In The Light Days

soul flight & scry glass

Sunrise from my bedroom, 12 March 2024, almost due east as we approach the spring equinox.

From the rim of the east

From the sun’s house

a heron

follows his heart to the river

with slow, strong wings.

Eggs in the wet reeds,

the alder roots. On a hill

hares dance; on screaming swings

children fly up, laughing.

His wings beat for love

for the pool where his love waits.

The sun’s level gaze, the brave

white-faced snowdrops

sharp in the dark under a hedge bank;

everywhere there are eyes, eyes.

Wings in the bare twigs, everywhere,

and green blazing golden blades

pushing and prodding, unfolding,

breaking and budding, pale flooding

pools in the dusk, black tips

swelling against the last

of the light, and dawn’s first light

due east, in the sun’s house.

Hilary Llewellyn-Williams, ‘From the East, Where the Sun Rises’ (extract)

Hello and welcome to this new moon edition of Bracken & Wrack, as we tiptoe into spring.

This issue has turned - shape-shifted, you might say - into something of a hare special as I have to admit I got a bit carried away with the theme. Being carried away is actually quite appropriate given that hares are so fleet of foot and that the thought of jumping onto the back of a hare is so thrilling. In fact, in The Sun’s Dance last April, I included the Yorkshire wise woman’s Easter Hare Spell which culminates in the words: 

‘Now meditate upon the swift and graceful hare, and let your soul take flight. Pass it into the hare, and let it run free and fleet in the form of the hare; let your soul run wild and unfettered over the wide meadows and upon the open hillsides as often as you feel nervous or full of frustration and weariness, and you will keep your spirits sparkling and childlike as if they lived in an eternal springtide. Do not forget this teaching, for it is an old trick of the witches.’

Claire Nahmad, Earth Magic

In this edition of Bracken & Wrack we have: 

• Lane, Heath & Carr: A March Afternoon Walk

• Witchcat, Mawkin or Dew-Hopper? The Magical Hare

• A Hare-Witch Story from Norfolk

• Scents of the Spring Equinox

• Poems by Hilary Llewellyn-Williams, Edward Thomas and Victor Tapner

• The Birch Stump: A World of Wonder

• Hares’ Eggs: Two Recipes

Lane, Heath & Carr: A March Afternoon Walk

Yesterday afternoon I walked along the lane, and although it was grey, damp and chilly and I could quite easily have stayed inside, I was happy to be in the fresh air for a while. March is like that; it’s a shape-shifter itself. Two days before this I had been out walking in the woods and had sat on a bench in a peaceful churchyard under beautiful blue skies. There was warmth on our faces and we agreed that it felt far more like a balmy day in May than the tail end of winter. 

Heath daffodils and gorse blossom as tiny flashes of gold, 11 March 2024.

How different it was yesterday. Quite raw in fact, but the light was soft and the pale gold pinpricks of gorse flower and wayside daffodil glowed with a luminous intensity. As I passed the blackthorn thicket I was taken aback to see that practically all the blossom has stayed as tightly closed as it was a fortnight ago, with just a few starry blooms breaking free of their spiky twigs. Well, nature knows a thing or two. 

Blackthorn along the lane staying tightly furled, 11 March 2024.

I turned down the stony track onto the heath and realised afresh, as I always do at this time of year, how very skeletal and stripped back everything is. You will never see the shape of the land like this at any other time of year, bleached and scoured to the bone. Soon the trees will show a faint haze of green, but not yet. I like it like this though. It’s that quiet moment before the birch buds burst into vibrant leaf; before the heath’s spring rapture as spiralling bracken fronds uncoil into the sun.

On a day like today the standing water has only a subtle presence although it always catches my eye. Without sun glitter and shadow play, the watercourses are pale grey velvet ribbons laid over the lush pastureland. Damp fields whose green is made all the more startling by the misty light I find myself peering through for sightings of muntjac deer (always) or fox (unlikely). Not long ago I saw red deer four stags together on the lane by the stream, so of course I always hope for a repeat performance. 

The alder carr is different too, but that’s no surprise as its liminal, nebulous nature is part of its magic. This afternoon the water between the birches and alders is inky satin; a black mirror for scrying in. I could happily stay here by the ancient mossy stump and watch the light gradually fade and fall, but it’s time to get back with my gathered armful of kindling and put another log on the stove.

The inky black alder carr holding its secrets, 11 March 2024. 

Witchcat, Mawkin or Dew-Hopper? The Magical Hare

Aiii, I saye, thou madde Marche Hare - John Skelton, Replycacion, 1528

As mery as a marche hare - John Skelton, Magnyfycence, 1529

Have you ever watched madde Marche Hares boxing and leaping in an open field? It’s not an uncommon sight in rural Norfolk, yet I have only witnessed the phenomenon once, and that from a car when someone shouted and pointed and I just got the merest glimpse which I’m not even sure really counts.

Predictably it used to be taken for granted that this seemingly macho boxing display takes place between two male hares (bucks) fighting over a doe or seeing off the competition. In fact, the combatants are usually a male and a female at a point where the doe is not yet ready for the buck’s amorous advances. Or maybe she doesn’t fancy him in the slightest and he’s too thick-skinned to take the hint. 

To see a pair of boxing hares feels like a true spring rite of passage, but did you know that hares remain ‘mad’ long after March? Until beginning to write this, I hadn’t realised that the wild displays actually take place at any and all times between February and August, which makes me all the more wistful that I haven’t yet had a proper sighting. 

Visit any gallery or gift shop in Norfolk and you will find myriad 2D and 3D representations of the hare, not only because the county is renowned for its presence in our open fields but also as a nod to the story recorded by the Roman writer Tacitus that the Eceni Queen Boudica released a hare from under her skirts and watched how it ran to determine the right time for battle. But our endless fascination with the hare is certainly not confined to Norfolk. Hare mythology has always had an important role in our legends, stories and history from the otherworldly White Hare of Cornish legend to the time Alice attended the Mad Hatter’s tea party during her adventures in Wonderland. 

The brown hare (Lepus europaeus) is Britain’s fastest land mammal. Propelled by its powerful hind legs which, along with its long black-tipped ears, make it easy to distinguish from a rabbit, the hare has been known to run faster than 40mph. Along with its shyness, this almost unbelievable turn of speed makes it so elusive that a sighting always feels special.

I’ll always remember the excitement of seeing a hare dash across the lane from field to field while driving home after witnessing the rose-gold sunset on the cliff top. Not just once but on two occasions, and even now I can picture vividly the silhouette of ears and long legs against the pink of the sky and re-live that thrill. The magic of hares can’t be explained, it just IS.

One of my Michele Cowmeadow bowls: her hares are always Faery.

It’s perhaps not surprising then that the hare has one of the longest lists of folk names of any native animal, among which are Aunt Sarah, Old Sally, Bandy, Cuttie, Donnie, Malkin, Mawkin, Puss, Jack, Turpin, Whuddin, Witchcat, Dew-Hopper, Furzecat and Wintail. Native to these isles since at least the Iron Age and probably well before, there is also a vast body of hare lore which is far beyond the scope of this newsletter. That being said, I will touch on a few things I have only just learned and that might be new to you too.   

The hare is mostly silent, preferring to feed at night or at the liminal time when the last light fades from the day. This shadowy existence adds to its mystery, and hares in folklore often display a similar remoteness. The otherworldly White Hare, which in Cornish legend wove a path between the fishing boats of the county’s harbours at sundown, was thought to be either a warning of imminent tempest or the spirit of a broken-hearted maiden determined to haunt her faithless lover. Either way, it was a sight to inspire trepidation. A book on British folklore published in 1875 also saw the hare as an omen of disaster and recommended repeating the charm:

‘Hare before, Trouble behind: Change ye, Cross, and free me.’ 

White hares in the form of albinos are quite common, and in folklore they are generally thought to bring bad luck or to be tragic in some way. Black hares, as Nigel Pearson tells us in Walking the Tides, are equally common but are thought to bring good luck. Apparently they are the reason that people used to say ‘Hares, Hares’ on the first day of every month, in echo of the first-footing traditions where it’s lucky if the first person over the threshold at New Year has a black face or carries a piece of coal. 

Yes, it’s another example of older lore being taken over by the hare’s introduced cousin the rabbit, and oddly enough the cry is ‘White Rabbits, White Rabbits’ which seems to go totally against the older folkloric traditions. 

Now, if I started talking about the close links between hares and witches we could be here all day, but I can’t leave the topic without mentioning the 1662 Scottish witchcraft trial of Isobel Gowdie, in which Gowdie spoke of her ability to shapeshift into a hare. Isobel’s words form a cornerstone of ‘The Fabled Hare’, a song cycle released by Maddy Prior in 1993 on her album Year:

I sall go until a hare 

Wi sorrow and sich mickle care 

I sall goe in the devil's name 

An while I come home again.

Finally, in Visions and Beliefs in the West of Ireland (1920), Lady Gregory records the trial for witchcraft in 1663 of an old woman called Julian Cox. We’re told that a witness at the trial stated:

‘A huntsman swore that he went out with a pack of hounds to hunt a hare, and not far from Julian Cox’s house he at last started a hare: the dogs hunted her very close … till at last the huntsman perceiving the hare almost spent and making towards a great bush, he ran on the other side of the bush to take her up and preserve her from the dogs; but as soon as he laid hands on her it proved to be Julian Cox, who had her head grovelling on the ground and her globes (as he expressed it) upward. He knowing her, was so affrighted that his hair on his head stood on end; and yet he spake to her and ask’d her what brought her there; but she was so far out of breath that she could not make him any answer; his dogs also came up full cry to recover the game and smelled at her and so left off hunting any further. And the huntsman and his dogs went home presently sadly affrighted.’

A Norfolk Hare-Witch Story

‘In Anne Boleyn’s native county, Norfolk, a curious tradition has been handed down from father to son for upwards of three centuries, which affirms that her remains were secretly removed from the Tower Church under the cover of darkness, and privately conveyed to Salle Church, the ancient burial place of the Boleyns; and there the body was interred at midnight, with the holy rites that were denied to her by her royal husband, at her first unhallowed funeral’

Agnes Strickland, Life of Anne Boleyn, 1842

If you visit Salle Church near Reepham in Norfolk today - as I have done countless times when I lived a stone’s throw away from it across the fields - make sure to look in the visitors’ book. There, every few pages, you will see the scrawled note of a pilgrim who has come in search of Anne Boleyn’s final resting place. A clear confirmation of how strongly the legend persists that after her execution Anne’s body was taken in a cart among packing cases to Blickling and from there to Salle, where she was buried in an unmarked grave in the church nave.

Historians can give you reasons why this is not possible, and yet the whispers have never gone away. James Clements (1887-1967) was the verger at Salle for many years, and this is his story as told to George Ewart Evans and David Thomson in 1964:

‘It was back in 1923, and the story about Anne Boleyn being buried in Salle church was in one of the Norwich newspapers. She and her brother were executed at the Tower; her brother on 18 May and Anne herself on the next day, Friday 19th. But later they brought her body - took it from the Tower at dead of night - and brought it to Salle. Now this appeared in the paper and it said that on 29 May each year you could see a coach and four horses come from Blickling Hall in the middle of the night, and stop outside Salle church.’

James Clements knew exactly where the Boleyn family vault was supposed to be and he had wanted to open it up, knowing that he could identify the remains of Anne Boleyn by the sixth finger that was known to be on one of her hands, and had been taken in her lifetime as a sign that she was a witch. But permission was not granted, so in the months following the account in the Norwich paper he decided to ‘challenge the story’ as he put it. One 29 May 1924 he made up his mind to keep vigil in Salle church, and he sat in one of the pews on the south side of the aisle as near as possible to the supposed place of burial. He went up at 10pm that evening and stayed until 4am the following morning:

‘I sat in the pew opposite to where she was buried, and there was nothing to see, nothing at all. And I came out of the church - it was bright moonlight and you could see quite plain - and looked along all the old routes, you know, where she was supposed to come (they don’t use them now and they’re all grown up). Then I went back and sat down near where she’s supposed to lie. Nothing to see. And just before I went to come out I stood in the doors, looking down at the route again. You could see all round. And then I saw a hare right near me; hopped across and sat within - well, not half way to that table [about 2 feet]. It came almost right up to me. I’d got my stick in my hand and I made a shuffle and it turned and ran by me - ran into the church! Well, of course, I pushed the door to, you see. I could see him going over the church, I could see him because it was clear as could be, like day, the moon was shining so. We done two straight tours of the church, and he was done and I was done. And then he went round the font. I followed and tripped up as I was going round it. I fell over, and as I was getting up he got across to the doorway. I thought I’d pushed the door close - if I had done, he’d never have opened it = but it must have been ajar, and he got by somehow and was away.’

It was obvious from the way James Clements related the incident, 42 years after it had happened, that it had made a huge impression on him at the time. But when Evans and Thomson asked him whether he thought the hare was in any way connected with Anne Boleyn, he replied with typical East Anglian caution that it might have something to do with her; on the other hand, it might not. But he said something else that showed quite clearly that he really perceived the hare to be no ordinary one, and that deep down he believed in the legend:

‘You see, I was born during the Chiming Hours, and if you are born then you are supposed to have second sight, to be able to see things that other people won’t see’.

[The Chime Hours are the magical hours of 12, 3, 6 and 9, the crossroads of the clock. Many years ago for my Fine Art degree I did some artwork inspired by this idea, which I will share in a future Bracken & Wrack.]

Most of the ledger slabs pressed into the nave floor of Salle church have chiselled inscriptions flowing over them. But there is one that does not. One of plain dark stone. This stone I have lain down on myself, just to see how it feels. In truth I still did not know what I thought about it and whether this was even the slab that is supposed to cover Anne’s grave. But reading again the account of James Clements, I see that he says that he sat in a pew on the south side of the aisle, as close as possible to the stone marking Anne’s resting place. 

It’s the first time I’d noticed that detail. Now I realise that it fits exactly with the position of the stone on which I lay - maybe, just maybe, sharing space with Anne’s ghost. And if she is there, it’s not only a peaceful place to live out eternity but an especially enchanted one. I don’t call that church The Magic Church for nothing. 

After all, if a legend is repeated often enough and deeply believed, might it not take on a reality of its own?

Faery-Angel over the doorway at the ‘Magic Church’, Salle, Norfolk.

Scents of the Spring Equinox

Here is a ‘recipe’ of sorts for a blend of essential oils to evoke a March afternoon on the heath. Whispers of the Equinox drift across the gorse as the light lengthens its pace against the dark. If you have some oils and a burner you might like to try warming a few drops of some of those I used to scent my Blackbird’s Egg spring equinox candle, wow three years ago now. Don’t think for a moment that you need all the ones listed; any three or four of them will be fine and you will then have your own blend which you could, perhaps, make a note of somewhere and use year after year at this time.   

‘I am up on the heath, breeze in my hair, sweet gorse in my nostrils. The lowering sun sends the quickening birches all a-shimmer, and for a moment I don’t know who I am; when I am.

Beyond the heath, cottage gardens are waking from their winter slumber. I smell CARROT SEED as it’s scattered into freshly-raked drills, and the rich perfume of ROSE GERANIUM as someone brushes against a leaf by a kitchen window thrown open to the spring sunshine. On the kitchen table, sweet and spicy biscuits are being rolled out ready to nibble in the pew on Easter Sunday and the fragrance of NUTMEG is carried on the breeze too, mingling with the natural spice of the spring air.

Shielding my eyes against the dancing golden motes I think for a second I see a flash of bare feet, and then the faint lingering scent of PATCHOULI seems to float across from distant caravans. I catch the sharp fire of fresh GINGER too; hints of the exotic to tempt revellers at the fair. Yes! The Lady Day Fair, of course! That would explain the CEDAR too, as wooden boxes smooth with handling are opened and closed by swarthy hands revealing glimpses of luxuries, fripperies and fairings far removed from the everyday life of this sleepy village.

Suddenly the thud of hooves brings me back from my reverie and a trio of riders trot past me on the path. As they disappear into the woodland I wonder whether I can still hear a distant whinny, and whether shaggier, sturdier little ponies are somewhere behind the straggling lines of gorse, rolling with delight and kicking up their unshod heels. I imagine blackbirds hopping around, daintily picking up beakfuls of the ponies’ shed winter coats to make their nests cosy for when the eggs hatch. And before I turn to head back to the cottage, I catch a faint whiff of JUNIPER, telling of freedom and adventures to come as the days lengthen.’ - 8 March 2021

Blackbird’s Egg candle vessel on the heath, before it was filled. Each pot was stamped a magical three times with an Anglo-Saxon motif thought to be based on a horse’s hoof.

We talk of where the trackways end

what waters feed the stream

what brings the fish

what people live

beyond the lands

we stalk for fox and beaver

I’ve seen the sea

where the sun rises

I know the big river

the meeting hill

where we swap our pelts

for pots and blades

the drier grasses

where we pen our sheep in winter

And now in the light days we come

to mend our summer huts

to fish the stream

and lay traps

to clear trees and cut bracken

treading last year’s paths

tracking last year’s stars

Victor Tapner, ‘Light Days’, Flatlands

Turkey Tail fungi in Acorn Wood.

8 March 2022 - I’ve wandered past this birch stump dozens of times. It’s very close to my cottage, right on the winding path through Acorn Wood.

I always like to imagine that I’m keeping all my senses open while I walk. But it was only the other morning that the early sun suddenly illuminated - this. Clearly I hadn’t been anywhere near as observant as I’d believed myself to be, and here was a tiny world of wonder, quietly co-existing with mine.

The birch stump hosting this community of turkey-tail fungi is all that remains of a trunk that was cut down by human agency at some point. I’ve noticed elsewhere on the heath that it’s these cut surfaces, more often than naturally fallen wood, that seem to attract the most beautiful colonies to cluster and grow together.

I felt bad that I had never before noticed the glory of this one. After all it was literally under my nose, almost under my feet for goodness sake. But with its presence revealed I know I’ll never again pass by without marvelling at its intricacy, resilience and beauty. After all, it practically threw itself at me, calling ‘Look at me and wonder’.

The new moon hangs like an ivory bugle

In the naked frosty blue;

And the ghylls of the forest, already blackened

By Winter, are blackened anew.

The brooks that cut up and increase the forest,

as if they had never known

The sun, are roaring with black hollow voices

Betwixt rage and a moan.

But still the caravan-hut by the hollies

Like a kingfisher gleams between;

Round the mossed old hearths of the charcoal-burners

First primroses ask to be seen.

The charcoal-burners are black, but their linen

Blows white on the line;

And white the letter the girl is reading

Under that crescent fine;

And her brother who hides apart in a thicket,

Slowly and surely playing

On a whistle an old nursery melody

Says far more than I am saying.

Edward Thomas, ‘The Penny Whistle’.

Queen of Wands from the Greenwood Tarot. In this deck, Wands are for spring and there is blackthorn blossom and new growth. The Hare has her right (generative) foot on a coloured egg - in folklore hares were anciently believed to lay eggs.

Hare’s Eggs

Among much else linking hares with the uncanny, it used to be believed that hares laid eggs and if you hear someone asserting that it’s the ‘easter bunny’ who brings the chocolate eggs you are witnessing a vestige of that belief. Just another example of the rabbit muscling in on hare territory.  So let’s give the hares their eggs back by making some to adorn, well, whatever feels as if a hare’s egg or two would make it complete. A cake, muffins, the crispy nests we made last time, or in the case of the chocolate variation here, just to put into a bowl to nibble. 

The idea of pouring melted chocolate into little moulds to make eggs isn’t exactly original, of course, but these recipes are adapted from Deliciously Ella ones and believe it or not will give you (relatively) healthy, vegan versions of the old favourite. That’s just the kind of recipe I love, and I hope you will too.

To begin with, you will need some moulded trays to form the small egg shapes. The ones specified in the original recipe have 3cm x 2cm x 1cm apertures but sizes are definitely adaptable. You can find these in all the usual online places and kitchenware shops too, and although I am suggesting making eggs, you can also find moulds for other appropriate seasonal shapes. 

CRUNCHY CHOCOLATE EGGS

4 tbsp maple syrup 

150g cacao butter

2 tbsp coconut oil

9 tbsp cacao powder

1 tbsp almond butter

150g roasted buckwheat groats

To roast buckwheat groats, place them in a dry pan over medium heat and cook, constantly stirring, until they turn golden.

Place maple syrup, cacao butter, cacao powder, coconut oil and almond butter in a pan over a low heat. Once melted, remove from the heat and stir through the buckwheat groats.

Pour the mixture into the egg moulds and leave to set in the fridge for at least two hours. 

Once set, slightly melt the flat surface of one egg half using a kitchen lighter, gas flame or even a long match and place another half firmly against it, repeating until all of the eggs are whole.

SPRING EGGS

150g cashews

100g melted cacao butter

pinch of salt

2 tbsp maple syrup

1 lemon, juiced

1 tsp ground turmeric

Good pinch of vanilla powder

Put the cashews in a food processor and blend for 10 minutes until cashew butter forms.

Add the cacao butter, vanilla, maple syrup, turmeric, lemon juice and salt to the cashew butter and blend for another 3 minutes.

Pour into egg or other shaped moulds and freeze overnight (important) before joining each pair of half eggs with a little maple syrup and using as lovely edible decorations. 

The alder carr, 11 March 2024.

Until next time.

With love, Imogen x