Witchcraft and Secret Societies of Rural England: The Magic of Toadmen, Plough Witches, Mummers, and Bonesmen

INTRODUCTION

Keeping Up the Day

Listen, lords, both great and small,

And take good heed of what I say:

I shall you tell as true a tale,

As ever was heard by night or day.

When I watched the demolition of a weather-boarded barn on Bradmore Street, Cambridge, early in 1968, I was struck at how it was going unnoticed that this was the last remaining structure from when that urban street had been farmland. Walking through the rubble, I picked up a smashed pantile, and there, scratched in it by the potter who made it before it went to the kiln, was the date 1738. In 1968, many of the buildings of the town in the Kite area and on the other side of East Road were boarded up in various states of dereliction. Most, unlike the venerable barn, dated from after 1811, when the land had been enclosed and sold off as building plots. Unnoticed and scorned, ready only to be pulled down, many of these buildings had the telltale signs of the craftsmen who made them: stained glass, ornamental weatherboards, wrought-iron wall anchors, doors pierced with the Cambridge spark of life pattern. The inhabitants had been moved out, and sociocide had taken place so that a new shopping center could be built.

In late 1968, a group of us set up the publication Cambridge Voice. It was clear to us that had these buildings been part of the university, they would have been lovingly preserved, and tourists would have taken admiring photographs of them. Although Cambridge Voice ceased publication in 1970, in our own small way we attempted to show that the everyday life of the town was authentic, existing with no help from the university, for between town and gown a social apartheid existed that has not changed in all the years since. The identity of Cambridge, as presented to tourists and the world at large, was and is solely of the university, as though the town itself and the working people of the town who serve the university and without whom it could not function were and are of no account. Local identity, important in so many ways, is marginalized within its own home.

To know oneself, one has to know the past. But how we perceive the past is important. The past is not a single thing that can be described and defined like a single object; there is a near-impenetrable complexity in what happened and the effect it has on the present. Many people look back to the past in an uncritical way; there is a tendency to glamorize the past. Reenactors and museum proprietors are in no position to re-create the misery and suffering that characterized large parts of many people’s lives in the past, so an acceptable impression is created instead. There is always a tendency to glamorize the past as the good old days. Some people look back on revisionist versions of history that they present as a golden age. One’s golden age depends on one’s ideology: ancient Egypt, pagan Ireland, the Baghdad caliphate, Viking Scandinavia, Catholic Christendom, the British Empire, the Soviet Union—all can be presented as wondrous lost worlds where culture flourished and all lives were thereby enriched. How everyday life was for the peasants, artisans, and slaves whose labor kept the caliphs, popes, lords, kings, or party chairmen in luxury is ignored. Others look back more generally, seeking out some utopian societies: tribal, rural, nomadic, religious, national, and so forth. Religious utopians often try to emulate the way of life lived in the early days of the faith, when it was pure. Political utopians seek to restore decayed nations and empires. What they all have in common is an understanding that some of the ways of living and doing in the past were of value, but they are lost. By striving to restore the imagined utopias, they are striving to recover the ancient ways represented by their respective utopias.

Unless we are from patrician or aristocratic families whose genealogies have been recorded since the Norman Conquest, we do not have much information about our forebears. At best, we may have a few names and the trades they were in at the time certain records were made. But even for the genealogy enthusiast, it is difficult to track down ancestors born before 1800. Though their work sustained the famous who appear in history, they are forgotten. I know that many of my ancestors lived in grinding poverty on the edge of starvation. My ancestress Elizabeth Hazelwood, who lived, one cannot say flourished, in Ely in the 1840s, saw most of her children die as babies. Later in the century, things were no better. In 1898 in the Daily News was written, A few years ago, it was the custom to talk and write about ‘Derelict Essex’ . . . of all the agricultural depression that was to be deplored in England, that of Essex was most hopeless (Daily News 1898). Writing much later, John Reverend Jack Putterill, vicar of Thaxted and supporter of morris dancing, observed that little of the folk dancing in that part of England was recorded, though it was certainly performed, because the bitter poverty and distress of the nineteenth century had killed it off. Life was unimaginably harsh for the majority who did not have a place in history like their lords and masters.

If I can, through this book, preserve some of the knowledge of all the struggles my ancestors went through, then something of them will live on. Today, these working people, many of whom were barely literate, would be considered ignorant, unpleasant characters. The present-day emphasis on the academic qualifications needful if one is to get a job has marginalized those skills and wisdom embedded within the traditional culture of this country. But, although they are still known about and a few people exercise them, these skills are lost to the majority. Unfortunately, through this de-skilling of society, the greater part of Britain has thrown away the best of our culture. Seeing beyond illusory mundane activities is not encouraged by modernity, obsessed as it is with numbers and finance. Globalized capitalism has no interest in traditions that stretch back to ancient times, preserved and carefully passed down through the generations—unless they can be repackaged for commercial gain. To do so, of course, inevitably destroys their inner essence and the traditions become empty shells devoid of meaning.

The sheer richness of the texture of traditional customs and music in this region is instructional. There is still a real interconnectedness with the activities of everyday life in times before we were dependent on machines and the mass media. Despite everything, many traditional customs have proved very tenacious and continue to be performed. To those who ask why, there are two replies: It is necessary to keep up the day, and It’s done because it’s done. Days kept up by our traditional observances include the summer and winter solstices, Boxing Day (the day after Christmas Day), Twelfth Night, Candlemas, May Day, Lammas, Allhallows’ Eve (Hallowe’en), and Martinmas (November 11).

Some traditional practices have continued in individual localities, and so are associated with those places and the county, when, if we but knew it, they may have existed in many other places, too, in the past, but are now undocumented.

These traditions would not exist unless there were people to perform them. Traditionally, the way that they have been kept in being is through groups of people who have some common interest, groups that last longer than the life of any individual. Country customs have been kept going by what came to be called rural fraternities. These range from craft guilds and local trade unions to morris dancers and village bands. Most of the traditions have some elements known only to the people who perform them. These are secrets, often connected with the tricks of the trade. They are not secret in the way that only members know about them, but they are secrets that can be understood only by those who have in some way been initiated into the group. Practitioners of any secret art must keep it squat and conceal it from the view of those who need not know and should not know.

In addition to this necessary secretiveness, there has often been the need to avoid persecution by the religious and civil authorities, and so these organizations were and are compelled to operate clandestinely. This is one reason for the use of masks, face coloring, and other disguises in our tradition. In Scotland, local chapters of the Society of the Horseman’s Grip and Word*1 and lodges of the Oddfellows preserved the old, traditional forms of festivity wherever they could. In this region, it was the Confraternity of the Plough that kept up the day. Keeping up the day is one of the functions of traditional unadvertised groups whose members make their appearances as broom dancers, plough witches, plough stots, bullockers, boggans, hoodeners, witchmen, and mummers on the wintertime holy days of Tander, Boxing Day, Hogmanay, Twelfth Night, and Plough Monday, and at wassails.†2 Appearing masked, hooded, in blackface and tatters, as she-males, or guising as the Old Horse, Black Dog, Straw Man, Straw Bear, Crane, Old Sow, and Old Tup, they preserved their anonymity, and in so doing kept the ancient skills and wisdom they held from falling into disuse and extinction, and so have handed them on to us.

As with all things in this transient world, our human culture is ever changing, and its only presence is in its performance. All living cultural traditions, wherever they are, are in a state of continuous evolution, adapting themselves to the particular conditions prevailing at the present moment. This present moment is the result of what has preceded it, that intangible phenomenon that we call the past. There is never a single cause, never a single answer. But as the Suffolk Horseman and continuator of tradition Neil Lanham once said, Tradition hangs by a very thin thread. Today, we seek to reflect this regional character, though not necessarily by a literal reproduction of the forms. May the song always be sung again.

NIGEL CAMPBELL PENNICK

MARCH 18, THE DAY OF SAINT EDWARD,

 KING AND MARTYR

1

The Geographical Region and Its Links

In field and fen

By pond and pool,

Down by the No-Man’s Land,

To the place where all the paths begin

Flow water and blow wind.

ROUTES OF COMMUNICATION

The region this book is about has no name. It contains modern Cambridgeshire, which includes the old Huntingdonshire and the soke of Peterborough, the southern part of Lincolnshire, eastern Northamptonshire and Bedfordshire, northern Essex, part of West Suffolk, and West Norfolk. The main towns of this region are Boston, Cambridge, Huntingdon, King’s Lynn, Northampton, and Peterborough. In the old Anglo-Saxon heptarchy, the region was on the borderline between the kingdoms of Mercia and East Anglia, so most of this area is part of East Mercia, the borderlands of the East Midlands, and East Anglia. When this region was under Danish rule, it was part of the Danelaw, but what divisions existed then are no longer apparent. The traditions and folklore of this region are interrelated; they transcend the county boundaries that are used usually to classify them. In the east of this region is a most distinctive landscape—the Fens. Because the county boundaries cross the Fens and parts of the Fens—in Lincolnshire and Huntingdonshire—are not inside the recognized region of East Anglia, the northern part of Fenland tends to be marginalized. Most writings on the Fens concentrate on the southern and middle parts.

The main river across the region is the Great Ouse, whose name is derived from the Celtic word for water. The river rises at Farthinghoe, to the west of Brackley in Northamptonshire, and it flows through Brackley, Buckingham, Olney, Bedford, St. Neots, Huntingdon, St. Ives, and Ely. Now connected to canals and Fenland drains, it was a major transport route before the rise of rail and highway transport. Huntingdon is an important town in this region, being a major crossing point of the Great Ouse. This river flows into the North Sea via the Wash at King’s Lynn. On its course, it has its other main ancient crossing places at Bedford, where in the ninth century the Mercian king Offa was buried in an island chapel, St. Neots, Huntingdon, Godmanchester, and St. Ives. At the last two locations, medieval bridges, still in use, cross the river.

Fig. 1.1. The Great Ouse River and the medieval bridge at St. Ives, Cambridgeshire.

After Holywell, just downstream of St. Ives, where a ferry once operated, the Great Ouse enters the Fens, the farmland that once was swamp interspersed with lakes, where villages and towns were built on islands. From the mid-1500s, the process of progressively draining the Fens began, and in the seventeenth century, the Dutch engineer Cornelis Vermuijden devised and carried out a general scheme to drain the area that became known as the Bedford Level. The main drains built to pump water from the Fens were navigable canals, the most remarkable of which is the dead-straight Old Bedford River that runs from Earith to Denver Sluice, near Downham Market, cutting off the course of the Great Ouse. Here there are two parallel straight canals, the Old and New Bedford Rivers, which can be picked out on satellite photographs of Britain. Between them are the Ouse Washes, in an area intended to flood in the winter to prevent flooding of the adjacent farmland that lies below the river level. The course of the Great Ouse beyond Earith curves to the Isle of Ely and onward to Denver, where the waters of the Bedford Rivers rejoin it. From there, the Great Ouse is tidal and runs into the sea past the old Hanseatic port of King’s Lynn.

Fig. 1.2. Cattle drover’s drift near Dry Drayton, Cambridgeshire.

All along the river’s length, old roads and tracks run to the riverbanks in places where ferries once operated, and at King’s Lynn, the ferry to West Lynn, the oldest continuously operating public transport in Britain, dating back more than seven hundred years, crosses the tidal end of the Great Ouse. The Great Ouse was an important transport link in the days before railways and then road haulage competed with and beat water transport. Many of the Great Ouse’s tributary rivers were made navigable, creating a regional water-transport network. Just east of Bedford, the River Ivel was navigable from its junction with the Great Ouse at Tempsford as far as Shefford, but this path was abandoned in 1870. The River Lark was navigable to Bury St. Edmunds until the 1890s. Brandon Creek, north of Ely, was made into a navigable waterway as far as Thetford in the 1700s, but fell out of use during World War I. Almost at King’s Lynn, the Great Ouse tributary, the River Nar, was made navigable in the mid-eighteenth century as far as Narborough. Water transport there was abandoned in the 1880s. But in the Fen region of eastern England, until the 1970s, large amounts of material were still transported by water, though the railways had destroyed much of the trade a century earlier.

A tributary to the Great Ouse is the River Cam, which flows through Cambridge. But as the name Cambridge is a truncated, newer form of variants of Grantabridge, the river’s name used to be the Granta, Cam being a back formation on the logical deduction that if the town is called Cambridge then the river must be Cam. The River Cam has no spring as its source. It begins at the Weir Pool just above Silver Street Bridge where the Boatyard is. The Granta, coming over the weir, changes its name to the Cam. The name Granta, like Ouse, appears to be of pre-English origin, possibly meaning shining. Cambridge was a bustling inland port in medieval times. In the areas before the Cam flows into the Great Ouse, several ancient canals, called lodes, provided villages such as Reach, Burwell, and Soham with water transport connections. The Great Ouse itself was connected with other major waterways by various canals and navigations built from the 1600s onward. Every town on the river had its own hithes and warehouses where goods were transhipped, stored, and distributed and boatyards where boats were built and repaired. From the eighteenth century, there were regular passenger services along this region’s rivers, too.

Fig. 1.3. Charcoal burners Cook and Bowtle, circa 1890, with their traditional hut.

Major connections were made from the Great Ouse when the Fens were drained. From the navigable New Bedford River, a complex of canals known as the Middle Level Navigations were constructed as far west as Peterborough, where they joined with the River Nene. The Nene is the major river in the north of our region, linking Peterborough with Wellingborough and Northampton. Like the Great Ouse, it was a major transport route, having been made navigable between 1724 and 1761. In the twentieth century, the Nene was made deeper and the Dog and Doublet Lock was enlarged, enabling Peterborough to be officially declared an inland port in 1938. Mills were provided with grain brought by barge and bricks were transported from Peterborough Quay.

Fig. 1.4. Collecting osiers in the Fens for basket making, nineteenth century.

The source of the River Nene is near Weedon, a place said to be as far from the sea as it is possible to be in England. The Nene is connected to the narrow boat canal system at Northampton, where the Grand Union Canal joins it. After Wellingborough, it is crossed by a medieval bridge that links Islip with Thrapston; it passes through Oundle before reaching Peterborough, and its canal links into the Fenland waterways. Downstream of Peterborough, the Nene becomes tidal and flows through the old port of Wisbech before entering the Wash. Before the Nene was made navigable with locks, small boats plied the river, being unloaded and dragged overland past difficult sections before being reloaded and going on. In the sixteenth century, the River Nene was navigable as far as Alwalton. Early in the eighteenth century, schemes were drawn up to render the river navigable to Northampton. Navigability between Peterborough and Thrapston was achieved by 1737, and Northampton was able to be visited by transport