded her as a witch said nothing at the funeral till it was found that the grave was water-logged, when " the murmur arose : water received what earth would not."

In a very different vein a charming record of a personal experience comes from Devon. A lady, disfigured by a rash due to War-time food, went down to Dartmoor and was cured by the seventh child of a seventh child, through the agency of " wool from a black sheep, milk from a red cow and a sprig of blackthorn," plus a mumbled incantation. The talc of the cure is concluded with the query " was it my specialist's ointment working - at last, was it black magic, or was it just faith ? " Perhaps it was just Dartmoor.

All these were close competitors for the first place.; and though it did not reach this level, the author of the following must be congratulated for the idiom and condensation of the following medley.

A BERKSHIRE TALE.

I had visited her in the tiny thatched cottage after her husband's death, to condole.

" Yes, m'lady I knew as Dad 'ud die 'cos a robin come a' hoppin' into the 'ouse, an' my geranium, 'e bloomed beautiful a' Christmas time, an' bees, they swarmed on a postie, an' that means a death when they swarms on dead wood. But I put a bit o' crepe on the 'tees and knocks an' sez to 'em, Maister's dead,' so as they shouldn't fly away. But we've 'ad bad luck all the year 'cos Dad 'e cut down holly tree nigh the ge-ate. An' your little lady 'as the 'oopin' cough you sez ! Well, now, you listen to I. We knows the dear Lord once rode a Neddy (donkey) an' ever since, Neddys 'as a cross on 'em. Now you tell the young gentleman to cut a piece o"air off the Neddy's cross, put 'un in a red silk bag, say the Lord's Prayer over it, an' ang it round the little lady's neck, an' that 'ull cure 'er for certain sure."

I could not shake her faith in her simple remedy, so left, hoping I did not show too much scepticism. (Mrs.) M. G. D. ANDERSON. Nethercrofl, Peebles.

We give the prize to the following, which excels in strangeness and reality :

RUNNING THE HEART!

A generation ago Shetlanders were extremely superstitious. They believed firmly that fairies existed, on the whole, friendly to mortals yet quick to punish any slight, the punishment being usually some ailment. Once when a child I ceased to thrive, and a servant persuaded my parents to take me to her home for a change. There was a concealed purpose, however. She believed that the fairies having some grievance against our house had stolen my heart, and near her home was a wise woman who held the secret of working cures when anyone was "burl from the hills."

The details of the rites used are forgotten, but the main features, are vivid. A lock of my hair was put into a Bible, which was placed on my head, on the Bible was set a dish of water into which, through the scissors already used, molten lead was poured. 'A piece of this lead shaped like a heart was selected, and blessed, and each morning part of it was scraped into my porridge. Thus the stolen heart was supposed to be restored. It must have worked in my case as I have reached a hale old age.