The other day I discovered a small sheltered bramble bush with a few stubborn blackberries that hadn’t withered away like the rest. Their season in the UK is typically August-September, so this discovery was a pleasant surprise. Or it would have been, were it not for an old wives’ tale that warned against eating out-of-season blackberries.
See, from an early age, I was told to avoid blackberries beyond the end of September because they had the devil in them. That’s right, don’t avoid them because they may be overripe, rotten, or infested with maggots, avoid them because the prince of darkness, Beelzebub, has now moved in.
Say what you will about old wives, but dramatic effect was certainly not something they lacked.
One imagines, hundreds of years ago, a child approaching a luscious shiny blackberry in the first week of October with the intent of savouring its delicious sweet juices before his or her mother intervenes. “No, you mustn’t eat that, dear.”
“Oh, why ever not, Mother?”
“Because – erm, oh yes – the devil is in them.”
“Urgh!” *Child drops blackberry and stamps on it.*
Let’s face it, aside from the trauma and lifelong fear of blackberries, the child avoided the fruit and likely shared this pearl of wisdom with his or her peers and subsequent generations, so it did the trick, right? Excessive? Perhaps. Effective? No doubt. Did I eat the out-of-season blackberries anyway? Yes, I did. Am I now possessed by Satan? The jury’s out.
