Although much of what the old lady told me was general throughout the riding, the following was new to me.
For whooping cough I was assured that nothing was better than to walk along a road until you found nine frogs; these had to be carried home and made into soup. The patient on no account must see the frogs, or be told of what the soup was composed—a most wise precaution—but on his or her finishing the whole nine, soup and all, they would be found to be quite recovered. It’s marvellous!
Those who suffered from a weak bladder had a remedy at hand: they simply had to stand astride at the head of an open grave, after the coffin had been lowered, but before being filled in, and then walk backwards to the foot of the same. It seems simple enough, but when you come to look at it, nine people out of ten, in endeavouring to perform the feat, would assuredly have surprised the onlookers by turning a somersault and landing flat on their backs upon the coffin below.
Again, count your warts, then unknown to any one take a small pebble from as many different graves, put the lot in a small bag, throw it over your left shoulder, and the warts will all disappear in a few days. My old friend would not commence or conclude any business on a Friday, and to break a clock-face was equally as unlucky as breaking a looking-glass. Neither did she ever allow a candle to die out; to do such a thing was, to her way of thinking, equal to passing sentence of death on some one of the household. The cutting of the pepper-cake by the doctor, on the birth of each grandchild, is still rigidly adhered to by the old lady. Being farmers, one ceremony they still observed, which was quite new to me. On the birth of a calf it was always carried rear first to the stall in which it was to lie, a little salt and water was given it to drink, and no one ever allowed to stride over it, as that would mean death or ill-luck to it; but generally ’an ower-stridden cauf deed,’ said she[29].
It is a bad sign, when starting on a journey, should the first person you meet be a woman. In such fear was this held until quite recently, that the fishermen near Staithes would not have gone to sea that day; neither was it a good omen for a four-footed animal to cross their path when going to their boat, or at any time.
If whilst a fisherman was baiting his nets any one mentioned anything in connexion with a pig, or Dakky, as it was called, the worst of luck would be looked for, and in many cases the fisherman would have ceased to bait his lines for a time.
Again, no fisherwife would dream of winding wool by candle-light—to do such a wicked thing would be tantamount to winding the husband overboard.
Some years ago a young fisherman paid a visit to some relations inland; during his stay he fell in love with a maiden whom in time he took home as his bride. She, new to their ways and beliefs, simply laughed at their superstitions. It happened one night, when her husband was away on a voyage, that a fisherwife looked in for a bit of friendly gossip, and discovered the young wife by candle-light about to wind some wool. She implored her not to do so, telling her of the dreadful and sure result of such wicked folly; others, too, who had also dropped in, joined in declaring what a fearful and certain risk she ran, but it was all of no avail. With a laugh at such nonsense the winder laid the wool over a chair-back, daring them to wait and watch her wind it; but not a woman would stay in the house—they dare not. They fled, and the wool was wound. Three times did the ball slip from her hand. When the good wives heard of it, they shook their heads—it was a bad omen, so said they. When the husband returned hearty and well from his voyage, the young wife laughed at them more than ever, but they shook their heads. The ball had slipped from her hand thrice; he might go and return again, it was the third journey they feared. When he was told what his wife had done, his face blanched—if she had no fear, he had. He had been taught the belief all his life, she only, in a way, for five minutes. One more voyage would he make, and then the sea should know him no more; he would not, dare not chance a third voyage. Again he returned safely to his wife, but, as he had said, that was his last voyage. The two set up a little shop, and for three or four years all went well. Then there came a great storm. Volunteers were needed for the lifeboat—few able-bodied men were in the village at the time. For the moment everything was forgotten; Jack jumped in, and off they went, the women helping to launch the brave crew. The wrecked ones were saved, but in getting the last half-drowned wretch into the boat, Jack overbalanced and fell into the foaming sea; nothing could save him, and his body was found lying peacefully on the beach next morning. And then they remembered. Aye, and so should we, had we been taught the same belief when round our mother’s knee. The neighbours were kind—they were more than that, they gave to the sorrowing one all their sympathy—but, in spite of their kindness, the widow felt that they held her guilty of her husband’s death. So the little shop was closed, and she went forth from amongst them, and the village knew her no more.
There is a superstition in Cleveland that you must not eat a ’cock’s egg,’ i.e. a small egg, the last one a hen lays before sitting. When such are found, the contents are blown from the shell and burnt—the merest speck of the contents even adhering to the clothes has a baneful influence. The devil is said to superintend the laying of this last egg.
It is considered advisable that a new broom should sweep something into the house before it is used in the contrary direction, otherwise you sweep good luck away from your threshold.