A Witch Goes West

As much as I adore my home county of Kent there is another land which reserves a special corner of my heart just as it holds a special corner of the Country and that is of course Cornwall on the opposite side down in the far south-west of Britain.

Cornwall and Kent really couldn’t be more opposite.  Not only is one far west and one far east the land in Cornwall is mostly untouched, sympathetically farmed where grazing or arable fields fit in with the landscape rather than making the land fit the farm as has been the case here in Kent for centuries.  The pace of life in the West Country is slower, no one rushes anywhere and in fact you can go almost a day out on the moors and see perhaps only one or two folks walking between villages to the nearest convenience store or post office which could be miles…a beautiful contrast.  I have an affinity for this place, for ‘A’ especially it is his ancestral homeland where both sides of his family originally hail from and he has many fond childhood memories of the West Country.

We try to get down to Cornwall every year, at least for a long weekend although now ‘A’s’ family is moving back toward their ancestral homeland I’m sure this will become much more often, this pleases me immensely of course!

We left on Friday morning.  It was an unpleasant journey, lots of rubber neckers near Stonehenge hoping to catch a glimpse of the infamous structure caused queues and mile long tailbacks.  Personally Stonehenge has little appeal since you can’t even get remotely close to the stones anymore, as impressive as they are.    We finally arrived in Plymouth so ‘A’ could visit his grandparents, he said farewell and we laughed all the way to Bude, affectionately mimicking their broad yet sweet and comforting Devonshire accents.  After more catch up’s and cups of tea with other in-laws we made our way down the Devon /Cornwall border listening to songs from ‘Glee’.  Now our Holiday could begin, mobile phones switched off, no more distractions.

Stonehenge from the road

We arrived at Whitsand bay a little later than hoped; we missed what had become our traditional first day walk along the beach at sunset.  Tired from driving nearly all day it was time to light the Hearth and make a quick brew before curling in to bed.  Tomorrow…holiday officially begins tomorrow.

Our home from home

I woke up early the next morning, early enough to catch the dawn light as the sun rose above the South Cornish cliffs and cast its pastel light upon the sea below us.    In Kent I find I must work much harder to engage the spirits and the land, in Cornwall I need merely turn a corner and the spirits seem to be there shouting, brazen and unafraid, untarnished by intensive agriculture and the comings and goings of western civilisation.  The kettle whistled like a Banshee from inside our little hut, ’A’ was awake much earlier than usual and he made tea whilst I braved the outdoor shower…there really is nothing like the sensation of hot water and cold air to get you going in the morning, especially when followed by a short walk up the coast to a fabulous little Café serving an all day bargain full English breakfast!

Dawn Shores

After the clouds finally dissolved, the weather Gods smiled down upon us and for the first time in what felt like months I felt warm sun upon my skin, even the sun in Cornwall feels different!  We set off up towards Tintagel or more specifically St Nectan’s Glen.

This was a place which has been on my ‘to do’ list for years now but I’ve never had the time to find it.  This year was different and ye gods it was worth it!  Once we parked the car we made our way on foot through a narrow unassuming alley between a few houses.   A well dedicated to St Pirian (Patron Saint of Cornwall) was surprise number one.  I have a real fondness for Holy wells and this one pushed all the right buttons.  Someone had left a tiny bouquet of wild flowers at the mouth of the well and I collected some water, left Silver for St Pirian and we continued along the path only to find surprise number two.  Set behind a typically Cornish slate wall a tiny one room chapel dedicated to St Pirian stood almost derelict amongst overgrown hawthorn and Ivy.  The information dated this church originally to the 1400’s and inside was just…well…magical.  I sat for a while, gazing softly upon the medieval looking altar whilst ’A’ explored.  As we left, we noticed (or rather ‘A’ noticed as I seemed to have my face attached to the camera most of the time) little statues and figurines stuck in nooks and crannies….Dual faith I wonder?

St Pirian’s Well

St Pirian’s Altar

St Pirian?

We continued on our way winding down a steep valley street where all the houses are named after saints.  We stepped into woodland where we were greeted by a myriad of beautiful ferns lining the path of a small brook.  I thought that was beautiful in itself yet every step opened out into a more breath-taking scene than the last, no photograph can truly do the place justice, and neither should it for the magic of this place can and should only be experienced in the flesh.  It surely isn’t of this world.

Lush Ferns

Vibrant colours

Rushing waters

After about an hour walking against the flow of the brook (collecting one or two choice stones and stopping for one or two ciggy breaks on the way) we arrived at a small tea room, set seemingly up in the trees.  A veranda overlooks the water beneath, which gushes into the woodland.  This was a real piece of paradise, a haven where we recharged with coffee for ‘A’ and Earl Grey tea for me.  The owners of the tea room kindly leant us some welly boots explaining that they have had some major storms recently and the water level is now over the steeping stones (some drought eh!?!) .  She buzzed us through a high security gate and we walked down a steep flight of slate steps…high security gates and welly boots all seemed a little covert but it added to the excitement and mystery!

St Nectan’s Glen

We heard it long before we saw it.  As we turned the corner I literally felt my breath catch and stop.  Water roared from somewhere hidden off to my left but what lay before me was a place nothing short of stunning!  We waded into the water walking against the flow towards the source of the thunderous sound, round the corner and there it was…roaring, gushing torrents…

I still gasp even now!

We were speechless…..!

We went our separate ways then for a while.  ‘A’ knows me well enough to know when I need quiet time so he left me perched upon a rock whilst he went off and explored.   Surrounded by various devotional offerings and little man-made piles of flat stones, water trickled past my feet over pebbles of all shapes and sizes, the light of the sun danced through branches bursting with green as they swayed in the breeze high above.  The light reflected and twinkled on the water and caught my eye and I found myself drifting off into a twilyte sleep.   “Make offerings of silver and swim”….I knew what needed to be done and fortunately we had the entire glen to ourselves!  The clothes came off and armed with a few silver 10 pence pieces I waded back into the freezing water stark naked towards the rushing waterfall and tossed the humble offering toward the eroded circle of rock.  Missed!  “Try Again!” Second time lucky? Missed again the coin bounced off the edge of the hole.  Third time was indeed the charm and I proceeded to  plunge myself into the torrent.   ‘A’ didn’t flinch (he’s used to me!)

The blast of the cold water was like lightning through my head and down my spine but once I emerged I felt strangely warm and seemed to dry off quickly.  I returned to dry land and got dressed.  I was rewarded with a visit from a very tame little chap…who remarkably ate a few biscuit crumbs from my hand until tourists descended upon us.  He followed us all the way out of the glen.  I can only describe the place as best as words will allow but honestly, words are insufficient and photos are quite inadequate!  Can I live here please?!

a momentary companion

We went for lunch in a little fishing village back on the south coast called Polperro, a very quaint little place where tourism and traditional Cornish fishing families seem to cohabit quite amicably.  After something to eat we sat and watched the boats and I treated myself to a little bottle of Cornish Mead (just to compare with my homemade you understand, plus I liked the bottle it came in!!)  The little harbour was joyous and buzzing with activity and I thought of my Grandfather who worked in a place just like this back home once upon a time.  I do love the sea!

Polperro Harbour

We journeyed back to our little hut upon the cliffs, grabbing something for dinner en route.  We had a quick restorative cuppa then set off down the treacherous cliff path to the beach.  The sun was starting to set and the tide was retreating…perfect for beach combing.  I collected enough small round polished pebbles to make a rune set, some interesting drift wood, some washed up fishing rope and sea water…one man’s rubbish really is another man’s treasure and the sea dumps a surprising amount of ‘treasure’ as the tide rolls back!

Treasure

Later we cooked dinner and watched the sunset, opened a bottle of wine and watched the stars come out all from the fabulous outdoor bath (and yes the water is hot!!) Bliss! I managed to squeeze in a snifter of the Cornish Mead I had bought earlier at Polperro…it blew my head off and was so sweet and rich it tasted more like a honey liqueur…delicious and heady and I clearly have a ways to go with my home-made Mead to get it to this standard!!

Sunset over St Austel

We lit the log burner and nestled into a pile of cushions on the floor reading books and chatting.  The hut has no mains power so all you can do is talk, think and scry the flames of that charming little hearth.  Reality faded…time slowed to a standstill…a moment became an hour, an hour became a lifetime…

My kinda Hearth

The next day we had a little lie in before attempting breakfast up at the Cliff side Café.  We visited The Lost Gardens of Heligan which we thought would be of interest to us amateur gardeners and me an amateur home herbalist.  In fact we were actually disappointed, the landscaping and pictures of the gardens before and after restoration were pretty impressive however there really wasn’t much to see.  Except of course the vegetable and herb garden.  Beautiful neat rows of thriving fruit, vegetables and herbs pleased me and the scent of chocolate mint and pineapple sage was new and exciting.  A little more information of some of the more obscure plants would have been useful for the layman, but still it was worth a visit and the gift shop was its one redeeming feature (I can be such a tourist!)   They had a great selection of horticultural books and herbal goodies.  I purchased packets of Borage, Mullien and Woad seed, some empty tea bags ready to be filled with my own concoctions and a bargain Mushroom field guide.

Satisfying sight!

It also happened to be dark moon so we headed back a little earlier to give me time for my usual observations.  The Moors rolled past as we headed East across Cornwall listening to the Soundtrack from ‘The Davinci Code’.  Feeling inspired by a recent In The Chimehours blog I decided to make the most of my location and venture down to the sea.  As the sun began to set I made my way down the familiar (yet still ever so treacherous) cliff path.  A descent into the underworld perhaps…at least that’s how it felt as I followed the sun.  I had the entire beach to myself and after a little walk along the receding tide line I found a good spot nestled in a small cave.  I unloaded my back pack, stripped off t-shirt and shoes and walked slowly towards the sea, The Sangreal Prayer resounded loudly in my head and I repeated the blessing as I waded knee-deep into the waves.  I gasped as the first few drops of salty water hit the tips of my toes, it was far too cold to strip off and take the plunge but I washed hands and face none the less.  Back at my chosen spot I grasped a piece of washed up fishing rope and whirled it round and round just like a Bullroarer from Cornish Craft, conjuring spirits of Land, Sea and Sky (when in Rome!) and the sound of the waves lulled me into a time between time.  The sun vanished behind the far western shore and the steep cliff behind me grew dark and imposing.  I swayed gently with the winds, in time with the waves.   Here in the underworld a vast cauldron bubbled and, just like the oceans were the source of all life on earth, here I sat on the cauldron’s brim where birth, life, death endlessly circulate and recycle.  Cup and Bread were blessed, the communion shared and offerings poured into the white salty foam.  The Land of Kernow responded to simplicity in a way I have never experienced before in Kent…The Cornish Coast taught me something that I will keep with me always.  I lingered here for a while before I ascended back up the perilous path to middle earth where a steaming hot bath and hot brew awaited.  It was the clearest night we had experienced and I got neck ache from looking up to the starry skies… the perfect reflection of earlier experiences down beside the twinkling sea.

Twilyte Shores

Our last day is always bitter-sweet! We hit the road Kent bound but pre planned a stop off at Glastonbury on the way.  We ended up being there most of the day in fact.  First port of call was the Chalice Well (also known as the red spring due to its rich Iron content).  We strolled up through the gardens starting with the lower pool surrounded by flower beds bursting with spring flowers and made our way up to the bathing pool.  When I reached the Lions Head drinking fountain I filled my bottle and drank long deep glugs of the metallic tasting yet incredibly refreshing cool water.   I wondered if the garden designers knew anything of Kabbalah because the way the pools are organised scream middle pillar to me!

Malkuth

Tiphareth

I filled two demi johns full of the crystal waters ready for some special home-brew.   We visited the White spring also which I had never seen before.  Despite the congregation of naked and semi naked hippies running around the place, the well is truly awe-inspiring.  In fact it surpassed my expectations and I would say I now prefer it to the red.  The white springs are more masculine, an altar to Ol’ Hornie has been erected within and here I sat as the Calcite rich waters roared around the old pump house from their source beneath the Tor.  I gathered some…perhaps I’ll mix a little red with white!  It was refreshing to feel a little maleness in what has become an overly feminine Glastonbury for a change.

Lady of Glastonbury

Another Lady of Glastonbury

We hit the shops, did the usual thing…spent a fortune on herbs and essential oils.  ‘A’ treated himself to his favourite ‘Green Man’ oil from Starchild and carried my bags for me (chivalry lives!) whilst I chatted herbs with some of the local shop owners, I fondled knives and Bolines, cooed over candles and incense and of course we laughed at the usual day-to-day circus that is Glastonbury town centre.

Our holiday finished with a climb up the Tor, we go straight up due to time restrictions and in fact I don’t see many people taking the spiral path at all these days.  The wind up there was ferocious, nearly blowing me over on several occasions, Crows battled the oncoming gusts but some were tame enough to come and enjoy the scenery with me.  I collected a little soil, then a few locals began some ‘ritual’ and we left before we were roped into anything that might require velvet, or excessive silver crystal jewellery.  Quietly we made our way to the car…miserable as 2 little boys with 2 broken toys!

Approaching the Tor

Before we knew it we were Home.  As we whizzed down the M26 the North Downs rose ahead, I let out a deep sigh from behind the steering wheel… It’s good to be home, but parting Cornwall is such sweet sorrow!

For where you rest shall the homeland be,
A piece of Cornwall forever
In the time when you were young Mother,
Before you left for this land,
Did our boats lie down on the golden sand?
Do the Gulls scream here Mother like they do in the other land?

Is the sky so big
Is the grass so green?
And did father love us like you did before you were gone.
And is he with you now to hold your hand,
To lead you into love in that golden land?
I hope so Mother, back to the Homeland.

The Homeland by Clies Stevens

Blackberry Prayer

God, grant me your prolific root,

that I may spread the good by branching.

Let me poke up through the sidewalks,

under fences, in the wasted places

and of course in flower gardens

side-by-side the daffodil and dahlia.

Let me intermarry like the Irish

and the German, Jew and Christian,

like the African and Cuban.

Teach me, teach me ways of blossoming

that I may be resplendent

though my legs are little more than canes

and cannot stand for long.

I ask you, let me reach with sweetness,

let me offer up my treasure,

let me serve myself to hungry passers-by.

Yes, let the birds, let even turtles taste of me,

for I am all I am and nothing more.

Yet I am nothing, nothing less than wonderful.

(Jack Hayes)

Implements of Art Part II – The Cup

The Damsel of the Holy Grail (Dante Gabriel)

Disclaimer: Any of the tools or implements featured in this series of blogs are not my personally consecrated tools. They are either tools I have previously used which are no longer in service or pictures kindly donated. I have made the personal choice not to photograph my own working tools to protect their sacredness and integrity. This is my choice and a matter of personal opinion.

Then there entered into the hall the Holy Grail, covered with white samite, but there was none might see it nor who have it. And there was all the hall fulfilled with good odours, and every knight had such meats and drinks as he best loved in this world. And when the Holy Grail had been borne through the hall, then the holy vessel departed suddenly, that they wist not where it became.

Le Morte d’Arthur Thomas Malory

Over the years a Witch’s tools become friends and close allies, each with its own spirit, its own personality, quirks and character.  You can imagine then, my sorrow and dismay at discovering (mid ritual I might add!) my own beloved cup sprung a devastating leak which I’m not sure I can fix with my limited handy skills, although I haven’t ruled out at least trying!

The only solution was to purchase a new one.  I am very fussy when it comes to my magical implements.  Not only must they compliment me and what I do, they must complement each other.  Magic works like a symphony where the Witch assumes the role of conductor and their tools are the instruments upon which the spirit plays…whilst a violin solo can be moving in its simplistic beauty; a whole string quartet adds dimensions and layers of complexity and interest.  This is partly the reason any tool soon becomes irreplaceable, a sentimental and spiritual bond forms as they evolve into a niche which only they can fill…a niche upon my altar and within my affections.

A selection of cups in my inventory

Nowadays, few of us bare the skills to be able to craft a cup from scratch and so realistically most of us must purchase one from either someone who does or at least a merchant of such things.  The range of cups on offer range from incredibly basic and simple beakers right up to incredibly expensive and ornate chalices with a huge range in the middle.  I like my tools to reflect my craft so I tend to go for handcrafted, simple and natural.  My previous cup was a simple hand crafted horn beaker which suited me perfectly as I tend to steer away from the metallic flamboyant chalices which have become increasingly popular (and more mass-produced).  So why horn?  Several reasons, firstly metal will rust over time especially with the introduction of acidic liquids like wine.  Some leech into the fluid and can leave a somewhat metallic taste on the lips (That being said I remember a ritual last year where warm red wine was used in the sacrament, the ferrous after taste added a whole new level to the experience…forget turning water into wine when you can turn wine into blood!)

The Sacrament

The second reason I chose horn is because the horn cup has a resonance with Kent’s Anglo Saxon ancestors…references to the mead horn are prolific in mythology (See especially the Tale of Thor in the Land of the Giants) and mead plays an important role in my sacraments.  I brew my own for one, secondly the Medway (Kent’s primary waterway) is said to have obtained its name from the Saxon word for mead.  So Horn and Mead seem like a match made in…well…Valhalla, it is after all the realm of slain Kings and Heroes and so further plugs us into the mighty dead and one of the primary functions of the Sacrament! 

Ornate Replica Drinking Horn

Horn is also born of animal which once lived and breathed and may also have died to give up its horn, my cup is imbued with all that creature once was and therefore lives again through my sacraments. 

Of course, as I said before there are a myriad of other options out there and personal preference should of course take precedent.  If possible visit a dealer, maker or merchant so that you can see the cup in the flesh (so to speak) and hold it.  eBay is great for this sort of thing but the downside is you only see a photo which can hide a multitude of sins.  Alternatively charity, Bric ‘a’ Brac, antique shops and Car Boot Sales often house the occasional treasure.  In fact my Mum has a set of 6 pottery Goblets which she bought some time in the mid 80’s when the infamous Tupperware and pottery parties were popular… one of these would be perfect but alas she wouldn’t ever let me break up the set!

Once you have your cup the first job is to clean and consecrate.  Depending on its condition and material of construction it will probably benefit from a wash in luke warm mild soapy water (don’t use harsh detergents or very hot water on wood, bone or horn).  If your cup is silver or pewter for example it may be quite tarnished and a good polish with ‘Brasso’ and a little elbow grease will bring it back to its original lustre in no time.  A paste of bicarbonate of soda will also work but to be safe test a little of your cleaning agent on the underside of your cup to see what, if any, reaction occurs.  Once confident the polish is safe and effective feel free to go at it (another reason I like to use Horn or pottery…much less labour intensive!)

You can exorcise and consecrate your cup in any tried and tested method of either your own design or alternatively Paul Huson’s ‘Mastering Witchcraft’ has a good chapter on tools and their consecration.  Personally I would normally wait until my next ritual where the cup is required (which is most of them) and I will take along some salt, water from a natural source and incense.  I first hold my cup and speak words of intention (i.e. To cleanse and strip this vessel of all former ties and association).  The idea is to create a vacuum or ‘hollow’ which you will later replace with more appropriate energy.  I present the Cup to the four winds from North travelling widdershins back to North asking that each cleanse and purify the cup.  Returning to my altar I add a few pinches of salt to the water with appropriate prayers and blessings to make it holy and generously wash the cup with it.  I pass through the incense smoke all the time seeing any association or ‘bad vibes’ leaving the object.  The Cup is then presented to the powers and dedicated to their service with heart-felt, spontaneous words and finally bound to my service using either blood or spit. 

Communion

Once consecrated, it’s a good idea to use the cup straight away.  It kinda ‘seals the deal’ for lack of a better term.  A sacrament is the best way to do this as your ritual is more often than not likely to finish with some kind of sacrament or communion. 

Here is a very simple ritual which makes exclusive use of the cup a representative of the ‘Sangreal’.  The Full moon is an ideal time for this and can follow on from the above consecration, the rite can be done anytime however and with repetition becomes powerful and profound.  A simple altar is constructed with a plain white cloth, a candle, a rose in a vase and the chalice filled with suitable drink (water is fine).  If you wish to burn some incense by all means do.  After a period of quite preparation light the candle.  Hold your cup in both hands and if outside you can try to capture the moon’s reflection in the liquid contained within, or perhaps the light from the candle.  Gaze within (we’re not trying to Scry!) relax and breathe slowly. 

“Beloved Blood Mother of my especial Breed
Welcome me into your willing womb
May I learn in life to Love all that you are
That my seeking spirit may serve the Sangreal”

 Say these words with heartfelt intention, then do then what feels natural and right.  This is simple, but beautiful and should flow from within like water… Like the Rose upon the altar allow the ritual to blossom and evolve.  This should be repeated often.

We have touched on the Cup as symbol of the Sangreal which in itself is deep as the ocean, but like many other tools the Cup’s symbolism and associations are vast and varied.   There are some widely known and well published attributes of the cup.  The cup is innately feminine, look at its shape and the fact it is a vessel, a receptacle.  It is generally associated with Water and the Moon again emphasising its feminine, passive nature.  Dame Fate is the Muse, the source of our inspiration and the Cup is symbolic of this, when we drink of the cup we drink of her gifts for the cup is also cauldron and we can gaze within to scry and read the web of Wyrd.  The function of the cup is to hold and contain and for this reason it is womb.  Yet there is a darker side, for the cup may be emptied, turned upside down upon the altar and it immediately becomes the burial mound, the tomb and / or the poison chalice.  The Dame gives and takes life and as such the cup represents her dual nature as mother and destroyer.  In the Robert Cochrane tradition the cup is placed to the left of the Altar as you are looking at it.  The left is associated with the feminine, widdershins and dark introspective nature of the psyche and the Pillar of Severity on the tree of life with the Dark Mother, the Cauldron (Binah) at its pinnacle.    As I said in the previous post I am not one to spoon feed anyone what can be discovered for themselves so once you have your cup use it, work with it and its importance will slowly but surely become clear.  So raise your cup high to The Old Ones… and raise it often!

 References:

The ‘Sangreal Prayer’ was the creation of W.G Gray who shared it with us including Evan John Jones.  It can be found in ‘Witchcraft; A Tradition Renewed’ by E. J. Jones and D. Valiente.  Robert Hale Publishing.

A Grey May Day

Then on May-day we sons of soot
Through the streets do feetly foot,
With silver garlands are so grand,
With silver garlands are so grand,
And thus we dance our saraband
With a ruttock, a cluttock,
A wallet, a satchel
O rare May-day.
We be kings and queens and duke,
Here is Lord Tye-Wig and Lady Jewkes
And hand in hand with Madam Flaskin
The great grandee Don Galligaskin
So Ladies now we bid adieu,
May May-day wever smile on you,
And thus in all our gear so fine
With Madam Montague we dine.

The Chimney Sweepers Glee By Dr. J. Beckwith of Norwich and words by J. Walker, 1790

I think many of us in the British Isles could be forgiven for allowing May Day / Roodmas / Walpurgis / Beltane (delete as applicable) to pass us by this year.  If I’m honest I have found it hard to even acknowledge the season, which is odd considering it’s actually one of my favourite times of year.  But given that it seems to be unusually cold and incredibly wet, plus the Hawthorn has only just started coming into its own, it hardly seems worth it! To be honest I am so bored of this bloody rain, it’s turned me into a grumpy old man!

That being said, the local festivities commenced as is traditional on Blue Bell Hill on the 1^st of May at dawn when Morris troops and dedicated members of the public gather upon the hill to wake Jack in the Green.  From what I hear it rained continuously and was pretty miserable.  I say “Well done!” to those brave men and women who got out of their warm beds at 5am (and the Wolfs head and Vixen Morris who apparently danced for over an hour in the pouring rain).  I have no problem admitting you are better folk than I.  I had every intention of going (I usually do) but cold, torrential rain at 5am just didn’t thrill me!

Sweeps in the streets

We did visit Rochester’s annual Sweeps festival however.  It rained (again!) but it was still worth it even if only for the Hog Roast and Cider.  There didn’t seem to be as many Morris troops or visitors this year, the rain tends to put folks off.  However a sudden down pour did usher us into the Cathedral for a quick look…I’m glad we did because even there, hidden away almost out of sight the Green Man makes an appearance or two!

Rochester Cathedral

Green Man alongside the Pilgrim Steps

Back outside a few school children dressed in grey school uniforms were reservedly pacing round a temporary maypole whilst the teacher pressed play on an ancient CD player.  “Dull” is the only way to describe what in my eyes should have been a joyful dance of colourful revelry…I grumpily blamed the Victorians and walked away feeling slightly deflated towards the Tea Tent!  Whilst it’s great that towns and villages try to keep old customs alive (my Mother was in Chislehurst May Queen when she was young!) I sometimes wonder whether it would be better to do away with them completely than pay half-hearted homage to some Victorian legacy where most visitors (and participants) don’t have a clue what the point is.  At no point did I see anyone even try to educate the masses.  At one point I heard a woman explain to her young son that the maypole was part of “the ancient magic”.   Most revived traditions and customs are barely recognisable, one would imagine!  I do love the Morris troops however, the blacked out faces, debauched crude lyrics and the phallus carved sticks banging together.  I’d happily watch them for hours.  Sadly the majority of the dancers are camp old geezers stiffly waving hankies in the air…please!

Make-shift Maypole

My Kind of Morris

 When the closing procession started, Jack in The Green was met with cheers and applause from all in attendance, spirits were lifted momentarily but I was ready to go home, get dry and fill my already soaking grumpy boots with tea!

Jack In The Green

At home I tried to get myself in the spirit of things by adorning the home and altar.  My own Jack in the Green was ‘woken’ and adorned with fresh greenery and the Old Chap was furnished with a crown of young Oak, Ash and Ivy sprigs, only fitting for the once and future King.  I finally got to try some new incense which I made last month dedicated to Ol’ Hornie.  It smells exactly as it should (i.e. Hornie!!) and suddenly it started to feel a little like Beltane!

Jack In The Porch

The Altar was refurbished with a green cloth, more fresh greens and plenty of red and white flowers.  And yes that is what you think it is emerging from the Cauldron!

The Home Altar

Don’t however be fooled into thinking that the presence of a large phallus standing erect in a cauldron means I am part of some Pagan fertility cult.  I would like to echo what others (such as Robert Cochrane) have said in the past.  Traditional Witchcraft is not Paganism (it’s not even a religion!).

Beltane for me is not about fertility (at least not in the physical sense), even though it may appear otherwise Cauldron and Phallus are symbols, not literal representations of what I venerate.  I seek juicier fruit hanging upon a loftier branch.  The symbols I employ, practises I enjoy around seasonal festivities are means to an end not the final destination, they are reflections of what I seek to tap into on a much ‘higher’ level…As the old axiom goes “As above, So Below”.

For me the significance of May Day goes above and beyond ‘Male’ fertilising ‘Female’…it does indeed represent a marriage, but not a marriage of God and Goddess per se.  The great Dame created all “for humanity is greater than the Gods’, although not as great as the Goddess.” (Robert Cochrane, letter to Joe Wilson 1966). It therefore does not make sense to me to assume that our great Mother is dependent on being ‘fertilised’ in order to create ‘life’ as we humans are.  This is a concept which has taken (is taking) a great deal of time for me to realise and fully understand. Our Lady is nature but that extends far beyond what we see around us.  Like I said Traditional Craft is a Mystical path in the truest sense of the word…what we do on the surface may appear to be Paganistic fertility worship however what we actually seek lies hidden far beyond the veil of appearances …“As Above, So Below”

My own personal observance took place upon the night of the Full Moon.  A full moon I never got to see due to the permanent blanket of cloud (man, I miss seeing the moon and stars!)  I travelled to one of my usual working sites, amongst the trees, the carpet of Bluebells and cloaked in rapidly dimming twilight.  As the light vanished from the sky a light was kindled within the circle.  The breeze whistled in music from distant unseen musicians.  Despite the cold, grey and atypically cold spring, life has returned, the fire is kindled once again in honour of the light, the cunning flame between the horns of the Old One.  Unity, Truth and Beauty reign supreme, born of dark ignorance, the bitter-sweet experiences of trial and tribulation shall bring wisdom in their wake…

Light Betwixt the Horns

…to all of you I offer a big tall drink of everything life has to offer, the bitter and the sweet.  So drink up and be merry (or grumpy as it suits!) Long Live the King!

Thanks to Matt Baldwin-Ives of Miles Cross for the ‘Light Betwixt The Horns’ Photo

German Friendship Cake

Herman the German Friendship Cake has been doing the rounds at work for a while now.  The instructions below may offer a little more explanation:

Day 1 You get Herman! Put him in a large mixing bowl.  Stir well and cover loosely with a tea towel.

My Herman on Day 1

Day 2 Stir well

Day 3 Stir well

Day 4 Herman is hungry. Add 1 cup each of plain flour, sugar and milk. Stir well.

Day 5 Stir well

My Herman on day 5…bubble bubble!

Day 6 Stir well

Day 7 Stir well

Day 8 Stir well

Day 9 Herman is hungry again. Add the same as day 4 and stir well. Divide into 4 equal portions and give 3 portions away to friends with a copy of these instructions. Keep the 4th one.

Day 10 Herman is very hungry. Stir well and add the following:

• 1 cup sugar
• half tsp (teaspoon) salt
• 2 cups plain flour
• 2/3 (two thirds) cup of cooking oil
• 2 eggs
• 2 tsp vanilla essence
• 2 cooking apples cut into chunks
• 1 cup raisins
• 2 heaped tsp cinnamon
• 2 heaped tsp baking powder

Mix everything together and put into a large greased baking tin. Sprinkle with a quarter of a cup of brown sugar and a quarter of a cup of melted butter. Bake for 45 minutes at 170-180C. When cold cut into finger pieces. Cake freezes well and is also delicious warm with cream or ice-cream.

At no point can Herman get chilly.  If it stops bubblin it’s dead and needs to start all over (see below).

I am now on Day 5 so in four days I will be splitting mine into four.  As my better half loathes raisins etc I will be modifying the above recipe slightly (perhaps with dried Blueberries or Cranberries).

If anyone reading this (UK based for obvious reasons) would like to continue this particular line of yeasty goodness and share the bubbly lovin then email me (Downstrodden@gmail.com).  Unfortunately I don’t know exactly how long my Herman line has been going, I do know for certain that I got mine from one of the ladies at work who got hers from someone else at work and she got hers from a friend so its been going a while.  I love this idea and I have been unable to find any details on the history of this concept (lets face it its far more enjoyable than those pesky email chain letters and ten times as magical!).  Just remember that for 10 days someone has nurtured and taken care of their Herman culture…then someone else nurtures a piece of that for another 10 days….all that cumulative nurturing kitchen witchery IN A CAKE!!

If you would rather start a new line from the beginning here’s how to start

Ingredients:

• 5oz plain flour
• 8oz castor sugar
• 1 packet of active dry yeast
• Half a pint of warm milk
• 2 fl oz lukewarm water

What to do:

1. Dissolve the yeast in warm water for 10 minutes and stir.
2. Add the flour and sugar then mix thoroughly.
3. Slowly stir in the warm milk.
4. Cover the bowl in a clean cloth.
5. Leave in a cool dry place for 24 hours
6. Now proceed from day one of the 10 day cycle.

Stay tuned for feedback on the finished Herman!!

Implements of Arte Part I – The Stang

Disclaimer: Any of the tools or implements featured in this series of blogs are not my personally consecrated tools.  They are either tools I have previously used which are no longer in service or pictures kindly donated.  I have made the personal choice not to photograph my own working tools to protect their sacredness and integrity.  This is my choice and a matter of personal opinion.

The Stang has possibly become one of the most quintessential implements of the Traditional Witches’ practise and so is the perfect place to start this series of blogs.  Popularised by forbearers such as Robert Cochrane, nothing inspires and enflames me more than approaching the Stang with all its adornments.  Standing before this sacred image is tantamount to coming home after a long, hard day and the Stang itself is far more than just a forked staff, its uses and symbolism are rich and varied and most importantly it should become one of your oldest and closest friends along the crooked path.

Creating a Stang should not be rushed.  It’s very tempting, especially when starting out to want to rush and collect your tools as soon as possible.  Trust me, it’s far better to take your time and get the right one, than just go out and collect any old Stang that a month or two down the line may not feel right and you have to start all over again and will have wasted not only your time and energy but damaged some poor tree in the process.

The best way to begin is by asking ‘The Powers’.  This can be done through a simple prayer during usual devotional practises or, when out for walks, you can enter a visionary state and ask the spirits to guide you.  They will either lead you to your Stang or they won’t.  Don’t be disheartened, trust and most importantly be patient.

You may be shocked when you find the tree which will birth your Stang.  Whilst Robert Cochrane and such like talk extensively about the importance of the Ash Stang, try not to limit yourself to this.  If you should be lead to an Ash tree and take your Stang from that then so be it.  Mine however is Hazel and I know when I hold it its right…I get knots and butterflies in my stomach and the wood seems to give in, almost melt beneath my touch.  Better to be led by instinct and spirit, than books and other people’s experience…no matter who they are.  Nothing in The Craft is or should be cast in tablets of stone.

Now you have found your Stang growing happily start to build a relationship with the tree.  Research the tree, what was the wood traditionally used for?  What references to the tree appear in myth and folklore? How does the tree or the wood feel? What impressions do you get from the tree when you spend time with it? Where is it growing? How does it grow?  Keep notes… you may be surprised at what you find out.

Copiced trees produce perfect straight poles!

This part of the process takes as long as it takes and the time to cut the Stang will arrive (yep you guessed it!) when the time is right.  When the time does finally come, create a small ritual of thanksgiving to the spirit of the tree.  On the day visit the tree, commune and hold your Stang whilst it’s still attached, let your energy mix with the tree’s.  Ask the spirit of the tree and your Gods if you may take what you need.  See what happens…you may get a positive or a negative sign.  Assuming the sign is positive (if you have got this far in the process chances are you won’t get a negative response but you may get a “not now!”) I then bind my cord above the area I wish to cut.  This amongst other things symbolically tethers and contains a portion of the greenwood spirit of the Stang.  I then cut below the cord.  I always cut the Stang slightly taller than I think the finished article should be.  Cut too short and you won’t be happy with it and again you’ve wasted your time and a tree’s sacrifice.  It is far easier to trim a Stang than try to add wood to it!! Be as quick as possible and do as little damage as you can.  Once cut immediately wrap your Stang in black fabric and, until consecrated, it should not touch the earth (a black double duvet cover or sheet is perfect for this!).  Then return to the tree and give thanks and offerings of water, bone meal, milk or even blood; whatever you feel is appropriate for the sacrifice.  Seal the wound with horticultural putty to prevent infection or rot in the parent tree.

Others advocate or are not object to using fallen wood, its personal preference.

Now you can take you Stang home.  Look at it, examine it.  If you are planning to strip the bark now is the time to do that and in most cases the bark will peel off easily like skin off a banana but this all depends on how old the wood is and of course which wood it is.  This is also a very important part of the process as this is when it truly starts to become *your* Stang so enjoy this process, take your time and bond.

Denuding

The Stang should then be left in a dry ambient place to dry out (a room indoors with minimal temperature fluctuations is ideal).  You will notice the wood become considerably lighter in weight and colour (although some woods darken).  You can then sand, shape and carve your Stang however you feel is necessary.  No two Stangs are the same so don’t seek to make a carbon copy of a Stang you may have seen elsewhere.  This is unique to you and your practise.

It’s a good idea to give the finished Stang a good treatment of beeswax or boiled  linseed oil to protect the wood from atmospheric influences but even then it’s advisable to keep your Stang away from temperature extremes or humidity (so not in the bathroom, not outside and not near radiators!)

So now it’s time to dedicate your new Stang.  I am not going to tell you how to do this or how I do this, that’s down to your personal methods, practises and / or tradition.  The principle is the same as if you were dedicating any tool, providing the wood is virgin wood it shouldn’t need ‘exorcising’ so dedicate it to your Gods, Spirits and / or Ancestors according to the ways prescribed by your path.  If this is the first time you have dedicated any working tool then cutting a circle, presenting the tool to the four winds and the Gods with a heartfelt statement of intent is sufficient for now.  Some choose to bind their tool to them with blood or spit, some people even name / baptise their Stang!

There is one element which should be incorporated into your dedication.  It is said that the Stang should always be ‘Iron shod’ which basically means should have an iron foot (i.e. a nail or iron plate) to stop the power and spirit of the Stang going to earth.  I used horseshoe nails for this but the importance of this step and the symbolism is deeper than this alone and as I said before it’s important to understand this and come to your own conclusions…these are not things of which I should speak!

Now you have your very own Stang and it should serve you a lifetime with care.  But what of its use, its meaning and symbolism?

On a more mundane level the Stang can be a prop or a walking or ‘Thumb’ stick, a support or a crutch.  As mundane as these uses may appear they can provide valuable insights into the Stang’s deeper significance within the circle.

As I said before, I am not in a position to talk directly about the Stang’s ritual meaning.  This isn’t due to some terrible Oath, it’s because everyone should discover the significance the old-fashioned way…independent study and hard work.  The symbolism of the Stang is extremely deep and varied and combined with the adornments is an alter ‘a la Cochrane’ and its meaning can and does change dependent on the adornments (Crossed arrows, wreath and such like) and its position in the circle.  You will continually modify and evolve your ideas the more familiar you become with your Stang.

To give you a head start let’s look at what others say of the Stang:

It is an Altar

The Tau Cross

It is the Bond between the feminine and the masculine mysteries

The Horn Child

Represents the Trinity (Mother, Father and Child)

It is the Middle Pillar

A symbol of Yggdrasil / The world Tree / Axis Mundi

It is a gateway

It is phallic

It is the moon

Hermes

Caduceus

It represents life and death

It represents the triplicity of Fate

A symbol of The Horned God

The talking stick

The Crucifix

A divining rod

The Two Faced God

Guardian of the Gateway

Sleipnir (Odin’s Horse)

All these definitions are equally valid and worthy of study and meditation.  The Stang can be found in a multitude of magical and mythological traditions from Western Hermeticism and Kabbalah right through to Norse Myth and Legend.    But remember work and practise with the Stang is the best way to understand why it has become such an integral part of the Witches’ repertoire.

You may decide in time to collect different Stangs for different uses.  Most famous is the dreaded Blackthorn Stang used for darker perhaps even more Malefic rites depending who you ask.  Bear in mind too that not everyone uses a dual-forked branch as Stang, some traditions use pitch or hay forks, some three pronged…in fact the two-pronged pitch fork, as described by Robert Cochrane amongst others is a truly wonderful sight to behold by the light of a roaring fire adorned in all His finery.  Gemma Gary has a wonderful picture of a wide variety of Stangs on her website and I highly recommend visiting the Museum of Witchcraft in Boscastle, Cornwall which also exhibits an awesome collection of all Witches’ implements including Stangs.

Happy Hunting and Good luck!

References

‘The Roebuck in the Thicket: An anthology of The Robert Cochrane Tradition’ By E. J. Jones and R. Cochrane.  Edited by Michael Howard.  Capall Bann Publishing.

‘Western Inner Workings’  William. G. Gray (Sangreal Sodality Series Volume 1) Published by Weiser

‘Traditional Witchcraft; A Cornish Book of Ways’ By Gemma Gary.  Troy Book Publishing

‘Witchcraft; A Tradition Renewed’ by E. J. Jones and D. Valiente.  Robert Hale Publishing.

‘The Robert Cochrane Letters’ by Robert Cochrane with E. J. Jones.  Edited by Michael Holward.  Capall Bann Publishing.

A big Thank You to Matt Baldwin-Ives of Miles Cross for allowing use of some of the fantastic Stang Imagery.

Sacred Sacraments

Hop pickers at work

As many of my readers may have guessed, I’m not averse to a little tipple every now and again.  However there is more to alcoholic beverages than simply helping me relax at the end of a long week or partying with friends at the weekend.  There are some brews I hold most sacred and these brews I use only in sacred settings.  For that reason it seems only fitting that I should brew them myself.

Brewing Grape and Grain in Kent has a long and colourful past.  Kent is one of the most prolific Hop growing regions in England and I remember my Mother and her Mother telling me stories of their long working summer holidays in Kent Hop picking.  Train loads of Londoners would arrive in their droves to earn pocket money in the Hop fields around Paddock Wood and whilst living conditions were basic; straw beds with limited and shared amenities, paraffin lamps and no electricity, it always sounded to me like the most blissfully fun and sociable summer.  Many of our Hop fields are gone with the majority of what’s left now being harvested by machinery.  In Hadlow churchyard, between my home town of Maidstone and Tonbridge a memorial still stands to a group of Hop pickers of Kent who drowned tragically…a testament to those who worked so hard to help supply this country with its beloved Beer.   I even remember an old school trip to the Shepherd Neame brewery in Faversham just 30 minutes down the motorway from my home town I love the smell of dried Hops to this day.

Hop picker's memorial

Hops were introduced to English brewing around the 1600’s from mainland Europe, prior to that English Ale was mostly fermented from Barley malt flavoured with herbs like Yarrow, Lovage and Burdock.  (Apparently its only called ‘Beer’ if it’s flavoured with Hops…anything else is technically ‘Ale’.) 

Owing to Kent’s superb climate we have also built a good reputation for Wine, with some of our Vineyards producing good and reputable wines in Biddenden, Tenterden and so on.  The wine I personally produce isn’t made from Grapes simply because there is an abundance of perfectly good flavourings out there in the garden, woods and hedgerows.  To date I have made elderflower, elderberry, parsnip, pear, blackberry and sloe wines amongst others (all pretty much for free).

In spring I tend to focus on Mead and floral wines moving on to fruitier and earthier wines as the seasons shift between autumn and winter.  This spring I am making a batch of Gorse Flower Wine (which better taste amazing after the punishment the gorse thorns gave my fingers…I was digging out splinters for days!) and English Blossom Honey Mead.   

Gorse Flowers

Mead was introduced by our Germanic  forbearers and the river Medway (the main river here in Kent) is said to have derived its name from the Saxon root ‘Medu’ meaning Mead owing to its sweet golden waters (but more on that later in the year!).  Mead is a highly magical drink produced from fermented honey, honey which is made by Bee’s between Earth and Sky in a hive dominated by a Queen…need I go on?

So here’s the science part…

The most important thing to do before anything else is make sure your fermentation vessels, funnels etc. are spotlessly clean and sterile.  The only thing living in ones brew should be yeast.  I use baby sterilising fluid for this because A) Its cheap B) I can get it anywhere and C) because if it’s safe for bubbas, it’s gotta be OK!  You can use speciality Campden Tablets but sterilising fluid works just fine for me.  Everything is scrubbed clean in hot soapy water, rinsed and then sterilised according to bottle instructions.  I tend to leave my demi-johns sterilising overnight but I think a couple of hours is more than enough.

For wine I gather all my fruit / flowers (or whatever!) and add these to my fermentation bucket.  I tend to go for around 4 litres of fruit or flowers to 4 litres of water as a general rule.  The water should be brought to a rapid boil and then a 2kg bag of sugar added and dissolved.  I boil for about 15 minutes to sterilise and then pour over the fruit / flowers.  I give it a good stir and leave to cool to room temp or thereabouts.  At that point I add my brewer’s yeast.  Sometimes, in the case of tougher fruits I will boil them with the water but never with flowers…they are just too delicate. 

The 'Mash'

When buying yeast I choose champagne yeast for my white wines and meads and dessert wine yeast for my berry wines (Elderberry, Blackberry etc).  It was an idea given to me by intuition and it does make a real difference but I couldn’t tell you why, so if you happen to know what the difference is exactly (beside taste) get in touch!

I add a good heaped teaspoon of yeast nutrient and same again of citric acid (easily sourced on eBay).  Give it all a stir, cover and let the magic happen (and it is magic, this is alchemy at work…so treat with reverence!   Brewing in England was once the only way to sanitise water…Ale and Wine was a life line…even Kids drank the stuff!)

After about 4 days the wine can be strained into a sterile 1 gallon glass demi john fitted with an air lock (again all available on eBay!).  I top up with boiled and cooled water if necessary.  This is left in a warm spot out of direct light until the fermentation stops bubbling or excessive sediment begins to collect at the bottom (I would say an inch or more is enough to warrant the first racking (‘Racking’ is the term used for transferring brews from one demi john to another in order to decant away from sediment thereby improving clarity and taste).

Before racking

1st Racking

Once the fermentation has completely stopped and the yeast has all died off you can rack off again and around this point you might like to have a little taste and add more sweetener (honey or sugar).  If the Yeast hasn’t died you run the risk of restarting the fermentation and any additional sugar will just be metabolised and you will lose the extra sweet taste!  You can buy stabilisers which contain sodium metabisulphate which kills yeast but I have never had need of these providing extra additions are timed just right!

Some wines (like this year’s Gorse wine for example) can appear quite cloudy.  Usually this settles out once fermentation has completely ceased and the liquid is at rest.  However if not wines can be clarified with additions of either  beaten egg white, gelatine or betonite clay (look around online to see which might be best for your wine but make sure the fermentation has completely stopped).  Once the proteins have been dragged down to the bottom you can syphon off and bottle up!

Mead is a very similar process although I actually find it easier and less ‘variable’.  The only thing I struggle with is getting the taste right for me (I like my Mead to taste like honey!) but that comes with experience and I’m still learning with every batch I make!!

With mead you don’t obviously have raw cane sugar, instead honey is boiled in the water to sterilise then cooled and added direct to a demi john with yeast and nutrients etc.   I buy only locally produced English Honey (from Here) in bulk catering size buckets.   

Bucket ' o ' Honey

I start my yeast off in a small vessel, in other words a small scale fermentation of boiled and cooled water with a few tablespoons of honey.  The ‘pint sized’ fermentation is sealed with a bung and airlock and left to bubble and grow on for about 12-24 hours before pouring into a sterile demi john filled with your full scale honey and water mix.  I find this gradual scaling helps get things started and reduces the fermentation time a little.   Plus honey is not cheap (especially with the Honey Bee crisis) and if you end up with bad yeast which refuses to grow you don’t end up wasting kilos of valuable, magical honey.  If you are creating 2 batches of mead you can split the starter between 2 demi johns and you’ve used must less yeast to start with (a little cost saving tip from yours truly!)

Mead Starter

From then on its much the same as wine…rack off once a lot of sediment builds, then again when fermentation has completely stopped at which point sweetening with more honey if necessary then bottle into sterile bottles.  I like using the old Grolsch style bottles for my brews but any glass bottle will do providing it’s spotless and sterile!

Some Wines / Meads (in fact most) do well from maturing a few months.  I am only just starting to drink stuff I brewed this time last year.  Once you get a good stash you can easily rotate your bottles.  I tend to give everything about 9 months ‘gestation’ to mellow and improve flavours.

With a little imagination and intuition any of these practical steps can be turned into acts of ritual even if its just a prayer or blessing the demijohn etc.  In my opinion incorporating home brewed wines has enriched my rituals and sacraments a hundred fold!

Have fun and remember…the first glassful goes back to whence it came…a small and humble offering for such a bounty!