The Cunning Approach – Online Tarot Course

NEW – The Cunning Approach – Online Tarot Course 18th June 2025

This course will begin on the 18th June from 7-9pm UK time.

There will be 10 lessons that will be held at two week intervals.

Contact me for more information.

(Photo by John Isaac)

In the early days of my Craft training I was encouraged to explore and practice some form of divination in order to maintain contact with and guidance from my gods. In time as my work developed I found that divination can also be an excellent diagnostic tool. Fortunately I found that I was immediately drawn to cartomancy and Tarot in particular, and thus began a journey that has lasted over 40 years.

My ultimate aim would be to work with a select group of people who will commit to the whole course, so places will be limited. Tarot is not the sort of subject you can dip in and out of – it represents after all an inner personal journey.

Communion with the Ancestors

Why do so many indigenous people revere and go to such lengths to commune with their ancestors?  There are countless examples of this all over the world and within most cultures.  Modern man may scoff and call these practices archaic, quaint or primitive, but I feel there is an profound need to honour those who have gone before us.

We all have ancestors, some good, some not so good and some that we would love to disown.  However, they are all part of our genetic make up and we can learn just as much from a rotten ancestor, even if that is how not to go about things.

We can also have an ancestral connection through our crafts.  We can call upon the spirits of previous practitioners for guidance where necessary.  This is something I have done many times by visiting locally the graveside of a wisewoman who departed this life over a hundred years ago.  It is traditional to take along some form of libation when one communes in this way.  This forms, if you will, the communion between yourself and the departed one.  It acts as a bridge between the worlds so that understanding and communication can be effected.  Then the avenue of connection occurs through the imagination, which has no boundaries.  Once a message is received, it is weighed and judged by the rational mind and the acquired wisdom and ethical structure of the psyche.  This is how it works for me.  Others may have differing methods.

Within the Dark Gathering, which is a significant community event which I help run, there has developed a strong ancestral motif which has gathered momentum over the years.  There have been several people who have performed the Ancestor Blessing for which I am very grateful, but in typical Cornish style I shall mention the first and the last for now.

The first was the unforgettable Will Fox who whistled up the spirits.  Go to 17.17 mins into this video to experience the atmosphere of Remembering the Ancestors:

The last (for now) is our Conjure Man, Peter Grey:

It has become a truly moving experience for many folk who attend, especially when everyone joins in with the Ancestor Chant that was introduced back in 2018.

Last year (2023) we had a group of Mexicans who came to the Dark Gathering.  They enjoyed the experience so much that they have decided to return again this year.  We have approached them and asked whether they would be willing to share their cultural Dias de los Muertos traditions with us, which they have agreed to do.

The Day of the Dead is largely seen as having a festive characteristic. The multi-day holiday involves family and friends gathering to pay respects and to remember friends and family members who have died. These celebrations can take a humorous tone, as celebrants remember funny events and anecdotes about the departed.

Traditions connected with the holiday include honouring the deceased using calaveras and marigold flowers known as cempazúchitl, building home altars called ofrendas with the favourite foods and beverages of the departed, and visiting graves with these items as gifts for the deceased.

During Día de Muertos, the tradition is to build private altars (“ofrendas”) containing the favourite foods and beverages, as well as photos and memorabilia, of the departed. The intent is to encourage visits by the souls, so the souls will hear the prayers and the words of the living directed to them. These altars are often placed at home or in public spaces such as schools and libraries, but it is also common for people to go to cemeteries to place these altars next to the tombs of the departed

(Wikipedia – Day of the Dead.)

This group of Mexican friends have come together under the name of Takam and they will be constructing three altars (ofrendas) at the Dark Gathering with a narration explaining their traditions.  Later on they will be performing a special dance with songs that connects to their ancestral beliefs.  There will be an altar for adults, one for children and another one for pets.

If you are attending the Dark Gathering 2024 and have a loved one who has passed recently who you wish to be remembered in this ceremony, then please contact us on this link:  Ancestor Offering   You will then be contacted with further instructions of what to bring to the event.  We only have a limited amount of space for offerings so will act on a first come, first served basis.  Please state in your email the name of the loved one and whether they are adult, child or pet.

It’s as well to remember that we too will be an ancestor one day.  So how and for what would we like to be remembered?  It’s important to live a life that matters.

A Life That Matters

Ready or not, someday it will all come to an end.
There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours, days.
All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten, will pass to someone else.
Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance.
It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed.
Your grudges, resentments, frustrations and jealousies will finally disappear.
So too, your hopes, ambitions, plans and to-do lists will expire.
The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.
It won’t matter where you came from, or on what side of the tracks you lived.
At the end, whether you were beautiful or brilliant, male or female, even your skin colour won’t matter.

So what will matter? How will the value of your days be measured?
What will matter is not what you bought, but what you built; not what you got, but what you gave.
What will matter is not your success, but your significance.
What will matter is not what you learned, but what you taught.
What will matter is every act of integrity, compassion, courage or sacrifice that enriched, empowered or encouraged others.
What will matter is not your competence, but your character.
What will matter is not how many people you knew, but how many will feel a lasting loss when you’re gone.
What will matter is not your memories, but the memories that live in those who loved you.
Living a life that matters doesn’t happen by accident.
It’s not a matter of circumstance but of choice.
Choose to live a life that matters.

Communion – the sharing or exchanging of intimate thoughts and feelings, especially on a mental or spiritual level.

Oxford Dictionary

 

Never Judge a Book by its Cover

How often have we heard that, or said it ourselves?  Yet so many do that very thing all the time.  The image makers depend on this in order to sell all sorts of commodities including people as well as, quite literally, books.

When I first started off in the Craft there were very few books around specifically about witchcraft or other occult practices.  The ones that were out there had very lurid, sensationalist jacket covers which at first put me off from going anywhere near them.  Then I learnt that in those days authors didn’t have any say over what form the covers took as it was all in the hands of the in house designer/artist.  This led me to ignore what was on the cover and to at least open up the book and view both the contents page and the general synopsis to get a better idea of the quality of the information within.  I have to admit that this was often done with surreptitious glances around in case anyone caught sight of the dodgy book covers! 

Nowadays there is more autonomy granted to authors in the choice of cover designs, but it’s still a case of buyer beware, because there is now another factor at play.  Clever branding has produced a certain glamour to witchcraft subjects in the publishing world.  This is even more apparent when it comes to independent publishers.  Modern advances in photography and CGI have created very evocative, as opposed to provocative, images that draw the reader in to the subject matter, but specifically in the area of witchcraft.  So you may be presented with darkly romantic  images promising secret and arcane knowledge, only to find the literary equivalent of ‘fool’s gold’ within.  Classic examples of style over substance exist on line and within the book market.

So, I’ve touched on the literal sense of ‘judging a book by it’s cover’ in its positive and negative sense, but we also do this with people.  We often will judge a person purely by what they look like.  That includes their physicality as well as what they choose to wear.  This is such a vast subject which could go in so many directions including, race, disabilities and umpteen other potentially contentious issues.  However, for now I am going to concentrate on what we choose to wear.

Over the last few decades I have had quite a few references to how I look, and my appearance and demeanour have been questioned and sometimes misrepresented.  It happened again quite recently so it set me thinking about the question of how much importance people place on how people look, and the connection between that and their identity.

Let’s get one thing straight – I have never had good dress sense.  Plenty of others around me did, and occasionally I would try and pick their brains as to what would maybe suit me, especially when I was younger.  However,  I never really got the hang of fashion and in the end after a few disastrous and embarrassing forays into trying to be fashionable, in the end I gave up completely.   Fortunately I had to wear a uniform at work, being a nurse for most of my working life, so what I wore at other times was less significant.  It was only when I went to Dartington as a mature student for my Theatre Degree that I realised how important dress/costume was and how it was linked to the persona/personality which made up the identity.  Ironically most of the students wore comfortable, loose clothing in many colourful and ethnic styles which I really liked a lot.  No-one stood out as looking odd or incongruous because diversity of dress was celebrated and there was a lot of freedom to explore different ways of being.

Once I had relaxed into this bohemian lifestyle I found that I truly felt authentic, whereas before I didn’t feel like I fitted in anywhere because I was constantly trying to be like everyone else in my particular peer group at any given time.  I think I learnt how to be an individual and feel OK with being a bit different.  It has to be remembered that I also had started my in-depth training into witchcraft a few years earlier as well.  It also helped that when people realised that I was a Dartington Graduate they almost expected me to look a bit of a hippy as the college had a reputation for alternative lifestyles. 

It was also here that I wore a dinner jacket for the first time as I was playing a cross-dressing character in someone’s production.  That was a pivotal moment for me.  I felt so at ease and I realised that not only did it suit me and I looked good, but that it was functional too.  There were useful pockets everywhere but it didn’t alter the tailored line of the jacket.  There was nothing like it in women’s fashions – sure they had trouser suits, but no handy pockets on the inside – or even if there were pockets, they were always on the outside and either fake, sewn up or so shallow as to be deemed useless.  From that moment on I tended towards men’s jackets and coats.  You see, I have never been a handbag person as all too often I tended to lose them by leaving them behind and completely forgetting I had them.  So this type of garb was ideal for me.

There was also another reason why this discovery suited me so well.  I was born with a spinal curvature that gradually grew worse the older I got.  This led me to have major surgery in my early thirties to correct and fuse my spine involving nine of my spinal vertebrae.  Even following the operation I was always going to have a small hump on my back, and thankfully, men’s jackets disguised this deformity far better than women’s.  However, this also meant that as I began to wear this style more, together with the fact that because of my fixed spine, my stance was wider than is generally acceptable for women, a lot of folk assumed that I was gay.

I can quite understand why some would think this way, but I do wish they would think beyond the box they’ve just plonked you in occasionally.  Anyone who bothers to actually ask and not just assume would find out that I’m not actually gay.  As a child I was absolutely a little tomboy and was forever running around the countryside, climbing trees and getting into scrapes.  I played football with the boys throughout junior school, never played with dolls – they gave me the creeps – and developed crushes on school friends, both boys and girls.  However, never at anytime did I want to be a boy or a male, I just thought that they had better games and opportunities in life, whereas what was on offer to girls and females at that time was very limited.  I rarely wore skirts or dresses unless I had to as I found it much more comfortable to wear shorts or jeans.

Seeing as my teenage years were in the Swinging Sixties and the Twiggy look was all the rage, I was on a losing streak from the word go.  I have always been what I describe as compact and sturdy which was a long way from the tall, willowy look proscribed by the Mary Quant fashions of that time.  Nevertheless I persevered, through my early years of marriage, which I found out very rapidly was not the life for me and wondered if I was indeed gay.  So I explored that lifestyle and eventually came to the realisation that mixing with the gay scene was not beneficial for me and left that behind.  It was only when I reached my early thirties that I decided that maybe I was bisexual.  I experienced a ‘Goldilocks Moment’ by acknowledging this and from that moment on described my lifestyle as ‘dancing up both ends of the ballroom’.  It genuinely suited my nature well.  As far as I was concerned I had found my niche as I always had celebrated diversity and I knew that I was free to feel attraction towards people, whatever their gender.  I never really discovered what it was that attracted me to some folk and not others, there was never a ‘type’ that I went for but at least now the their gender was irrelevant  .  People were just people and I either got drawn towards them or not.

Oddly enough, I then experienced resistance from a considerable amount of people, both straight and gay, who questioned my lifestyle.  Comments usually accused me of being indecisive, greedy or not having met the right man yet.  A saying often cited was, “You can’t have your cake and eat it”!  To me it gave me a welcome freedom, so I shrugged off these unhelpful comments and embraced my new start in life.  Shortly after this I began my spiritual journey into the world of witchcraft which I have remained in since.  Perhaps the two decisions were linked – it certainly connected me to the liminal or maybe I had always been there and had only just recognised it as such – as my destiny.

My predilection towards male jackets and coats stood me in good stead when it came to being a cunning woman or wisewoman.  Even as a child I had schoolboy contents to my pockets which contained bits of string, pebbles, feathers, wax, putty, penknife and so on.  There isn’t a world of difference when I now walk the land wearing my old wool overcoat with very similar contents in the many pockets, except perhaps the addition of a hip flask to offer rum to the spirits.  In addition there has been added a very important and now iconic component to my attire that I haven’t talked of until now – my hat.

That hat came into my life purely by happenstance.  As usual with most things to do with me, there is a story behind it.  The year was 1997 and involved myself and the Museum of Witchcraft.  We were approached by a woman who worked for Essex University.  She was in the process of organising and creating a Witchcraft Exhibition to be held at the university and wanted to see whether the Museum would be prepared to loan some exhibits.  As well as this she asked whether there was a modern proponent of the art who would be willing to create an exhibit especially for the exhibition, and this is where I entered the equation.  Following consultation I agreed to make a Witch’s Ladder to be displayed later on that year.  When the time of the Witchcraft Exhibition arrived we were invited to the private viewing, but as Graham King, the then owner, was too busy to make the trip he asked me to go representing the Museum, as well as in my own right.  So off to the wilds of Essex I went.

I arranged to stay with some friends who I had handfasted in the past who lived in Chelmsford.  I stayed in their spare room and as it was also a workshop, on a shelf near my bed I espied this hat.  As it turned out I found out something I didn’t know previously, which was that she was a milliner and was trying out a new design.  I impulsively asked whether I could borrow the hat to wear to the university the next day, and she agreed.  I can’t tell you how right that hat felt sitting on my head – it was like it was made just for me.

The Witchcraft Exhibition went well and on my return to my friends’ house I asked whether the hat was for sale.  To my delight I was told I could have it as a gift as it was only an experiment with a certain style and as far as I know, no other similar hats were made by her.

Ever since then that hat has stayed with me and has attracted all sorts of comments.  It’s been called ‘infamous’ and ‘disreputable’, and I remember on one occasion a man asking me why it wasn’t a pointy hat – to which I replied, “Because there’s no point..!”   He laughed and said that there was something about it that reminded him of a pointy hat, even though it wasn’t one – it just evoked that sort of response.  I quite liked that as it was nicely ambivalent.  Others say that it reminds them of the Artful Dodger, and although I can be a little mischievous I’m certainly not a thief.  Once again it seems there is an illusionary aspect at work if this energy is invoked by a simple hat.

My hat has never been worn by anyone else, and it never shall be – in fact, it’s going to go with me when I die to make sure – I wouldn’t want be responsible for the consequences should anyone else attempt to wear it anyway.  Over the years it seems to have become my trademark look for what I do being a village wisewoman along with the rest of my distinctive attire.

Afore I go I just want to add that on a few occasions there have been a few folk who have attempted to emulate how I look, which I find somewhat disconcerting.  Many say, ‘Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery’.  Well all I can say to that is, it obviously has never happened to them, as I find it not only uncomfortable but rather irritating!

So you see how my appearance evolved over the years.  There was no deliberate construction of an image, no studied persona – just me evolving slowly over the years as an individual, much to the frustration of the media I might add who expected me to be dressed in robes, dripping with magical accoutrements.  This is who I have become, and who I am, and I am well comfortable with that.  Vive la difference!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Making Memories

I like surprises.  Laetitia however is not so keen on them.  She likes to know what’s happening, when and where.  This can make events like birthdays and the like somewhat predictable.  This is why it was such a delight for me when a few days ago on my 73rd birthday I was informed that we were to be spending a night away at an unknown destination and to take my best bib and tucker with me.  I was intrigued and excited!

The first part of the journey was through a rather brutalist industrial landscape in Cornwall which I found slightly dispiriting – but I had faith that I was maybe being taken via a deliberately misleading route.  Fortunately after about 30 minutes the scenery gradually transformed into something more pastoral and it wasn’t too long until we emerged at the pretty fishing village of Mevagissey.

We made an interesting but unnerving unintentional detour along the quayside hoping there would be room enough to turn around our 4×4 vehicle when we ran out of road – fortunately there was.  Once we figured out how to find the right road, we drove up the steep hill to where we were staying the night – Honeycombe House.

This turned out to be a delightful guest house situated right up the top of Mevagissey which had uninterrupted views of the harbour and the sea.  Our room also had a balcony so we were soon out there with the ubiquitous glass of Cornish mead.  Fabulous!  🙂

 

Our host was a fascinating woman who with her husband and family had been abroad in many different countries in the diplomatic service.  This meant that there were many different and wonderful artefacts decorating their house which I couldn’t stop exploring and asking about as everything had a story.  You could tell by the furnishings and décor that she had exquisite taste and this extended itself into some lovely little touches as part of the hospitality.  The home baked shortbread biscuits on our drinks tray were delicious!

It was so good to get away from it all and just relax and admire the view, watching the fishing boats coming and going.  However, this visit meant something quite special to Laetitia as well.  Honeycombe House had a meaningful memory from her past.  She stayed in the guest house when she was in her teens and there was a very interesting synchronicity that occurred between her and my younger self during that holiday. I won’t spoil the story as you can find it in her book, Be Careful What You Wish For published by Crossed Crow Books.

By this time we were getting quite hungry so we put on our glad rags and walked down the hill to the restaurant where we had a table booked for dinner.  We ate at the Shark’s Fin which was right on the waterfront and fortunately we had a table right by the window.

We started with a cocktail made around the theme of passion fruit which we both loved.  It had been years since I’d been treated to one of those and I had forgotten how wonderfully potent they can be.  It was a bit like being given a warm, well intentioned shove, alcoholically speaking – which is a considerable improvement upon the swipe round the chops that some alcoholic beverages can produce!

Dinner was scrumptious.  I had lemon sole fillets with sea herbs and root vegetables, followed by green apple and gin & lemon sorbets all washed down with a crisp Pinot Grigio.

After a wander around the harbour and realising the night was too cold to hang about in, we made our slow ascent back up the hill to our hotel.  I had to do this in stages but there was plenty to take in as the Full Moon was shining down adding its own unique magic to our surroundings.

It was the perfect end to an exciting day – and so to sleep, perchance to dream… but I didn’t – dream that is.  Now anyone that knows me well realises that I am definitely not a morning person, however I was keen not to waste the opportunity of witnessing the sunrise across the sea from the ‘room with a view’ that we were occupying at that time.  I’m so glad I followed my impulse and here are the results of my vigil:

After I had taken all the photos I wanted I returned to the bedroom and watched the whole panorama unfold from the comfort of my bed together with the first cup of tea of the day.  Bliss!

Following a shower we traipsed down the stairs for our breakfast – yet another delightful experience as you can see.

Then it was time to pack up the car and say our goodbyes to our lovely host.  This is a place where we will definitely visit again and I would highly recommend for the more informed traveller.  Then we drove down the hill, parked up and indulged in a few hours of retail therapy and networking, before setting off for home once more.

I’ve reached the time of life when making memories is far more important than the accumulation of possessions.  It was a wonderful birthday surprise and I simply loved the experience.  Thank you so much Laetitia!  🙂

Here Be Dragons

Just over a decade ago life gave me the opportunity to live briefly in a rather wonderful place called Crean Mill.  It was a wildlife haven and I was in my element living there with a plethora of different birds and mammals visiting the land around the Mill.  What it also had in profusion was a vibrant dragonfly and damselfly population.  There was a very specific reason for this.  The previous owner of the Mill was world renowned expert on these fabulous insects, Philip Corbet, and he deliberately designed and landscaped the garden to attract these species.

Mill in Spring 010

I spent a blissful summer studying, identifying and recording all the dragonflies around the ponds and the many breathtakingly beautiful damselflies that gathered around the stream that ran through the woodland nearby.  Fortunately I was lent usage of a camera to photograph many of these gems so I still have stunning photos which remind me of those halcyon days.

What follows now is a Witch’s Dozen of images from that time.

Dragon 1

Dragon 2

Dragon4

Dragon3

Dragon5

Dragon6

Dragon7

Dragon8

Dragon9

Dragon10

Dragon11

Dragon12

Dragon13

All too soon my stay was cut short and I returned to my cottage in the village where I had but a modest little wildlife pond.  Only on two occasions had I spotted a small damselfly in my garden and I resigned myself to not seeing these fabulous creatures except on rare occasions when I visited gardens elsewhere.

However, just recently I had occasion to reconsider the situation.  Following a little research I found that it is entirely possible to adapt and change the plant life around my humble pond to tempt in dragonflies and damselflies.  I found an wonderful website called Puddleplants based in Wales and they gave me excellent help and advice.  Puddleplants

I set to clearing out the pond (no mean feat) and the space nearby ready to receive it’s new plants.

Here’s what the pond looked like before.

Pond (3)

After I had cleared space.

Pond 4 (2)

The finished pond with it’s dragonfly alluring plants.

Pondlife (2)

Pondlife (5)

Pondlife (3)

Now all that’s needed is for a passing dragon or damsel to spot my pond and see it as an ideal place to reproduce itself.  I have a feeling this may take some time.  Maybe a bit of magic is called for…

In the meantime just a few facts about dragons:

They eat their body weight in insects every day – useful if you’re susceptible to gnat and midge bites.

They evolved 300 million years ago predating dinosaurs – so they’re relics and real Old Souls.

The relic dragon had a wing span of over 3 feet – just imagine what that would look like – somewhat alarming methinks!

They are astonishing aerial acrobats with the ability to hover and reverse at high speed if necessary – very handy and versatile skills which makes them voracious hunters.

Contrary to their appearance they do not sting or bite – in fact they are beneficial to humans as they can decimate mosquitos and are an important part of the food web. 

 

Media Minefields

Just recently I granted an interview to someone from a local news agency about my work as a village wisewoman.  I was initially reluctant as we had been badly let down by poor reporting in the past.  I requested editorial input and specifically asked that my interview would not be offered to any tabloid publications.  These conditions were agreed to and the interview went ahead. 

Weeks went by and I must admit that it slipped to the back of my mind as I was kept busy by other concerns.  However I was brought up short a few days ago by seeing the following headline come up on my news alerts:  UK’s only ‘official witch’ puts spell on the tax man and claims expenses for magic – The Daily Star

Me at the Maidens

Not only had the agency reneged on what we had agreed upon, but they had thrown me to the lions by choosing to give the interview to the worst possible tabloid for publication.  To say I was incensed would be an understatement!  The only positive thing about it was the quality of the photography by a young man called James, sadly we didn’t find out his full name.  Since then the story appears to have gone global by appearing in various local newspapers from India to Australia and the Americas.  

Once I had calmed down somewhat I realised that the majority of the article remained true to what I had said, but there were some added inaccuracies which were annoyingly left in despite my correcting the interviewer on them earlier.  For instance, I have never claimed to be the ‘only official village witch in the UK’ – nor do I cast spells indiscrimately as suggested.  However, what truly bewilders me is, why all this sudden media attention and sensationalism about something that actually happened and was reported on 25 years ago?  I include a newspaper clipping to prove my point.

Business start up

So, why I am I surprised I hear some of you saying?  Well, quite frankly, it’s not good enough to just let the media off the hook in that way.  Why do they report inaccurately, especially when it comes to anything remotely to do with magic or alternative spiritualities or lifestyles.  Headlines in particular are often spurious and always sensational in order to attract the worst kind of attention.  TV also is just as guilty of this type of behaviour.  In the past I have appeared on all sorts of feature programmes about my work as a wisewoman, but almost inevitably the introduction to such footage contains spooky music and/or sound effects – owls hooting and the like.  I notice members of the clergy are never accompanied by organ music or heavenly choirs!  It’s all so tiresome, unnecessary and belittles the subject matter. 

Social media can also be a minefield.  As this story spread, so the article appeared on many social media forums and groups.  Subsequently we were informed about certain remarks made.  Given that most people know that the media often exaggerates and stretches the truth, lots of comments were based on the assumption that it was all accurate, and I was judged accordingly.  I joined one such group recently in order to join in the discussion that my article had triggered.  Imagine my surprise when my introductory comment was declined.  I had assumed that I would have had a right to reply since they were discussing me.  Unsurprisingly I didn’t bother staying in that group.  

So why do I have anything to do with the media at all?  Well, in the past I used media as a platform to help inform and educate the general public about folk magic and paganism in general.  I saw it as part of campaigning for human rights.  I still have that point of view, but I’m getting too old and cranky to want to have any further dealings with newspapers.  Sad really…  😦 

 

Dark Gathering 2017 – Into the Dark

I guess it’ll always be a difficult decision to make for the audience at the Dark Gathering.  ‘Shall I be in the procession with the Welsh Mari Lwyds – or shall I wait by the Museum with the Cornish Penkevyll?’  Hopefully folks in time will take it in turns to be in the torchlight procession or wait amidst the tribal drumming at the Museum.  Either way I feel there is a certain magic awaiting for the performer and onlooker alike.  There was quite a breeze this year so the torches were blazing and crackling fiercely as the Procession slowly made it’s way through the streets of Boscastle until eventually it came to the bridge by the Museum.

The Blasted Heath

From the window of my cottage as you gaze west there are three undulating hills.  The middle hill is Bartinney Downs.  It houses an Iron Age enclosure around the top, various tumuli and contains prehistoric field systems – and because of this, is a Scheduled Ancient Monument.  Bartinney Downs is also a heathland Nature Reserve and supports a large array of rare birds, mammals and insects. 

According to local folklore Bartinney has been a sanctuary due to the belief that ‘no evil spirit can exist within it’s boundaries’.  It has a wild beauty that many local people appreciate when they walk the hills of West Penwith.

Bartinney Downs - Photo credit: Unknown

During the night of 5th April 2021, some depraved or benighted individual(s) set fire to the hillside close to this much loved site.  The fire spread rapidly due to brisk winds until 120 acres of historic heathland was alight.  Fire crews battled through the night and into most of the next day until they eventually extinguished the blaze.  Local farmers witnessed various animals and small creatures ‘fleeing in terror from the flames’.  Not all made it out alive.  It was the worst possible time for a wildfire as it is nesting season for birds and many other creatures who made the Downs their home. 

Yesterday I made my way up to Bartinney Downs to see for myself what had happened to the land.  I knew that I had to brace myself as it would be upsetting.  As I approached I was aware of all the signs of Spring around me in the fields and hedgerows, but when I actually crossed the threshold into the sanctuary it was another matter.  All around me was a terrible wasteland with twisted and blackened skeletons of gorse and bramble rising out of a sea of ash.  There were heart breaking signs of death – singed eggshells and silvered snail shells just to name a few.  No birds sang, no insects buzzing – just the plaintive mewing of buzzards and the raucous caws of corvids high above.

Bartinney Downs (2)

Bartinney Downs (7)

Bartinney Downs (9)

Bartinney Downs (10)

Bartinney Downs (5)

At some points there was a cruel contrast between the blasted heath and the lush springtime which was just yards away. It felt like I was walking between two worlds as I paced the boundary whilst intoning a healing blessing to the Land.

Bartinney Downs (11)

Bartinney Downs (16)

Mercifully for this occupant the fire had been extinguished before they lost their home to the flames. Sadly as I made my way towards the summit it was apparent that many other homes and habitats suffered a very different fate.

Bartinney Downs (20)

Bartinney Downs (35)

Bartinney Downs (22)

Bartinney Downs (30)

Eventually I reached the top where I undertook a full blessing of the Land with appropriate offerings, together with my tears for the wilful sacrilege. I prayed for a speedy restoration of Bartinney’s essence and spirit together with the rejuvenation, which will take years to recover. I dwelt for a while on the irony of the Cornish meaning of Bartinney – bre-tanow or hill of fires…

Then it was time to leave in the hope that the next time I come this way, that some green shoots may be sprouting. After all Nature is resilient and relentless.

Bartinney Downs (36)

Bartinney Downs (33)

Bartinney Downs (23)

Local residents are shocked by this incident and are rightly incensed when they learnt that it was started deliberately. I personally don’t understand what motivates people to destroy wildlife and their habitation in such a violent manner, but I sincerely hope that they get exactly what they deserve for their actions, and may they know no rest in the meantime.

The Third Age

It’s been simply ages since I last wrote a blog, and I started writing this particular post many months ago and then abandoned it as it seemed a bit self-indulgent.  However, since that time we have been in Lockdown due to the worldwide spread of the corona virus, Covid 19 and life has got not only bewildering but also on occasion, depressing.  For a while it looked like the silver lining to this crisis would be the realisation that the environment could be saved and protected from the ills of consumerism as it slowly but surely recovered.  Sadly as the restrictions were eased it appears that there has been an almost frenzied return to capitalism, right-wing fascism and unbelievable levels of rubbishing our countryside and wildlife.  In Cornwall as the tourist industry returns slowly, there have been harrowing tales of rudeness and trashing of our environment by seemingly uncaring visitors.  So many people appear to have no qualms about invading others’ personal space especially those who are vulnerable to this virus, and there is nothing but deception, hypocrisy and bluster coming from our so called government.  No wonder it is difficult to view the future with any sense of hope.

This is the very time then to remember that not everyone is uncaring and hateful and that there are good folks out there who are part of community who are doing wondrous things for others.  There are actually more decent folk in the world than the nasty ones – it’s just that the horrible people seem to get more air time thereby seeming to be more prolific.  So, time for some positivity!  🙂

As I reached my late sixties I began to notice how many folk of my generation were beginning to die at age 69.  It was quite marked and I was feeling considerable uneasiness when I too reached that age last year.  It was decided that it would be a good idea to arrange a 70th Birthday Party for me to celebrate having survived that anomaly.

We gave plenty of notice to everyone and asked that instead of buying me a present that they just bring a plate of food and something to drink.  We were holding the party in our local village hall which is not a licensed premises but could hold a large amount of people.  Our guest list was wonderfully diverse and included folk that I work and play alongside, together with locals I know well from the village.  I asked that any musicians to bring instruments so we could have some live music sessions as well as the entertainment I was secretly arranging.

There was a rather wonderful build up to the event as my sister Rosemary came over from Canada to help me celebrate and stayed in the village.  So my 70th birthday dawned with Laetitia presenting me with a truly wonderful and well thought out gift that I will treasure always – and then it was time to pick up Rosemary from the train station.  Barely had she landed than she was whisked off to a restaurant for my birthday dinner treat.  This was an excellent meal at the Godolphin Arms in Marazion.

Finally we let Rosemary go to her bed to catch up from jet lag, and we too had an early night because the next day was not only my party but also St Piran’s Day in Redruth.

Our Obby Oss, Penkevyll has been a regular performer in the St Piran’s Parade through Redruth for many years now – and this year was no exception.  It was great to see my sister thoroughly enjoying herself watching this spectacle and I was in my element joining in the fun.  😀

Following a quick lunch it was all hands to the tiller to prepare the village hall for the party.  That took several hours I can tell you!

Finally everything was prepared and we returned home to get me ready.  I had the full works, hair, make-up (which I rarely wear) and a newly purchased stylish outfit.  When I returned to the hall I was somewhat miffed by being told in no uncertain manner that I must not go into the small hall where all the food and drink was.  Mind you, all became clear when I eventually was allowed through.  What greeted my eyes was the most stunning cake I have ever seen.  Wow!

Isn’t it amazing?

This was made by Sue Exton, a dear friend who together with her husband John helped make my birthday a very special event.

Tia, Sue and Me

Then I was semi-kidnapped by the members of Boekka who insisted that I open their present as I would need it at the party.  I duly unwrapped the parcel and found a beautiful tankard with my name on.  However, when I turned the tankard around I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw a wonderfully engraved image of my beloved Penkevyll!  Wow again!  😀

I’m so proud of my tankard and it goes out with me every time I go to a pub!

By this time folk had started to arrive and there was a lot of people to meet and greet.  I was so moved that so many came from near and far.  Also my musician friends arrived so we quickly started to warm up with a few local tunes and the party really began to swing.  There was masses of food and drink and we actually had to bring out another trestle table as there wasn’t enough room in the side hall for all the produce.

Then rather wonderfully my surprise guests to the delight of everyone walked in – Beltane Border Morris.  It was a little surreal for my village friends who had never experienced the like before.  One local said to me that she thought a coach party had arrived when about 20 – 25 dark faced and tattered performers marched through the front door, walked through the hall and out backstage without a word!  😀

I didn’t explain anything and simply waited until they had set up and then introduced them as my special guests who very kindly agreed to perform at my party.  Then the dancing began…

They were electrifying!

For their last piece, the Beltane Fire Dance, I was called forward and presented with their latest CD and then given the slightly scary honour of being placed in the middle of this now famous dance.

My goodness me – that really is a ‘place between the worlds’ that has to be experienced to be appreciated.  An unforgettable occasion!

Then it was time to blow out the candles on my wonderful cake.

I was then treated to an amusing birthday song from Beltane.

Cutting the cake proved to be a mite difficult – hence the ‘Psycho’ pose with the knife!

I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed my 70th Birthday Party – it was ace!  It was great to play music with Steve, Julie, Mike, Fee and Courtney – and then went on to drum with Beltane when they arrived.  It gladdened my heart to see the village hall full of very diverse folk from all walks of life including our local Rector, all getting on famously with each other, many of whom had never met before – and the only common factor was myself and Laetitia.

After all the months of planning it all was over very quickly and it seemed like before I knew it, people were making their way home from what later on turned out to be the Party of the Year – as very swiftly following that we entered Lockdown.  Just in time – phew!

Despite what I had requested, I was inundated with presents and cards and I spent the next 24 hours opening them.  I was truly overwhelmed with the lovely gifts and messages.  Some of them were so thoughtfully and lovingly wrought that it brought tears to my eyes.  Some were magical items that I’m not going to photograph so as not to interfere with their energies; but take it from me, they were very skilfully crafted.  There were also umpteen bottles of wine and fizz that we slowly worked our way through over the following weeks – very much appreciated!  🙂

As a fine example of the dedication to detail of some gifts, I will use  the stunningly beautiful shawl that was hand made especially for me.  The making was quite a journey and I have the permission of the multi-talented Linsey Duncan-Pitt to publish the back story.

These inserts were included with the shawl and I only found these later on.

For those of you who are knitters and/or spinners, here is a link that describes in more detail how it was made.

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10158339736154548&type=3

All of this plus many more wonderful moments made my 70th Birthday celebrations the best yet.  Which brings me to the question – does reaching the age of 70 feel any different?  I can categorically state Yes!

Basically I recognise clearly that I am stepping over a threshold from adulthood into elderhood.  It’s a bit of a mixture of things really – it certainly focuses the mind when I consider that I might have only 10 – 15 years left to my life – or less.  Realising that anything could just remove you at any time.  I’m fully aware that this could happen at any age, but it takes up space more in the forefront of your mind when you reach your seventies.  However, it really does help develop a deep appreciation of all sorts of things – living in the moment; loving nature, friendship, community, music, grateful for reasonably good health and so on.

Another plus is realising that you don’t care so much about what people think of you.  Things that used to sometimes wound or upset me no longer do so.  I still care about people but I don’t tolerate bad behaviour anymore.  That is a great relief and brings with it a real sense of freedom.

Certainly I have slowed down physically speaking and there are a few things that I can no longer manage that I have learnt to give in gracefully to.  I now enjoy taking my time pottering around rather than trying to do 10 things all at once.  Taking time to smell the roses so to speak.  🙂

So to all those younger people who are secretly dreading growing older – it’s not that bad, in fact it’s got a lot going for it – it all depends on your point of view.

However, having said all that – it’s weird being the same age as old people!  😉

Dark Gathering 2019 – Part Two

At last I have finished the Dark Gathering blog for the year! 🙂

cassandralathamjones's avatarThe Dark Gathering

So to the second half of the Dark Gathering – the arrival of the Mari Lwyds and the Honouring of the Ancestors.  Following a quick and much needed mulled cider it was time to line-up the drummers ready to send the signal to the Procession to commence.  This is a part of the proceedings where the general public, if they have the ability, can join in with the tribal drumming.

Also this was the time for Penkevyll to emerge from her stable with her Teazers to call the Mari Lwyds to the Museum of Witchcraft & Magic.  As anticipated the Teazers led by Laetitia Latham-Jones danced and wove their magic upon the crowd and Penkevyll to the sound of trance-like tribal drumming.

Shortly after 6 pm the Lantern Procession headed off for the Museum led ably by Laura Marshall from Beltane accompanied by many differing characters including the famous Mari…

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