May Day ... that Pagan Festival

Wilmington Farm, Somerset

Pre-history ... it is a time of ancient mystical beliefs. The harshness of winter is being banished. The morning mists hinting at warmer weather have started to cover the land to bring moisture and fertility in their wake. The sun has begun its long journey of recovery from its winter exile. They called it Beltane.

In ancient medieval texts we are told that Beltane marked the start of summer with ceremonies held on May 1st. In what was a largely pastoral society the cattle were driven out to their summer grassland, rituals were performed to protect people, livestock and crops from natural and supernatural influences. Fertility was ensured by the wholesale lighting of fires with smoke and ash created which was spread over the land. It was well known that these two by-products of fire can protect against the unknown forces of darkness which walk the night. In addition, many households would re-light their domestic fires on Beltane day to bring good fortune to their families. And many trees, or “may-poles” would be decorated which perhaps harks back to the tree worship of long forgotten times.

The countryside was of course awash with the inspiring yellow of early flowers such as gorse and primrose which had returned from their winter darkness. It was as if the yellow of the flowers was a reflection, indeed an exaltation of the sun which was returning to bless the land. And the early morning dew was a luxury which would be collected and washed in as it was well known to protect youth.

It was a time of extreme optimism, and was a time of supreme importance to the ancient Druids.

But what is so remarkable is that these rituals and celebrations have continued off and on throughout Europe right up to modern times. Beltane is an extraordinary example of religious compromise which, like many other pagan beliefs, modern Christianity has adopted as its own with holidays declared across the world.

Finally, for those interested in these things, I look at several aspects of Pagan/Christian beliefs in my book Catacombs of the Damned. You might enjoy it.

In Association with the Western Gazette 

You can also read this article, and many others, at the Western Gazette website. Click here to follow me and be the first to know when I publish my next short story, article or book review.

Buy P J Cadavori's Catacombs of the Damned at Winstone’s of Sherborne, Waterstones or Amazon, in paperback and e-book formats. Click on the book covers below to view Catacombs of the Damned at Amazon.

 

Kindle                        Paperback 

Follow P J Cadavori:

Facebook | Twitter

An eccentric Vicar and his ghostly poetry

Robert Herrick

Probably one of the greatest times for literature in the British Isles was about 400 years ago. Writers such as William Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, John Donne, Milton, Dryden, Jonathan Swift, Alexander Pope, to name just a few, are even now household names.

But there is a long list of generally unknown “second liners” who are only judged so because they had the misfortune to be born during this star-studded time of history. Such a man was Robert Herrick.

I stumbled upon a book of his poetry titled A selection from the lyrical poems of Robert Herrick while rootling around in a charity shop some months ago. It appeared to have never been read which was a real surprise because it contains such gems as “The Hag”. This is a subject which readers of my book Catacombs of the Damned will readily empathise with, but judge for yourself.

                                             The Hag is astride,

                                             This night for to ride;

                                             The Devil and she together:

                                             Through thick and through thin,

                                              Now out, and then in,

                                              Though ne’er so foul be the weather.

                                              A thorn or a burr

                                              She takes for a spur:

                                              With a lash of a bramble she rides now

                                              Through brakes and through briars

                                              O’er ditches and mires,

                                              She follows the spirit that guides now.

                                              No beast, for his food,

                                              Dares now range the wood;

                                              But hushed in his lair he lies lurking;

                                              While mischiefs, by these,

                                              On land and on seas,

                                              At noon of night are a-working.

                                             The storm will arise,

                                             And trouble the skies;

                                             This night, and more for the wonder

                                             The ghost from the tomb

                                             Affrighted shall come

                                             Called out by the clap of the thunder.

An interesting aside is that Herrick was the Vicar of a small Dartmoor village. So his poetry is surprising not only for its subject matter, but also because he lived in a time of rampant witchcraft and therefore might have taken considerable personal risk in penning such a poem.

In addition, for those who read my recent blog about "a monstrously evil man" it is quite possible that he knew Richard Cabell.  And, as a final thought, when next you are out on the moors during a wind swept winter night, study the depths of the Heavens as you might just see Herrick’s Hag, “The Devil and she together” riding the skies, silhouetted against the full moon in the traditional Halloween setting.

Herrick was indeed a surprising choice for a Vicar.

In Association with the Western Gazette 

You can also read this article, and many others, at the Western Gazette website. Click here to follow me and be the first to know when I publish my next short story, article or book review.

Buy P J Cadavori's Catacombs of the Damned at Winstone’s of Sherborne, Waterstones or Amazon, in paperback and e-book formats. Click on the book covers below to view Catacombs of the Damned at Amazon.

 
Kindle                        Paperback 

Follow P J Cadavori:

Facebook | Twitter

This timeless land; this ancient castle

The history of this place can be traced back over 200 million years. Along the southern lands of England there was once a dry climate which we would not recognise today, and after further millions of years had passed we would have seen the emergence of a warmth and moisture which caused sea levels to rise, with an explosion of plant life and the arrival of animals, birds and insects in a staggering variety of forms. All this is well documented by fossil records along the Jurassic coast.

Then man joined this scene when the world was already old. There is much evidence of settlements which existed 8,000 years ago; a mere blink of an eye in geological terms.

Corfe Castle, Dorset

Such a place is Corfe Castle in Dorset. Here, there were Celtic communities which had migrated from the middle east (to see a brief synopsis of the turmoil in middle east civilisations at that time, see my post about Aleppo). There are also many older burial sites at Corfe of those who had crossed the land bridge from Europe. Trade in copper, pottery and manufactured crafts produced thriving communities which ran adjacent to farming. This continued unbroken well into the Roman age where villas and industrial sites can be seen...although there were one or two hiccups on the way. There are stories of a Roman legion which disappeared leaving only a ghostly presence which many have claimed to have seen on cold windy nights in winter. Where the legion came from we don’t know, although there was undoubtedly a huge and bloody battle at Maiden Castle which resulted in the destruction of the local tribe of Celts (see my post about Maiden Castle to get a feel for what happened). And then, after the Romans left in the 5th Century there was constant warfare with invaders from Germany and Scandinavia. This culminated in an enormous sea battle off Swanage where the Viking fleet, about 100 ships, was soundly beaten by the Saxon King, King Alfred, and this is where our story really starts. In order to cement his victory, he started to build Corfe Castle on a hilltop to keep watch for any further incursions. This was in the year 885. But then, because there was no external threat, the usual internal rivalries and murders began to take place which prompted the Danes to return. So followed many decades of “disagreements”, deaths and murders. Then, enter the Normans. This immediately resulted in the building of the stone castle to replace the older structure, and which remained a royal stronghold until medieval times. True to form, there was much torture and murder there with successive kings and queens being involved. Edward ll was imprisoned there, Henry Vll and Henry Vlll both knew the castle well and eventually Elizabeth l sold it when it was further developed to help withstand the threat of a Spanish invasion.

Naturally, there was more murder and mayhem to follow. During the civil war the castle was besieged by Parliamentary forces and eventually fell after two sieges in 1645. The defence was organised by one of the unsung heroines of our history, Lady Bankes. She was only beaten after one of her trusted aides turned traitor. Such was the strength of Corfe Castle that it was ordered to be systematically blown up, which resulted in its almost complete destruction.

So, what you see today is a shell which lifts its shattered walls to the sky, perched on the top of a hill which dominates the surrounding countryside. There are broken columns of masonry and walls which lean at awkward angles like the ribs of a disjointed and tortured animal. It radiates a very strong feeling of the history and turbulence of this castle from times now long past.

Corfe Castle, Dorset

It now gets even more interesting. In addition to ghosts from Roman times, countless harsh and painful deaths over the centuries including the wholesale massacre at Maiden Castle, the bare bones of Corfe then began to inspire...even attract...a wide variety of spirits. Strange lights have been seen moving randomly within the ruins (see my book Catacombs of the Damned, chapter 14 to get a feeling for the destructive forces of “will o’the wisps” which such lights are called) and there are frantic weeping and cries from children heard at night, presumably from the dreadful aftermath of the sacking of the castle where there would have been uncontrolled killing of defenders, regardless of sex or age. But the most chilling of all the stories is that of a headless woman who wafts through the ruins, dressed all in white and who freezes the blood of those whom she meets. They shake in terror until she just fades away.

So Corfe is a place of long and violent history where the variety of spectres from the archaeological remains give a special ambience to one of England’s great castles. But if you visit it at night when the storms rage, go with a friend.

In Association with the Western Gazette 

You can also read this article, and many others, at the Western Gazette website. Click here to follow me and be the first to know when I publish my next short story, article or book review.

Buy P J Cadavori's Catacombs of the Damned at Winstone’s of Sherborne, Waterstones or Amazon, in paperback and e-book formats. Click on the book covers below to view Catacombs of the Damned at Amazon.

 
Kindle                        Paperback 

Follow P J Cadavori:

Facebook | Twitter 

Interview with Talk Radio Europe

Catacombs of the Damned is available at Amazon:

 

Follow P J Cadavori:

Facebook | Twitter

Interview with Talk Radio Europe

Follow P J Cadavori:

Facebook | Twitter

Catacombs of the Damned: Inspiration

This is what my house looks like, or rather feels like, on a dark winter night. When the moon is stroking the rooftops, there is an overhanging sense of something waiting to happen. The house seems to grow and looms over the passerby with a powerful presence which sleeps during daylight.

And when the winter storms strike, the clouds churn under the moon to let loose torrents of rain which cascade off the roofs and sound the drums of massive waterfalls; perhaps releasing a call to the water-spirits of prehistory which it is well known inhabit the Somerset Levels, while the wind howls around the Celtic crosses above the gables which stretch to the sky as if appealing for some pagan recognition.

And inside it is worse. The wind around the eastern end moans and laments as if to mourn the passage of some soul which still lingers - but it can only be heard from one of the rooms. At the other end of the house there is silence, but it is not a sympathetic peace; rather a sense of waiting, and waiting, till the storm moves on. We don’t know what it waits for; perhaps the Grey Woman who still tries to find repose while walking, or rather floating, down the corridor to the room where you can hear the wind. Surely she is a player in a tragedy that must have been re-enacted for countless centuries?

It is this Grey Woman who has inspired my book Catacombs of theDamned. My Grandmother claimed to have seen her on several occasions; always at night and whenever the storms were raging over the village. There was never any menace or threatening feelings, but rather this ephemeral figure floated down the corridors presumably in search of something long lost. And in later years several visitors have complained of a sudden coldness, always at night, while others have seen a grey shape moving randomly in the house, but always in the peripheral vision and, surprisingly, often during the day time. The last time this happened was several months ago when two visitors saw a shadow move sharply across an open door; but on looking twice there was nothing there. It was mid-morning.

Many of the other parts have been inspired by incidents elsewhere. For a really sobering experience, take one of the public tours around the Catacombs of Vienna Cathedral. This is in itself an awe-inspiring adventure with the main Cathedral part on ground level being overwhelmingly dark and menacing; but underneath the chancel where centuries of bodies are stored is like entering a world of real-life horror. Room after room of bones, many of them medieval plague victims, piled on top of each other achieving a macabre intimacy which produces a deluge of historical awe. Almost every large city in Europe has a similar problem of running out of graveyard space, and all have found a similar solution.

And so Catacombs of the Damned was born.

In the press: To read more about the inspiration for Catacombs of the Damned in the article by the Western Gazette, click here.

Catacombs of the Damned is available in paperback and for Kindle:

 

Follow P J Cadavori:

Facebook | Twitter