Ravens: the birds of doom and deluge
During the past few weeks I have encountered a surprisingly high number of ravens in my travels. For the most part, they have been cruising
at a considerable height between the sea cliffs, where they may later
establish their nests and rear their young, and the high moors where
they seem to go prospecting, probably on the lookout for carrion on
which they rely for sustenance.
Usually, ravens fly in pairs, talking to one another in that familiar “cronk,
cronk” which, to me at least, is one of their great attractions.
At the same time they may be seen executing the characteristic half-rolls
in which they turn abruptly on their backs and then level out again.
Ravens make a wide variety of sounds, and indeed are known to learn new
expressions from some of their fellow-creatures. This makes their communications
more mysterious than they might otherwise be and adds to the many attributes
which humans have awarded them. Ravens have throughout history been regarded
as friendly or menacing, according to the situation and the folklore
background of the people who hear them conversing.
In the northern hemisphere there has long been a belief that ravens are
responsible for communications between the old divinities and mankind.
In Scandinavian mythology, Odin, the god of wisdom, poetry, war and agriculture,
had two ravens, called Hugin and Munin, who flew abroad every day to
gather news from the wide world, returned to perch on Odin’s shoulders
and whispered all the information they had gathered.
These creatures were also busy foretelling storms, particularly thunderstorms.
This habit, together with the fact that they were observed devouring
carrion and pecking out the eyes of sheep and other domesticated animals,
made it inevitable that they should earn a sinister reputation, making
their croaking ominous. On the other hand, it was remembered in Christian
times that ravens had fed Elijah in the wilderness.
And the celebrated tame ravens of the Tower of London, now eight in number,
are protected by a legend that if their number drops below six the tower
and the monarchy would fall. (The legend is taken so seriously that plans
are already being made to protect the birds from possible exposure to
avian flu.)
In the Scottish highlands, where the raven was called the corbie, it
was considered lucky to see one at a time, unfortunate to see two, and
catastrophic to see three. In Somerset to hear a triple cronk was an
evil omen, calling for the crossing of the fingers to ward off the spell.
Ravens have little part in traditional folk medicine, although their
eggs were supposed to strengthen the ailing stomach and their ashes were
consumed to guard against epilepsy and gout. Raven droppings, hung round
the neck of a child, were supposed to ease the discomfort of teething.
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