The Maidstone Witch Trials

So you've probably heard me mention the Maidstone Witches of late, and I thought as the anniversary of the trial is today,  now would be the time to tell you a little more about them. On 30th July 1652 six women, Anne Ashby, Anne Martin, Anne Wilson, Mary Browne and Mildred Wright from Cranbrook and Mary Reade from Lenham were all on trial at The Summer Assizes here in Maidstone, charged with murder and witchcraft. 

Not a position anyone would want to find themselves in, during this Puritan era of history. According to the records there was usually one or two witchcraft cases a year at the assizes, in 1652 there were an astonishing 18. I've been to the National Archives at Kew to see the Assizes records, and it makes very stark reading.

                                                       

                                                         The Assize Records

Their alleged crimes ranged from nearly 4 years previously, when a Lenham Farmer died, and Mary was accused of bewitching and killing him, whilst the other women from Cranbrook faced a mixture of 3 allegations, two involving children or babies that had 'withered and died', and another of a woman who had 'languished and died' all due to witchcraft. This was at a time when the infant mortality rate was 1 in 5 children  would die before their first birthday* and of those who made it to adulthood could expect an average life expectancy of around  35, precarious times for anyone who was a healer or midwife, or if you had a family with a grudge or who bore you ill will.

                                                The Old Gaol Cell, Maidstone

Details are scant, but we know that they were taken for trial at the Lower Court House in Maidstone, and held in the small wooden cell below it, the actual cell shown above was rebuilt in the new Town Hall in the roof, using the very same wooden walls. We also know from the records that they had been examined for Devil's marks and pricked, as was the advice of the leading authorities of the time, detailed in a book written by King James I titled Daemonologie published just over 50 years before. Pricking for those of you who have never heard of it, was when an instrument with a needle or a pin would be used to determine if the accused felt pain or even bled, the problem being that these pins often retracted deliberately on witch marks such as moles, scars and birthmarks, so you were stuffed either way.

                             Photo Courtesy of The Museum of Witchcraft

Some of the women confessed "that the Divell had known them carnally, and that they had no hurt by it", and several declared themselves to be pregnant by him too, maybe hoping that repenting their guilt would result in a more merciful sentence, or prevent them from hanging. It was just as likely that they were struggling psychologically after being detained and being submitted to what was effectively psycho-sexual torture or weren't well in the first place, let's face it no one at that time had heard of mental health conditions or learning disabilities. 

The Old Court House, Maidstone

These women, possibly healers and midwives, were persecuted for being odd, or different, for being troublesome or argumentative, or deemed a nuisance or a burden on their community, or maybe they were just on the wrong side of the religious and political thinking of the then climate of the Commonwealth, overseen by Oliver Cromwell. 18 people were on trial that day for witchcraft, which was a huge and unprecedented number for the Town and yes, they were a mixture of men and women, married, single or widowed, but guess who were found guilty and sentenced to hang - the single or widowed women - to a woman. 

The sentence was carried out almost immediately.

Contemporary Woodcut 17th Century

So that, in a very small nutshell is why we have been campaigning to have a small memorial for them put in place, to remember them and vindicate them, somewhere in the town so that their story is told and their voices heard even if somewhat belatedly. We created a petition that we presented to the Full Council the week before last and are looking forward to discussing taking it forward with them, and we are of course, keeping it very much in the public eye.

Despite these events happening 373 years ago, it feels that in today's current climate of tension and misinformation and of rising hatred and bigotry, where there is a worryingly similar hysteria around events and stories, this time on social media, I feel it's as pertinent as ever, and a timely warning against the power and the injustice of the Witch Hunt.

 Have A Blessed Week x x

* https://www.peterrazzell.co.uk/Papers/The_History_of_Infant_Child_and_Adult_Mo.pdf

A Weekend In The Woods

In the Northern Hemisphere camping season is upon us, and before the children broke up for school, we snuck in a cheeky camp here in our little South East corner of the UK - Camp Cantiaci, named for one of the original tribes of Kent, the tribe which gave us our county name too. So leaving aside the eternal cry of what did the Romans ever do for us, they gave us a name for a bloody good camp!

So safely tucked away, deep in the semi rural, almost suburbs, near Tovil's famous and imaginary treacle mine, about thirty of us found a small wooded oasis that we made our temporary home for the weekend and celebrated the many facets of Paganism, embracing our different paths and discovering a myriad of things that we never knew we didn't know! We explored rune chanting, tarot and crystals, and shamanism, we heard about the local witch trials (no prizes for guessing who that was!) and we made our own rods and tried dowsing. We shared stories and songs, poems and drumming and had the pleasure of a wonderful local folk singer Rachel who sang some familiar songs, as well as her own words, written about the fight to save some local woodland, Oaken Wood, sad and haunting songs and some full of energy, made even more potent and poignant as we sat listening to her clear and beautiful voice around the camp fire, in our own little woodland glade.

For me there were three stand out moments of the weekend, I can't put them in an order, so they are going to have to be just chronological! The first being a Gathering of Goddesses, where the SiStars from our Moon Circle dressed up as different Goddesses and well, I guess embodied them. 

I wasn't going to use the term embodied originally, as we weren't attempting to be them or channel them, but give us a costume and some powerful words written by each woman from the heart and let us enter to a spontaneous and rousing drumming circle rendition of the intro to Queen's "We Will Rock You" and yeah, we strutted out stuff like you wouldn't believe! 

Collectively in that moment we were Hekate, Sulis, Nehalennia, Sekmet, Flidais, Freya, Callieach, Danu and yours truly was Andraste with photographic evidence courtesy of Brian below!

If there was any channelling to be had by me, in this moment I was pure Boudicca, getting ready for battle, and Andraste seems to be enjoying my interest and staying a while, which is very apt right now as we fight for the recognition of the Women who were victims of the Maidstone Witch hunt nearly 400 years ago. It wasn't just an excuse to dress up though (honest!) like I said, we all wrote words to represent the attributes and correspondences of our individual Goddess, so here's mine:

"I am Andraste.

Maybe you know of me, but for many, my name has been lost in the mists of time. Let your hearts and minds cast themselves back to ancient memories and feel the stirrings of remembrance. Connect to the land beneath you and feel me in the beat of your heart.

I am Goddess of this land, as far up as the Land of the East Angles and also here in this land of the Cantiaci, you hear my name in the whispers of the old places now – Anderida Forest and Andreds Weald, I was, and still am Goddess of this sacred land.

I am a warrior Goddess, my name Andraste means she who has not fallen, she who is invincible, and yes, I am the one who stands before you as you enter the battlefield. Many years since, my name was fervently whispered in prayers of protection and for courage or howled in wild invocations as warriors braced themselves for battle, and I was, and I still am a Goddess of victory, war, and sovereignty. My followers summon me to them, hair flowing, battle ready and spear, in hand – a symbol of my power and strength in battle and my ability to protect my people and their lands.

When my High priestess Boudica fought the invaders of our land nigh on two millennia ago, she called to me on the eve of battle “I thank you, Andraste, and call upon you as woman speaking to woman.... I beg you for victory and preservation of liberty” and I fought with her, for I am protector of my land and people.  It was not I that failed her, but the warriors who had lost their belief in the old ways, and turned tail and ran in fear at the might of those Roman Bastards. Spit.

 I am not merely a bloodthirsty war monger; I fight for liberty and sovereignty. I am a true warrior, protector of the weak, the vulnerable and those who have no voice, but underestimate me at your own risk, for I will fight tooth and nail for what is right, and I will tear you limb from limb and my ravens will find rich pickings in the wake I leave at every battlefield.

Aside from the battlefield, I am Goddess of rebirth and renewal of the land, and the sacred wheel of the year as it turns. I am celebrated in deep stillness of the winter at the Solstice, as the old year fades,  with great festivals and feasts held in my honour, in the deep and sacred groves of our Island, and if it pleases me, I bestow blessings, fortune and protection on my tribes for the  coming year, and bring  abundance and fertility in the coming greening months of spring. I am protector of the land, and all the creatures that nestle is its glades and forests. My sacred animal is the hare, old frisky legs or run-the-winds as we knew them, for they are swift, agile and cunning - all attributes I possess to outrun, outwit and out manoeuvre those who pit their wits against me.  

I am also Goddess of divination and magic, and of destiny, and if you call me to you, I may grant you insights into the path that lays ahead, especially when the crescent moon is high and luminous, and your dream Magick is strong.  A word of warning though, it is not always fortune that I bestow so be careful what you seek. Like luck itself though,  I am a shapeshifter, so I may show you a challenge, instead of an open doorway, but I am resilient and I will lead you through challenges and show you your ability to rise to face them with strength and courage, from the well deep within you, as a true warrior and protector of liberty." 

Straight from terrifying and beguiling other campers with this, and full of Wild Women and Goddess energy, we rounded up the entire camp, men as well and headed into the woods for a very special and personal Croning Ceremony for our Shirley. Usually a women only affair, to mark invariably the end of menstruation, becoming a Grandmother, retiring or whatever rite of passage each society deems a woman as a Crone, our Shirl decided that, as it was her 61st birthday and she would be at camp, that she would choose her moment, to lift her own crown and embrace her Cronehood, and was happy for the men to share it too, which made for a truly powerful and emotional ceremony. We heard Shirley's own reflections on her life, with  poems and readings for each stage of it, from some of the SiStars, I won't elaborate as they are personal and they are her stories to share with you if she chooses, but they were precious jewels and remembrances that will stay with all that were there,but this photo taken by our friend Ginny, captures the moment after the ceremony was over to absolute perfection.

Lastly, the sense of tribe and community was almost indescribable, that bonding with people that you know 'get you' and although you've only just met, you know they have a part to play in your future.. yeah that by the shed load! It culminated in a Wickerman procession. 

The wooden Wickerman was created and drummed into life whilst we were titivating for the Gathering of the Goddesses, and after we had feasted communally, and whilst the dry weather lasted, we sang our songs around the fire and had our own flaming torch lit procession with drums and horns, and with tin whistle and melodeon, he was offered to the flames along with our prayers and hopes that we had written to the Gods and Goddess. It was so fantastically primordial and powerful, that even if we'd had a 40 feet Wickerman, and were parading around Stonehenge itself, I don't think we'd have whooped or cheered anymore or felt it's sense of ritual so keenly in our hearts in that moment. It was truly special.

So all in all, quite a busy weekend, we are all back to the day to day and the ordinary now, but with a sense of the extraordinary and a little more magick in our hearts to sustain us until the next time we gather.

Have A Blessed Week  x x