Are We Superstitious? No, But Let's Touch Wood

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 538, 15 December 1928, Page 26

Are We Superstitious? No, But Let's Touch Wood

QUAINT CONCEITS THAT PERSIST . . . SKYSCRAPERS THAT HAVE NO 13TH FLOOR . . . SALT AND LEFTSHOULDER ATHLETICS

STATESMAN of world .-'I renown, a Government O leader of a nation that ,(G> prides itself on being Iff adult, mature and soft) phisticated, said impressively in public the other day, "This treaty means the end of war.” Then quickly he added: “I’d better rap wood on that,” and thumped the table devoutly. We like to say that in this age of science we have ceased to be superstitious (writes L. H. Robbins in the New York “Times”). It is our fondest superstition. Perhaps we have outgrown the idea that little Johnny must be taken to his christening through wide streets rather than narrow lest he become a bandit, but we still have osseous enlargement of the knuckles from rapping on the furniture. Even such of us as Mr. Winston Churchill. Physics and chemistry have taught us a lot about the material universe 1 and the inflexible laws of cause and effect that produce its phenomena. Education has doubtless freed us from many a blunder and foolish notion. After a century of free-for-all reading, writing and arithmetic we no longer hang witches for planting a glove in a haunted wood in the dark of the moon in order that the owner of the glove will come down with liver complaint. But a recent questionnaire among normal school seniors put more than half of 500 budding young teachers on record as believing earnestly in one or more of the quaint, mischievous conceits that made the Dark Ages so merry and gay. Trained though they were to be guides of youth, and expert in child psychology and all those difficult subjects, they—the seniors—wouldn't, break a mirror for love or money. The bare thought of lighting three cigarettes with one match left them feeling creepy. Perhaps there is, then, some excuse for their graduate, the ordinary man, if he goes through life like a skittish horse, shying at signs. Superstitious? Not he!

But he gets out of bed always on the right side, be sure. In seasoning his breakfast he takes nice care not to upset the salt. There is “money” floating on his coffee, and he spoons it in “go-getterishly.” He waits to open his umbrella until he is quite out of doors in the rain. When only half a block away he notes that he has forgotten his pocketbook, but he goes on without it rather than invite a swift kick from fortune by turning back

His ears ring, so people are talking about him. He shivers, therefore a 'possum has run over the spot where he will one day sleep under the sod, after his poor body has been recovered from the river. For he is fated to perish by drowning. ” He was born under the sign of Aquaris, so he knows what is coming to him. He looked it up in a book once when he was nine years old.. He glances at his watch. The charm at the end of the chain, he has lately read, is a relic of medieval days when charms were charms indeed to ward off baleful spirits. He smiles at the

gullibility of long ago. He smilec too, to see that the car he boards has a 7 in its number. He can proceed to town with an easy mind. There is, by the way, a widespread misconception about seeing the ne»moon. Thousands of intelligen; persons call it a baneful omen to see the moon over the right. The fact, as this writer and countless other authorities in these mystical matters can testify, is that the moon over the right is invariable favourable. Only when seen over the left is it poisonous. The time has passed when Fridav saw no sailings. Day by day, in ever way, people grow more recldess. “Stop at 13, please,” says an elevator passenger. “Sorry.” gays the operator, “I can give you any other up to 40, but 13 is one floor we ain't got.” In the face of the popular theory that Manhattan Island may cave in ,n any moment, the builders remain perfectly calm; nor do they any longer lay laths crosswise around the nev constructiou to discourage devils. But they do somehow like to call the thirteenth story 12A or 12J or even to play entirely safe by calling it 14. It might be thought that wedding, at least, would have been emancipated from antique presumptions, vounu people nowadays are so advanced and sceptical. Nevertheless, the girl who changes “the name but not the letter” knows that she is takir chances. She is glad if on her wato the church she meets a load of hay. She wears “something old ami something new, something bor rowed and something blue.” She takes care that the bridegroom does not see her in her we<iding gown before “Lohengrin” musk begins, and she tosses her bouquet to determine for the powers above which of her bridesmaids shall be next at the altar. And the wedding guests, having hurled rice and old shoes, go home to dream on the wedding cake. That’s how modern a we'dding is Still, here and there are people who seem to be free from the old dom. There is a Thirteen Club of thirteen members who dine together boldly on the thirteenth of the month at 7.13 o’clock. But when any pair o: these vaunting independents are strolling down the avenue to their rendezvous and some impetuous Jonah dashes between them, dont they cross their fingers and shudder They may deny it among their fellows around the fatal—that is to say. the festal—board. But watch them quietly reach under the cloth and touch wood.