From my voluntarie Confession and Examination (April 2, 1612)
” . . . the speediest way to take a mans life away by Witchcraft, is to make a Picture of Clay, like unto the shape of the person whom they meane to kill,& dry it thorowly: and when they would have them to be ill in any one place more then the other; then take a Thorne or Pinne, and pricke it in that part of the Picture you would so have to be ill: and when you would have any part of the Body to consume away, then take that part of the Picture, and burne it. And when you would have the whole body to consume away, then take the remnant of the sayd Picture, and burne it: and so thereupon by that meanes, the body shall die.”
Source: Potts, Thomas. The Wonderfull Discoverie of Witches in the Countie of Lancaster, 1613.
A Charme to Cure the Bewitched.
(Francisco de Goya y Lucientes)
“Upon Good-Friday, I will fast while I may
Untill I heare them knell
Our Lords owne Bell,
Lord in his messe
With his twelve Apostles good,
What hath he in his hand
Ligh in leath wand:
What hath he in his other hand?
Heavens doore key,
Open, open Heaven doore keyes,
Steck, steck hell doore.
Let Crizum child
Goe to it Mother mild,
What is yonder that casts a light so farrandly,
Mine owne deare Sonne that’s naild to the Tree.
He is naild sore by the heart and hand,
And holy barne Panne,
Well is that man
That Fryday spell can,
His childe to learne;
A Crosse of Blew, and another of Red,
As good Lord was to the Roode.
Gabriel laid him downe to sleepe
Upon the ground of holy weepe:
Good Lord came walking by,
Slep’st thou, wak’st thou Gabriel,
No Lord I am sted with sticke abd stake,
That I can neither sleepe nor wake:
Rise up Gabriel and goe with me,
The stick nor the stake shall never deere thee.
Sweete Jesus our Lord, Amen.”
Taken from Jennet Device’s testimony against her bother, James (August, 1612)
I tell folk we hail from a long line of cunning folk, that our roots stretch all the way back to the Druids. They baptized me Elizabeth Southerns as a bairn but everyone calls me Old Demdike – the local name for a wise woman.
Come to me with your dreams and I’ll make you a potion. Bring me your nightmares, I’ll chase them away with a charm. If ye labor in vain I’ll aid in the birthing, and chant in your milk on the midnight air. But cross me and mine at your peril, for there’s none can curse as good or foul as our lot.
We all live together at Malkin Tower in Blacko, a cottage in the shadow of the hill that’s seen better days. There’s my cock-eyed lass Squinting Lizzie, widowed a good few years back from John Device. And the three of her brood that survive: Jim, a moonstruck lad as daft as a brush; Ali, the minx who started this witch hunting lark; and bonny wee Jenny.
Jenny’s the viper in our midst. She tattled to Justice Nowell about our doings and now a dozen of us are standing trial for murder on the lies that spewed from her gob. Who’d have ever thought a nine year old cur would bring down the mighty Demdike?
Do you believe in witches?
Careful! The history of the Craft is one of persecution – and this is a tale you won’t have heard afore since there’s none left alive to tattle.
I’m the wisest woman in Pendle, as old as the soil. Listen when the wind whips the mist off the cairn and you may catch me howling.
I’ll tell you all about The Hill – if you walk with me yonder on the dark side of the ridge, and if you cross my palm with silver.
But enter this realm with caution
because you can never return to the time of not knowing . . .