Palmistry

I was up at Blackpool's North Pier this afternoon. Did you know we have three piers here in the jewel of the north? I was indulging a guilty pleasure (more on that later) and on the way there I passed one of those seaside fortune-teller's booths - you know, cross the palm of Madame Sosostris* with silver and she will reveal your fate to you. It was a sign that today's blog would be about palmistry.

It will be principally about the history of palmistry, not its secrets or techniques. If there are any chiromancers reading this, you should probably stop now, because frankly, I don't believe in you.

Palmistry is the pseudoscientific practice of fortune-telling through the study of the palm of the hand. It is a practice that is found all over the world, with numerous cultural variations and with many, often conflicting, interpretations of the various lines and palmar features.

palmistry (aka chiromancy)

It is believed to have been practiced as far back as the Sumerian civilisation and to have spread through Persia to India (where it intersected with acupuncture) and thence to China. 

Palmistry also progressed independently westwards, to  Greece where Anaxagoras practiced it. Aristotle (384–322 BC) reportedly discovered a treatise on the subject on an altar of Hermes, which treatise he then presented to Alexander the Great, who took a keen interest in examining the character of his officers by analysing the lines on their hands. Imagine that.

In Renaissance Europe, palmistry (also known as chiromancy) was classified as one of the seven forbidden arts, along with necromancy, geomancy, aeromancy, pyromancy, hydromancy, and spatulamancy (look them up). During the 16th century the art of palmistry was actively suppressed by the Catholic Church. Both Pope Paul IV and Pope Sixtus V issued edicts against various forms of divination, including palmistry.

However, humankind being prone to superstition by nature, an interest in palmistry soon resurfaced in the west, starting with Captain Casimir Stanislas D'Arpentigny's publication 'La Chirognomie' in 1839 and the founding of the Chirological Society of Great Britain in London by Katharine St. Hill in 1889 with the stated aim of "advancing and systematising the art of palmistry to prevent charlatans from abusing the art."

Edward Heron-Allen, an English polymath, published various works including the 1883 book, 'Palmistry: A Manual of Cheirosophy', which is still in print. There were also attempts at formulating some sort of scientific basis for the art, most notably in the 1900 publication 'The Laws of Scientific Hand Reading' by William Gurney Benham.

A pivotal figure in this modern palmistry movement was the Irishman William John Warner, known by his sobriquet, Cheiro. After studying under gurus in India, he set up a palmistry practice in London and enjoyed a wide following of famous clients from around the world, including the likes of Sarah Bernhardt, Mata Hari, Oscar Wilde, Grover Cleveland, Thomas Edison, the Prince of Wales, General Kitchener, William Ewart Gladstone, and Joseph Chamberlain. So popular was Cheiro as a society palmist that even those who were not believers in the occult had their hands read by him. A sceptical Mark Twain wrote in Cheiro's visitor's book that he had "exposed my character to me with humiliating accuracy"

Ho hum. Those of us who continue not to believe in palmistry, and who resolutely don't wish to know their futures anyway, would say that palmists/chiromancers are canny and quite skilled at a level of character assessment through deduction and hypothesis, (easier if the client is famous), regardless of their subject's dermatoglyphics. And there I rest my case..

As for my guilty pleasure, that's Anita Harris (I kid you not). She was my first heartthrob when I was barely into my teens. She had a regular singing spot on ITV's satirical Saturday night review show On The Braden Beat (a rival to the BBC's That Was The Week That Was), got signed up by Pye Records and made a few excellent jazz-tinged singles backed up by Top Of The Pops appearances in 1964 and 1965. She switched to CBS for her debut LP 'Somebody's In My Orchard'.  It was one of two albums I bought in 1966, the other being 'Revolver'. Both are still firm favourites in the house on the strand.

Anita Harris circa 1965

Her breakthrough to real stardom came with 'Just Loving You' in 1967. In terms of musical chops, I thought she was right up there with Dusty Springfield and Jackie DeShannon, though Dusty was gay and Jackie was American, so Anita was the one for me. By then, she had a fan club and I became a member (the only time I've ever done such a thing) though of course I never told my school friends. 

Over the next couple of years, she veered away from classy jazz-tinged pop into the realms of light entertainment, pantomime and television panel shows and I lost interest. But I've always treasured those early Pye and CBS recordings and so when I read that Anita Harris was coming to Blackpool for a one-off show as part of a mini-tour, I thought I really should go and see her - for old time's sake, you understand. She was appearing at the theatre on the end of the North Pier, somewhere I'd never been inside in all my years of living here.

I have to say it was a most enjoyable show. Anita, now 83, defies the years. She looks beautiful and her voice is still a remarkable instrument. She talked at length about her career in music, in films (two 'Carry On'  classics) and on stage (as Peter Pan, and as Grizabella in 'Cats' in particular). She sang some of her greatest hits. She exudes grace and vivaciousness, a truly lovely and talented lady, happy to acknowledge how fortunate she has been in her marriage of fifty years, with the friends she has made, the breaks she has got, and the success she has enjoyed doing what she loves in a career spanning over sixty years - all in the palm of her hand, a long life line, a deep heart line, a strong head line, a kind fate line.

To finish, I spotted a coal tit in my back garden just a while ago, and I thought why not weave him in to today's blog as well? This, then, is the latest from the imaginarium. I had no idea where it might take me.

a coal tit

Palm Mystery

Ten grams of tiny coal tit on my fingertips

and he's not impressed by the nyjer seeds,

seems more interested in the palm itself

so I'm honestly not surprised when he asks

"How long's your lifeline, then?"

"In centimetres or years?" I quip, 

assuming he's both metric and numerate,

though he could still be imperial of course,

this tiny black-capped inquisitor.

"If I had hands not claws, mine would be

two times round the sun, so what's yours?"

He cocks an oily eye, waits for my reply.

"Five centimetres," I confide, "but as for years,

I don't know, I've never wanted to find out. 

Longer than two orbits, that's for sure. 

Seventy at least, maybe more."

If he could sniff...he pretends indifference 

to me now, seeds and all, puffs out his chest, 

prepares to fly away, remarks

"Nyjer's for goldfinches mate" and does a flit.

I imagine this doesn't happen every day.

*Madame Sosostris is of course the fortune-teller from T.S. Eliot's 'The Waste Land'. 

Thanks for reading my palm blog, S ;-)