Luck Under the Bridge

I was brought up to be superstitious. I was also taught not to believe everything I was taught, which leaves me in the fortunate position of being able to pick and choose my charms. Such as blowing an eyelash and making a wish, or seeing the joy in two magpies. However, leaving a dropped knife for someone else to retrieve (or there will be bad luck) is generally impractical and/or dangerous (sorry, Mum).

Not long ago I found a lucky penny. I washed it three times in the dishwasher (to make it corona-clean), and I gave it to my son, a sceptic, who doesn’t believe in luck – good or bad. He teased me and threw it up in the air. It fell on the floor, and there it remained.

So, yesterday I was running and feeling a bit glum. It was a dull start to a damp day in a subdued new year. Smashed glass and deflated balloons lay on the pavement, cars splashed past, and people avoided me.

I decided to make my own luck. I have no idea where it comes from, but I’ve always believed that if you are underneath a railway bridge when a train passes overhead, you can make a dream come true – if you think about it hard enough.

My town is a commuter town with hills and many bridges, so this should be easy, I thought – even with a Tier 4 timetable. I deviated from my route and ran under my first bridge. Nothing. Sunday timetable plus COVID-19, I guessed.

I kept going, did a loop, and then ran under the same bridge. Still nothing.

I tried a different bridge, and this time I stood a chance: a train had come to a standstill. I closed in, thinking I’d better think of a dream. The train started to move, gently at first, and then it gained speed. So did I – but not enough. By the time I reached the bridge, the train had gone.

Luck deserved one last shot, so I approached my favourite bridge – the nearer I got, the slower I ran, until I realised there was no hope. No train. Zilch, niente, nada.

Who cares, said I, aloud. And I listened to the echo thrown back by the arch. I took a photo to record my futile search for good fortune, and got lost in the beauty of the brickwork. And then there it was – a train, rumbling right over my head and off and away.

Later, I was berating my (sceptic) son for the state of his room. I kept quiet about his desk, though, for there I spied my penny: lucky and shiny, and looking as good as new.