The Moon Spun Round (22 page)
Read The Moon Spun Round Online
Authors: Elenor Gill
‘The circle is open, yet never broken. Merry meet, and merry part, and merry meet again. So mote it be.’
The candle is extinguished, the curtains thrown open, and it is all over.
Released from ceremony, the women laugh and touch each other, scrape splashes of molten wax from the table and clear breadcrumbs from the floor. Naomi wraps her magical implements in their cloths and clears the table.
‘What do we do now?’ asks Sally. ‘Do you need any help with that?’
‘No, thanks. My responsibility. A good worker looks after her own tools. But I expect everyone is ravenous, so you can help get the food organized.’
The table is cleared and reloaded as plates and dishes are relayed from the kitchen. Fran is brandishing a corkscrew and trying not to drop the glasses. Sally is surprised to find that she is very hungry, and the others obviously share her appetite. They seat themselves wherever they can—on sofas, floors, cushions, all around the fire, which still bursts with an occasional puff of incense. Food is passed around and they help each other to generous portions, as if it’s imperative that every scrap is devoured. At first everyone is eating, sampling each dish, and taking huge gulps of the wine.
Naomi seems to have made a point of sitting next to Claire. They exchange words quietly and Naomi puts her hand on Claire’s shoulder, stroking it gently. Fran pauses, fork poised in mid-air, to watch them. She bites her lip and a momentary concern clouds her face.
‘Come on, tuck in, Sally.’ Ruth sits down beside her with a loaded plate. ‘Don’t try to be ladylike, we’re all starving.’
‘It’s quite normal after ritual work to be really hungry,’ says Abbie. ‘In fact, it’s a good measure of how effective it has been. All to do with the shifting and displacement of energy, that’s right isn’t it, Naomi?’
Naomi nods, her mouth full of sausage roll.
Sally takes another hunk of bread. ‘I feel as if I’ve been on a ten-mile hike.’
Eventually Naomi puts down her plate. ‘Right. Debriefing time. I know some of us are still eating, but it’s important that we each have a chance to say anything we want to say about what we thought or saw or felt. Newcomers first. So, as the saying goes, Sally, how was it for you? Not too spooky, I hope?’
‘No, not at all. No different from any other religious service I’ve attended. No, that’s not true. In fact it was much better. More personal, I felt more involved.’
‘Did you have any thought about what you might be leaving or getting into as the year changes?’ asks Abbie.
‘I kept thinking about what it is I can’t remember. For a moment I felt scared, as if when I do remember I won’t like it. And then I imagined I was walking
over a bridge, the one in the back field that crosses the river. And I knew that once I got to the middle I wouldn’t be able to turn back.’
‘No going back, eh?’ says Fran. ‘So, whatever it is you’re avoiding on the other side, you know you’re going to have to face it and something will have to change.’
‘I suppose so. Yes.’
‘And what about you, Abbie?’
‘Horses. Surprise, surprise. No, it was odd because I was me and I was a horse too. Like being in two minds at the same time. And I saw myself come to open the stable door and let the “horse” me out. And I ran across the field.’
‘Like you need to set yourself free?’ Naomi observes.
Ruth puts down her plate. ‘Oh, God, this is getting very Freudian.’
‘Jungian, actually,’ Sally interjects. ‘I mean it’s more like subconscious-self stuff. Archetypal. Oh, I’m sorry—I really know nothing about this.’
‘Not at all, girl, your opinion is important,’ says Fran. ‘I’d forgotten your chap was into this psychotherapy stuff. That
is
right, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is, but I only know what I’ve picked up from him. But that’s what we were doing, wasn’t it? Creating an environment for our subconscious minds to communicate with our conscious selves through mental images?’
‘Bravo! Got it in one,’ Naomi cheers. ‘Yes, Sally, that’s exactly what we were doing. See, I told you she was one smart cookie.’
‘Now, what about you, Naomi?’ says Fran. ‘What did you get?’
‘I kept thinking of my accident.’ Naomi holds out her hand, something she rarely does, making everyone aware of the deformity. ‘I was with a clown and he kept trying to play silly jokes. I showed him my hand and told him it was time to stop messing around. And then he just sort of collapsed like a deflated balloon. I’m not sure what to make of it.’
‘Of course you don’t—not yet,’ says Claire. ‘But there’s obviously something you’re avoiding that should be faced. It’ll come clear, I’m sure. In fact it sounds as if several of us are going to have to face up to something. What about you, Ruth? I noticed you were looking worried. You’ve been quiet all morning. This isn’t like you.’
‘No, I’m sorry. Bit of a funny mood, that’s all. Don’t know what’s wrong with me.’
‘So what did you see?’ asks Abbie.
‘Well, that’s just it. Nothing. I saw nothing. I tried to visualize the New Year and what I would be doing. It was like looking into a blanket of black fog. So I’m afraid there’s nothing I can tell you. What about you, Claire? You don’t look too happy either.’
‘It was like a tidal wave. We were all on the beach, at least I think we were all together. Then there was a huge wave and we were all swept up, going round and round in circles. I thought we were all going to drown. And then my feet struck something solid, like a rock, and we hung on tightly to each other. That’s all.’
‘What do you mean, “that’s all”? Sounds pretty drastic to me.’ Fran reaches over to refill Claire’s glass. ‘That’s not the first time you’ve seen something like that, is it?’
‘No. It’s been a while now. I keep having the feeling that something is threatening us and it’s coming nearer. But I don’t know what. Probably my imagination.’
‘Of course it’s your imagination,’ says Naomi, ‘and it’s usually pretty reliable. Besides, I’ve been feeling it, too. Something’s not right and I don’t know what it is or what we can do about it. Not yet anyway. Oh, Sally, I’m sorry. What must you be thinking? This is your first time with us all together. It’s supposed to be a celebration and it’s all turning into doom and gloom.’
‘That’s all right. I’d rather you be honest about things. I just hope it’s nothing I’ve caused.’
‘Of course it’s not.’ Fran lays a reassuring hand on Sally’s arm.
‘Although,’ says Ruth, ‘with Sally’s arrival it feels as if the circle is complete. Maybe there’s a reason we’re all together. Perhaps we’re all waiting for something.’
They all lapse into a brooding silence. Despite the steady flicker of the candles, it’s as if a shadow has fallen across the room.
Naomi stirs herself. ‘Did anyone else get anything? Fran, what about you?’
‘Nothing so dramatic, I’m afraid. I just kept thinking how warm and comfortable it is in this room and how cold it’s going to be in that church on Christmas morning. I could see icicles hanging from the rafters.’
‘Oh, Fran,’ Abbie leans over and puts an arm around her shoulder, ‘you won’t be alone. We’ll be there, won’t we, gang?’
‘Jack won’t miss church on Christmas morning. Weddings, funerals, and Christmas. Only time he’ll shut the shop.’
‘George and I will be there, naturally, and the boys. It’s an old family tradition, church on Christmas morning. Can’t let the establishment down. You’ll come, won’t you, Sally?’
‘I don’t usually, but…Yes, why not? Might have to bring my sister. What about you, Naomi? Not your sort of thing I would imagine.’
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll be Little Miss Goody-goody. Get right up Reverend Cunningham’s nose. Oh, sorry, Fran.’
‘Apology not required.’
‘And Naomi’s coming to us for lunch after, aren’t you?’ says Abbie, ‘Why don’t you join us, Sally? Your sister is very welcome too.’
‘And you’re very welcome to my sister. I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t asked her. Only, her marriage broke up last year and she doesn’t get on too well with Dad’s new wife, so she’d be on her own. If you’re sure you’ve got room for us both?’
‘Of course there’s room.’
‘What about you, Claire? You coming to hear my husband’s Yuletide sermon?’
‘No, not possible. You know what Ayden’s like about anything to do with religion.’
‘So what
are
you doing for Christmas?’
‘His parents are coming to us this year. They’ll expect the full works—roast turkey, tree, everything just so. We’ll have to put on a good show so Ayden can prove how well the business is doing. What are you doing for the rest of Christmas Day, Ruth?’
‘After church I’m putting my feet up, with a bit of luck. My youngest has asked us over to their place. Both the girls and their families will be there with their armies of noisy kids. Still, Jack can help play with the new toys and I can be Granny and phase out on a bottle of sherry while I watch the Queen’s speech.’
‘Oh, go on, we know you and your family. You’ll love every minute of it. Right, I’m for the chocolate cake.’
‘Me, too.’ Naomi scrambles to her feet. ‘Oh, it’s wonderful having you all here. This is my Christmas and my family. With Sally here, the circle feels complete.’
‘Yes, but for how long, I wonder? How long?’
‘Ruth, what
has
got into you?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps I’m feeling my age. OK, let’s see how much of that chocolate cake we can demolish before we have to get back to the daily grind.’
‘And let’s open another bottle,’ says Fran. ‘We haven’t toasted the new sun yet, and each other.’
They refill their glasses and Naomi stands with hers, holding it up high. ‘May the Goddess protect and defend us. Give us the strength to face whatever this New Year brings. So mote it be.’
‘So mote it be.’ The prayer is echoed around the room.
Fran tosses her drink back. ‘Whatever it is that’s coming, I’ve a feeling we’re going to need all the help we can get. You remember that film with Bette Davis, you know the one:
All About Eve
. What was it she said? “Fasten your seatbelts, we’re in for a bumpy ride.” ’
Philip Hunter-Gordon
29 January 2007
Who were these people accused of being witches?
Contrary to popular belief, many men were accused, although most were women, some still children. Anyone with a psychiatric illness or mental impairment was an obvious target. Often the poor and sickly, an easy way of ridding the parish of a financial burden. But there were also those accused from the middle- and high-born classes. Anyone could point the finger. An easy way to get rid of a rival or end a feud.
Those who confessed were only too eager to fling accusations at anyone and everyone as further proof of their repentance.
A body search would reveal a mark or blemish, evidence enough to secure a conviction.
The finding of an oddly shaped wart resembling an extra teat was sufficient proof of the accused’s guilt.
Pricking all over with a needle to find a numb spot. (Often a trick knife was used to guarantee a result.) As a female being examined would be stripped naked, this was usually carried out by other women under the direction of the Church authorities. (One can imagine the sadistic cruelty employed in the performance of these duties.)
Any puritanical churchman witnessing such an examination and becoming sexually aroused by the proceedings would claim she’d put a spell on him and that it was the Devil’s work.
The other popular method of extracting a confession was ‘walking’. The accused would be kept on her feet, walking up and down for days at a time. Sleep deprivation, confusion, and eventual hallucinations—probably ready to confess to anything.
Ironically, those who confessed to the often highly imaginative and even blatantly ridiculous charges were usually forgiven and welcomed back into the Church, whilst those who continued to protest their innocence were most likely to be executed.
Hanging was the preferred method in England. That sounds a better option than being burned alive. Not so! Those burned were likely to be rendered unconscious fairly quickly by smoke inhalation. Whereas hanging, in those days, was not a quick jerk of a knotted noose designed to break the neck. A gallows would be constructed to accommodate a row of people who were forced to stand on stools while the ropes were tied. The stools then being kicked away, they were left to dangle with their full weight on their neck so that they slowly choked to death. Sometimes it was hours before their limbs stopped twitching.
Fifteen
I
T’S THAT TIME BETWEEN
Christmas and New Year; a time between times. A time when life holds its breath and waits for another year to begin. It would have been Sally’s fifth Christmas with Jonathan. This was the worst time to be alone…but any worse than having him here and knowing? Would he have shopped for that woman’s Christmas present? Would he have chosen Sally’s gift with the same care? Oh yes, he would have been with Sally, but where would his thoughts have been?
Morgain arrived on the morning of Christmas Eve. It was all right. In fact, Sally told herself, without the tension created by the presence of their parents, it went quite well. Afterwards Sally realized why. They had grown so far apart that the old sibling rivalries and petty jealousies were now obsolete. They met this time as strangers and merely exchanged pleasantries.