Every child used to be aware of the day on which they were born at one time and the implications it was likely to have on their life. Monday’s child was fair of face and Molly from number 31 had been born on a Monday. It was one of the reasons she was confident of becoming a Hollywood film star because she knew that she would grow up to have the looks for it. She said she would have been tempted to go into hairdressing if it hadn’t been for the auspicious day of her birth.
Joan Bennett, was not so fortunate being welcomed into the world on a Tuesday by her grandmother who announced at once her delight because Tuesday’s child was full of grace. None of us understood all that well what Grace entailed but it was definitely important to her grandmother who had used it as a given name for Joan’s mother back in 1909 and she’d been born on a Wednesday. Years later Joan’s recently married teenage sister whose husband was Irish and found Joan difficult to like was heard once to say she was graceless.
We were glad not to have to grow up as Mrs Ribbins’ latest baby, Sonia-Kim a Wednesday’s Child and already full of woe judging by the amount of noise she could make which her mother said was just the Colic and something she would grow out of. Aunt Mag thanked the Lord that none of her four ever had the Colic.
My brother was considered a fortunate newborn because Thursday’s child had far to go and Old Nan said he would do well in life just like her Edgar did when he managed to give up the drink. It was odd that she should have made this comment at all as she never managed to give up the drink herself. After a more than shaky start involving problems with the local law enforcement authority Bernard did indeed go far and accomplished much more in his life than any of us would ever have thought possible.
Friday’s child was loving and giving and that description wholly suited the only Friday’s child I knew, my cousin Little Violet who was unfortunate enough to have to live with our Grandmother but bore the difficulty admirably well even at Christmas when the crayons and colouring in book that had been promised her were not at the bottom of her bed on the morning of the 25th. She no longer believed in Father Christmas anyway she said and fully understood that the problem was because Old Nan had been too preoccupied with gin from The Jolly Farmers the day before to even think about heading down to Woolworths. Anyhow Little Violet told us that she wasn’t that fussed about colouring in books and crayons because they were not always all they were cracked up to be and never worth the money. Next year, she decided, she was going to buy her own Christmas present. In the meantime she continued to be kind to everyone else and looked fearful and guilty when Uncle George seemed outraged when it became clear she was the only child in the family without a gift that year. He told the awkward collective of Constant sisters that he thought their mother was a disgrace. To make up for being overlooked he gave Little Violet two half crown pieces and Uncle Harold not to be surpassed in generosity did likewise. She was of course quite delighted with the sudden improvement in her fortunes and later said it had been the best Christmas ever.
The oldest of my nearly grown-up male cousins, Young Harold who I disliked and distrusted was fond of telling us that he would always have to work bloody hard because of being born on a Saturday and we all knew that Saturday’s child works hard for a living. He had just got his first job down at Vickers and had recently bought a smart pair of tight black jeans and boots with heels and managed to attract his very first girlfriend so he felt superior and wanted to be treated as if he was twenty rather than sixteen.
By the time I was two years old I knew perfectly well that I was a very special child indeed having been born on a Sunday. We were all completely aware that The child that is born on the Sabbath day is happy and wise and bonny and gay. Even my grandmother was grudgingly appreciative of the fact that there was a lot to be said for being as fortunate as I was concerning the day of my birth though she insisted it had more to do with basic good luck than anything else. This was rather spoiled later, when at the impressionable age of fourteen, I was told that because my time of birth was midday it meant I was of a very shallow disposition as all the planets were above the horizon. I was for ever destined to have only superficial ideas and a slight understanding of life and all my relationships with people would be at a surface level. I had no idea whatsoever what this would mean for my future but I immediately began to feel rather more shallow than was healthy. I knew my mother was still proud of my Sunday status even though she used to look at me sometimes and shake her head saying nobody would ever think I was a Sunday’s child. She didn’t really mean it and I felt it would not be fair to explain to her how shallow I was.
I sometimes wonder if today's child is aware of the possible significance of being born on a certain day of the week.
