I fear magpies—specifically, a single magpie. However, this isn’t because there is one particular magpie in the world which I have a special, fearful connection with. The important part is the number of magpies. One magpie—and only one—is the problem.
My reasoning for this can hardly be considered reasoning at all. It’s a nursery rhyme that causes my stress.
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 just a nursery rhyme—nothing to worry about. At least, that’s what I try to tell myself. But those words gained power over me from the moment I first read them I became superstitious. I consider myself a generally rational person, yet the moment I see only one magpie, you’ll find me panic-stricken, desperately searching for a second one.
Beliefs About Magpies
Long before the rhyme began shaping cultural memory, particularly in the United Kingdom, the magpie was seen as a sign of bad luck or even the devil. One origin of this belief is the accusation by early Christians that the magpie refused to wear all black in mourning after the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. However, the bird was not universally regarded as a symbol of bad luck. On the contrary, in places like China and Korea, it represents joy and good fortune.
This positive association has not taken hold in the UK—at least not when there is only one magpie. The rhyme continues to significantly influence the magpie’s image.
There are multiple versions of that rhyme which originated in the United Kingdom. Some are shorter, others longer. The rhyme likely dates back to the eighteenth century, some versions stretch up to thirteen verses. One of the longer versions ends ominously: “Thirteen beware, it’s the devil himself.” The exact origin of the rhyme is unclear, adding to the mystery surrounding both the rhyme and the birds themselves.
However, the idea that magpies are symbols of superstition isn’t confined to this rhyme. According to an old English tradition, one must greet a magpie—loudly!—to ward off bad luck. Ever since learning this, I’ve tried my best not to fall into the next superstitious trap. But even now, I find myself wandering through streets, staring at trees and rooftops, determined to spot a second magpie. It must look strange to anyone who happens to see me.
The Trigger for My Superstition
You might wonder how I became entangled in this superstition. I’m from Germany, where the rhyme is relatively unknown. Yet my childhood and teenage years were filled not only reading Harry Potter but also with another lesser-known book series: ‘Night School’ by C. J. Daugherty—a five-book series published between 2011 and 2015— which introduced me to this eerie little rhyme.
In “Night School,” Allie joins the elite and mystical boarding school Cimmeria Academy. She soon learns that some students in the secret group,called Night School, seem to be trained to become powerful world leaders. But after a student is killed on the night of the summer ball, she begins to realise just how dangerous the place truly is.
In the second book, another protagonist dies under dramatic circumstances. Shortly before that happens, Allie sees one magpie. I have read the series almost twenty times (I’m not kidding—it feels like meeting old friends whenever I return to the world of Cimmeria Academy). Apparently, I’ve internalised the belief that one magpie brings bad luck so deeply that I now feel trapped by it.
(Ir)rational: Why Do People Follow Superstitions?
But why do people follow superstitions in the first place? And, moreover, why do they act on superstitions, even when they rationally reject them—as I do?
A traditional explanation for superstitions is the dual-system account. In this model, the first system enacts a so-called “magical intuition.” In the next step, people can follow one of two paths: in one path, the second system corrects the intuition, and people do not act on their superstitions. In the other path, it is argued that people follow their magical intuitions if the second system fails to be activated at all.
However, Jane L. Risen, from the University of Chicago, argues that this explanation is too simplistic. She points out that people who act on their superstitions might still be aware that their actions are irrational. Risen attributes this paradox to a phenomenon called acquiescence. With this concept, she adds another layer to the dual-system account. Thanks to her explanation, I don’t have to frame myself as entirely “lacking the second system” when it comes to magpies, which doesn’t sound too charming.
Working Against My Superstition
I lived with this superstition for almost ten years after I first read Night School when I was twelve. Part of my daily walks became fearing what might happen after seeing only one magpie or to look forward to the day after spotting two magpies.
In the summer of 2022, however, I decided I had to do something about it. It wasn’t as if I had stopped leaving the house to avoid seeing a single magpie, but I couldn’t deny the constant discomfort it gave me whenever I did.
So, I got a tattoo: two magpies on my right arm. When I see one magpie, I automatically look at the second one on my forearm. I’ve permanently “tattooed joy,” and at the same time, I’ve found a way to “work” against my own superstition, ensuring I never entirely fear seeing one magpie again.
When people ask me what my favourite animal is I say—besides meerkats—two magpies. How could one magpie be my favourite when it’s primarily a symbol of sorrow for me?
I Told You My Secret
After reading this, you might think I’m strange, ridiculous, or overdramatic. And maybe I am. Perhaps part of me just wants to believe in the power of two (!) magpies, to believe that my day will be joyful if I see two magpies in the morning. Even if it’s only a self-fulfilling prophecy, my days do feel more joyful after seeing two magpies. It’s likely just a self-fulfilling prophecy—or perhaps confirmation bias, where I conveniently ignore anything bad that happens on the same day.
But after all, I have my magpies with me all the time. I’ve imprinted joy on my skin. I don’t like one magpie, but I adore two. Wandering through Christ Church Meadows, I’ve often seen more than one magpie—thankfully—but also more than two. My superstition doesn’t extend to other numbers; I don’t believe I’ll find gold if I see six. But the “secret never to be told”? That one I’d love to uncover.
Now you know my secret. Can you resist the urge to search for a second magpie after all?