Old Demdike: Forty Seven

Put To Question: The Thumbscrews

Torture isn’t allowed under English law –
but the thumbscrews or pilniewinks crush even the strongest will!

“. . . in 1596, the son and daughter of Aleson Balfour, who was accused of witchcraft, were tortured to make her confess her crime in the manner following: Her son was put in the buits where he suffered fifty-seven strokes; and her daughter about seven years old, was put in the pilniewinks . . .”

Blessed Be

Don’t overlook me

   or underestimate my power –

I rock in the darkness of night

   on a misty bower.

Moon

The clouds troll my words

   and carry my message on air –

slashing the canvas of space with

   a shadowy tear.

There’s fascination

   veiled in many disguises –

but some seek only the darkling

   feral surprises.

I glow beyond time

   like an ancient wayward daughter

birthed of the moon  – You can simply

call me an author.

Olde English Hotpot

Hotpot was traditionally cooked in a cauldron on an open fire.  Nowadays it’s made in a non-stick pan on the stove.

Hotpot

Ingredients:

Large can of best Stewing Steak

5lbs potatoes

1lb carrots

2 large onions

2 cups beef stock

2oz butter or margarine

Salt

Black pepper

Method:

1. Peel all the vegetables.  Fry the chopped carrots and onions together in the melted butter or margarine until soft.

2.  Add the Stewing Steak.  Stir well.

3. Cut the potatoes into 1-2″ cubes and add to the pot.  Stir well.

4. Cover over the top of the potatoes with beef stock (adding more water if necessary).

5.  Bring to the boil.  Reduce to a low heat.  Simmer for 1-2 hours until the mixture is reduced and all of the vegetables are fully cooked.  Stir frequently.

Serve with red cabbage, pickled onions, mushy peas, or crusty bread.

Enjoy!

The Hill

There are few place in England older, or more shrouded in mystery, than Stonehenge.  The famous stones in Wiltshire have aroused much speculation throughout the centuries – that they were built by alien gods – conjured up by Merlin – designed by the Druids for ritual sacrifices – or were part of a mystical system of Ley Lines.  This magic circle still draws thousands of tourists every year from all parts of the globe.  It is a place of natural energy and stunning design.

Stonehenge  But there is another place of wonder in the North of Britain, far more ancient and equally fascinating, called Pendle Hill.  Almost the size of a mountain, it rises 1,829′ above sea level in the Pennine Range, separating the ancient seats of Lancaster (Lancashire) and York (Yorkshire).

Hill

The hill is a place of stark, feral beautiful, often mysteriously shrouded in mist.  A Bronze Age burial site has been discovered on the summit, and it is said that the Druids once lived close by.  For as long as men and women worshipped the rising sun there have been celebrations on this thirsty earth, a soil demanding human blood.  There are rumors of wicker-man sacrifices – fertility rites to bring in the spring – priestesses who could raise storms and conquer invading enemies.  Even the great Julius Caesar admitting to fearing these weird conjurers.

Although little of Pendle’s history is certain before the Norman Conquest, the land was then given to the De Laceys and they established two “royal” hunting grounds, one in the Forest of Pendle and the other in the Forest of Trawden.  Throughout the Middle Ages  this area was a center for sheep farming and wool production, and despite Henry VIII’s Reformation the people clung to their old beliefs – probably a little Celtic paganism mixed with Catholic ritual and a hefty dose of superstition.

It is still an awesome place today.  From the top of the cairn you can often see as far as the sea.  The air tingles with a hidden current, like the pulse of an ancient heartbeat.  This peculiar energy cannot be explained but it has been interpreted in two important, yet widely opposing ways.  In 1652 George Fox climbed to the top of Pendle Hill and had a vision of many souls coming to Christ. This compelled him to start the Quaker Movement and dedicate his life to the service of God.

A few years earlier, however, this same land was thought to be riddled with witches and demons, which triggered the Lancashire Witch Trials of 1612 and 1634.

If you are ever in Lancashire, it is well worth a visit!

 

Queen’s It’s A Kind Of Magic

It’s A Kind Of Magic

(Roger Taylor)

Trick

It’s a kind of magic.
It’s a kind of magic.
A kind of magic – no way.
One dream, one soul, one prize,
one goal, one golden glance of what should be.
It’s a kind of magic.
One shaft of light that shows the way.
No mortal man can win this day.
It’s a kind of magic.
The bell that rings inside your mind
is challenging the doors of time.
It’s a kind of magic.
The waiting seems eternity,
The day will dawn, of sanity.
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh.
Is this a kind of magic ?
It’s a kind of magic.
There can be only one.
This rage that lasts a thousand years
will soon be done.
This flame that burns inside of me,
I’m hearing secret harmonies.
It’s a kind of magic.
The bell that rings inside your mind
is challenging the doors of time.
It’s a kind of magic.
It’s a kind of magic.
This rage that lasts a thousand years
will soon be, will soon be, will soon be done.
This is (this is) a kind (a kind) of magic (yeah).
There can be only one – one –  one – one.
This rage that lasts a thousand years
will soon be done – done.
Magic – it’s a kind of magic.
It’s a kind of magic.
Magic – magic – magic – (magic)
Ha ha ha haa – it’s magic.
Ha, haa.
Yeah, yeah.
Wooh.
It’s a kind of magic!

See Freddie’s performance:

It’s A Kind Of Magic

Old Demdike: Forty Six

Put To Question: The Rack

Torture isn’t allowed under English law –
but some folk get stretched on The Rack:

“We went to the torture room in a kind of procession, the attendants walking ahead with lighted candles.
The chamber was underground and dark, particularly near the entrance. It was a vast place and every device and instrument of human torture was there. They pointed out some of them to me and said I would try them all. Then he asked me again whether I would confess.
‘I cannot,’ I said.”
(Father John Gerard, 1597)