My mother taught me always to blow a kiss to a magpie. She would recite the famous rhyme up to seven. One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told. ‘It’s terribly sexist, really,’ she often added, ‘Boys and even numbers all better than the odds – sorrow and girls, silver not as good as gold, and seven for silence.’
magpie's kiss
magpie's kiss
magpie's kiss
My mother taught me always to blow a kiss to a magpie. She would recite the famous rhyme up to seven. One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told. ‘It’s terribly sexist, really,’ she often added, ‘Boys and even numbers all better than the odds – sorrow and girls, silver not as good as gold, and seven for silence.’