IT WAS my St Austell grandmother who introduced me to superstition. She believed the vast majority of Cornish people are superstitious, stemming from our Celtic background.

She came into focus recently when reading something by an eminent American anthropologist. Margaret Mead reckoned "superstition has been part of our every culture".

Grandmother Nora explained many West Country housewives of her generation when baking made a cross on the dough in setting it to rise – the old folk were sure this protected it from any dark influences.

And when we visited a Guardian Country churchyard she warned about the perils of walking on graves.

Joan Rendell, an old friend and an authority on superstition, in an interview at her beloved Werrington expressed the view that superstition should be presented in a more positive light. We agreed there is a negative air: don't do this, don't do that.

Enlightening

Joan, who had the aura of Miss Marple, was essentially a dog-lover but whenever she saw a black cat crossing her path, she put a wish on it.

An old fisherman at Looe had something enlightening to say on the same animal: "If a black cat came on board your boat, especially if the cat came of its own accord, then that was considered a good omen."

And apparently, in the old days, many fishermen's wives kept a black cat as a pet in the hope this ensured their husbands returned home safely from sea.

As for dogs, Joan Rendell has some interesting theories: "If a strange dog comes to your house, that indicates a new friendship will be forged.

And if you meet a spotted dog like a Dalmatian on your way to a business appointment then things will go well for you."

Despite my superstitious ancestry, some of the old theories have a bogus ring.

The idea that meeting a clergyman or woman brings bad luck is surely nonsense.

When you meet someone like Canon Sherry Bryan or John Henry Barfoot, the genial Vicar of Tintagel, your day is immediately brightened. Such characters boost morale.

Their parishioners are fortunate to have such influential leadership. Equally I have found things often work favourably on Friday the 13th. In fact, there was an organisation in London known as the "13 Club" whose members defied superstition by walking under ladders and raising umbrellas indoors – and when they dined they sat 13 to a table.

Returning to the positive, a farmer of the old school once offered this piece of advice: "If you are buying a cock for your poultry run, then choose a white cock rather than a black one. A white cock will bring good luck and protect that farm or homestead."

Wild birds have long featured in the realm of fate and fortune. Sonia and I feed an increasing number in our cottage garden on the shoulder of this green-brown valley.

The best loved of them all has to be the robin and dire are the omens for anyone who injures or kills a robin. The robin too has long been regarded as "sacred" to the household gods, and William Blake spoke the truth when he wrote in his poem Auguries Of Innocence:

"A Robin Redbreast in a Cage

Puts all Heaven in a Rage."

While Dick Twinney, master painter of birds and wildlife from St Columb Major, has this to say: "When I am asked for Christmas card illustrations, robins are nearly always the first choice."

The owl though has virtually become Dick's artistic signature, that nocturnal bird of prey, those bright eyes and that eerie supernatural hoot.

The owl has almost certainly acquired his ill-repute on the strength of his solitary nocturnal lifestyle.

But he is saluted for a special quality: that ancient expression "a wise old owl".

An upcountry bookmaker, who retired to Guardian Country, revealed that most gamblers are notoriously superstitious.

He said they'd often carry "lucky objects", items aimed at attracting good winnings on the horses.

Their repertoire included locks of hair, four-leafed clover, horseshoes and coins.

Historically Edwardian gamblers thought it helped their chances if an attractive girl was with them – well-off gamblers paying chorus girls to sit with them at the tables.

Some students of social history say this sometimes led to a chorus girl marrying into the gentry.

Moving out on to the landscape a whole range of superstition surrounds our trees. The Celts and the Druids believed the oak had magical qualities and bad luck would be the result for anyone who chopped it down.

In pagan times a marriage was often celebrated under an oak and for the bride and groom to embrace and dance under the tree was considered lucky. And where does the humble carrot fit into our catalogue of superstition?

The idea that eating carrots is good for our eyesight has been in vogue for generations and, at a time when we have recently been remembering the heroic efforts of the RAF in the second war, it's interesting to reflect the Ministry of Information then publicised the fact that British pilots were on a carrot diet thereby improving their night flying.

Eye problems

But in reality the success rate of the RAF at night was largely reinforced by the invention of radar: the carrot propaganda a cover.

Nevertheless carrots do contain medicinal salts which combat eye problems. So it's accurate to say superstition played a role in our national war effort.

Whistling is another feature. The Cornish miners, for example, never whistled underground fearing it would attract malignant spirits and actors forbid whistling in the theatre apprehensive of things going wrong – and a premature end to the run of their play.

An interesting variation on this theme relates to the days of sailing ships. Though sailors are chary about whistling on board, when a sailing ship was in a flat calm whistling was encouraged as a means of summoning favourable wind.

And still with the sea, bathing in the nude is reputed to bring good luck. Brigitte Bardot, actress and now animal welfare campaigner, regularly did that and, in our Bossiney years, a local man who swam naked all the year, was convinced it helped his mobility.

Curiously in 2010 superstition is alive and well. We live in an age dominated by science and scientists yet a loyalty to the ways of antiquity remain.

There are, of course, doubting Thomases. I know one resident of North Cornwall who heard inexplicable knocking on doors and had seen those same doors open and shut without logical explanation. Nevertheless she dismissed paranormal possibility.

So why is superstition flourishing in our sophisticated era?

Back in the 1980 perceptive journalist Julie Welch reflected: "There is a feeling the world is a pretty terrible place at the moment – that superstition is the panacea against its hideousness."

Many of us believe that remains the case.