Things my mother told me

 

Things my mother told me

My mother as a schoolgirl. She was born in 1904.

My mother was not a superstitious woman, nor was she well-educated, in the modern sense; that is to say, she did not have the opportunity to go on to further education.  She was intelligent, creative and self-effacing.  Schooled in classes of 40, she nonetheless learnt to appreciate fiction and poetry and to write clearly and succinctly, more so than many graduates today.

Whenever I saw a spider and drew back in horror and fear, she would say, ‘If you wish to live and thrive, let a spider run alive.’ I don’t remember her explaining why, but somehow grew up with the understanding that spiders were a necessity of life, there to rid the house of flies and thereby bring luck and good health. I was never worried about the tiny money spiders, which were rumoured to engender wealth as well as luck.

This is cited as being in use in Kent since 1867. I was born and brought up in Kent, but my parents were Hampshire Hogs. 

One legend from the Christian tradition claims that the Holy Family was hiding from Herod’s soldiers in a cave. A spider spun a web across the entrance and when the soldiers saw it they reasoned that no-one could have entered the cave recently and so departed without further ado. Thus, Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus were saved from discovery and persecution.

My mother told me that a purse given as a gift should never be empty. Just a small coin would suffice to ensure the recipient would never be without funds. An empty purse signified future financial ruin, poor health or bad luck.

She also told me the superstition about breaking mirrors. This was reinforced by my father, so I think their concern was more about the dangers of broken glass.

My parents, circa 1930

Fragments of volcanic glass (obsidian) found in Turkey and dated to 6000 BC are thought to be some of the first mirrors made by man. Man thought that seeing his reflection was seeing his soul looking back at him, so damaging the mirror was tantamount to damaging his soul.  

The ancient Romans also thought the mirror reflected the soul so breaking the mirror was bad luck. They believed the soul regenerated every seven years, so the damaged soul of the smashed mirror would not be renewed for seven years. 

The association of souls and mirrors still holds today in some religious traditions. In observant Jewish households all the mirrors in the house are covered when a death occurs, so that the mourners may concentrate on their personal loss.                              

Not for arachnophobes!

Image courtesy National Geographic

I've just come across this and thought it absolutely fascinating.

One of the astonishing side effects of the 2010 flooding in Pakistan was that in some areas millions of spiders climbed into the trees to escape the rising flood waters. Because the waters took so long to recede the trees became cocooned in spider webs, a phenomenon that had not been seen before in this area.

The scene is quite surreal and strangely beautiful. 

Book Blurb Friday #17 Arachnology

This meme is hosted by Lisa Ricard Claro at ‘Writing in the Buff’ J

 Each week she posts a photo that could be the cover of a book. The aim is to:

‘Write a book jacket blurb (150 words or less) so enticing that potential readers would feel compelled to buy the book.’ 

Here is this week’s book cover. My blurb follows.

Image copyright Sandra Davies

Arachnology

What is happening to the spiders of the world? You may not like them, you may have severe arachnophobia, but the world cannot function without them. World renowned arachnologist Dr Steven Pyder has observed that arachnids are behaving in unusual ways, the most obvious to the public at large being the inability to spin a perfect web.

Have the spiders adapted to changes in the insect population or are the insects reacting to the spiders’ behaviour? Steve Pyder’s investigations take him deep into tropical forests, to deserts in Australia, to country gardens in the Home Counties and to the Great Plains of Nebraska.

What he discovers is intriguing, threatening and ultimately life-altering. The world is changing and there’s nothing mankind can do.

Read this book and shiver!

(128 words including the title)

Talking to myself again

Teaching has not been the only occasion of my soliloquies. I have spent large chunks of time with small and larger children, my own and my own's own. A constant barrage of 'Why?' from earliest toddledom is followed by years of 'How do you spell . . . ?' and 'What does ?? mean?' and Where's . . . ?' interspersed with my homilies on subjects ranging from the inadvisability of wearing four-inch heels and bare legs in the middle of a cold snap to the wisdom or otherwise of sailing in a Force 9 gale.

There have always been animals around as well, mingling with children of various ages and sizes so of course they must be included in conversations and greeted on returning from outings. I reassure the birds as I set out their food and ask the fish and frogs if all is well in their watery world. The plants and trees are given encouragement and I marvel at the bees and congratulate them on their pollen-collecting skills. I even talk to spiders to ask them to please keep their distance.

There is little wonder then that I talk all the time.

Our children are grown and flown and visit frequently for short periods when everyone talks at once and no-one listens. The dogs and cats listen intently until they have been fed, watered or exercised, then they sleep. I know Barry hears me but often doesn't listen (or register) for he inhabits another planet entirely so usually I am alone, though never lonely.

The advent of the mobile phone has been a blessing for me for now it is completely normal to look as if one is talking to oneself but even thus, it is a give-away when I say enthusiastically, 'Oh, look! Look at those flowers . . . or sheep . . . or shoes' and there is no-one anywhere near me. I can never understand people who say, 'I didn't know I'd lost my voice because I didn't see anyone to talk to.' I would know instantly and then ask myself why I was whispering.

Susannah and Sid the Spider

I dislike spiders – they make me shudder and I avoid them if I can. I never kill them! After all, as my mother used to quote to me when I was small, 'If you want to live and thrive, let the spider run alive'. Much later I discovered that she, too, hated spiders and my father, who usually had the job of removing them, didn't much care for them either. In his case, it was probably a well-founded dislike for he had travelled all over the world in the Royal Navy and encountered many an unpleasant beastie. From him I learnt that I should knock my shoes or boots out before putting them on in the Tropics.


Attempting to ensure that my arachnophobia did not transfer to my children, I made a special effort with them, particularly with the then youngest. I bought a book about Spiders and read it with them in an eager, 'Aren't they wonderful?' tone. I managed to keep the distaste out of my voice when I saw an arachnid, pointing it out with an 'Ooh, look!' and following up with homilies about the good that spiders do. It was all completely wasted on Susannah's siblings, by then five and seven years old. They had already seen through me. The thin veneer of enthusiasm by which Susannah was taken in was insufficient to convince them that spiders were 'a good thing'.

Susannah, though, just three years old, with her ash blonde hair and constant smile trusted me, believed me and adopted a spider. She called him Sid and though she didn't bring him indoors, she spent many a long hour chatting to him and watching him. I'm not sure if it was even the same spider she saw each time and he was probably female, but let's not split hairs.

I relaxed. I felt I had succeeded in encouraging positive attitudes to arachnids in my youngest child. My pleasurable glow of achievement was not destined to last. Brother and sister combined forces to tease Susannah. Egged on by each other they told their little sister nasty things about spiders – they bite, you'll die, they walk all over you in bed when you're asleep, they get into your mouth and ears and nose. They pushed pictures of big ugly spiders under her bedroom door and rattled on the bathroom door. Finally Susannah was more arachnophobic than me and I could have throttled her siblings, the little blighters.

Well, that was all a long time ago. The strange thing is that Susannah has always retained an interest in spiders. She has travelled extensively to places where there are some really venomous spiders and every so often she will tell me an interesting fact. Take tarantulas, for instance. (No, please, take them . . . as far away from me as possible.) Many children are encouraged to handle exotic creatures in the course of their education but they are always told to take particular care with tarantulas. I thought it was because the wretched things might sink their fangs into tender flesh if mishandled but it appears that, if dropped, they shatter like thin-shelled eggs. Somehow that makes me shudder more than a whole one!

Cats and spiders

Occasionally our cats can be seen concentrating intently on a scuttling spider. They sniff and pat and jump back having been bitten on the nose then return to the hunt. As we don't have extremely venomous arachnids in Great Britain, the cats are usually victorious. Generally, they don't eat spiders, just chew them up and spit them out.

Several times a day I tidy up the cat litter box. It keeps it clean, for cats are fastidious creatures and, more importantly, it stops the dogs sampling what they seem to think are tasty snacks. (I've heard them referred to as 'kitty croquettes') Even though our cats are fed a mainly raw diet, with only occasional commercial 'treats' so that there is very little waste, I still prefer to keep temptation at bay by removing potential tit-bits.

Every time I've removed clumps during the last two or three days a medium-sized spider has hurried under the retaining rim of the litter tray. The cats don't appear to have seen it or maybe they've had more pressing demands on their attention. I don't like spiders, although I know they're a force for good – they make me shudder. I wonder if I'd find them less repellent if they were pastel-coloured and moved gracefully. Notwithstanding, I must respect any creature that will spend its time in a cat litter tray, facing danger every time a feline paw comes near. I'm sure it remains there through choice – perhaps it is making its own contribution to the cleanliness of the litter, eating microbes, since there are no flies within shouting distance.