GARDNER, GERALD BROSSEAU
Whenever the subject of modern witchcraft is discussed, the name of ‘G.B.G.’ as he is familiarly known among members of the Craft, is sure to be mentioned sooner or later. It is mainly due to the work of Gerald Brosseau Gardner that the present-day world-wide revival of interest in witchcraft as a pagan religion has taken place.
He was of Scottish descent, though born at Blundellsands, near Liverpool, on 13th June, 1884. Amateurs of numerology will be interested in the fact that the day of his birth is the witches’ thirteen, and the digits of the whole date add to four, the number attributed to Uranus, the planet of the rebel, the explorer of new and forbidden paths, the person who is different. His birth sign, Gemini, is the sign of the globetrotter, ever restless and ever youthful in mind, whatever his age may be. I knew Gerald Gardner well in the later years of his life; and he had something in him of the eternal child, which could be very endearing, though sometimes hard to keep up with.
GARDNER, GERALD. “Witch on a broomstick”, a plaque made by Gerald Gardner.
There has been more than one witch in the past with the surname of Gardner; and Gerald believed himself to be the descendant of Grissell Gairdner, who was burned as a witch at Newburgh in 1610. All his life he had been interested in occult matters, an interest which was stimulated by his long residence in the East, where he worked as a tea and rubber planter and as a Customs officer in Malaya, until his retirement in 1936. He had made a substantial fortune from his ventures in rubber, and was able to indulge his taste for travel and for archaeological research.
While still out East, he had made a name for himself by his pioneering research into Malaya’s early civilisations. He had also written Keris and other Malay Weapons (Singapore, 1936), the first authorative book upon the history and folklore of the Malay kris, full of curious lore which he gathered as a result of first-hand research among the native Malayan people, for whom he had a great sympathy and respect. This book brought him academic recognition, and the friendship of many eminent people in the fields of archaeology, anthropology and folklore.
On his retirement from his duties in Malaya, he and his wife settled in England, and ultimately made their home in the New Forest area of Hampshire. The Second World War was imminent; and on its outbreak G.B.G., anxious to do all he could to help defend his country, became very active in Civil Defence. But this, in his mind, was not enough. He wrote a letter to the Daily Telegraph, the contents of which actually found their way to Germany, and annoyed the Nazis very much. It also aroused much controversy here.
G.B.G. pointed out in this letter, that “By Magna Carta every free-born Englishman is entitled to have arms to defend himself and his household.” He suggested that members of the civilian population should be armed and trained, in the event of invasion, to help defend Britain against the Nazis. The Frankfurter Zeitung was furious, and ranted in a front-page article against the man who had made this ‘medieval’ suggestion, saying that it was “an infringement of international law”. However, shortly after this the famous Home Guard, first known as the Local Defence Volunteers, was formed. Whether G.B.G.’s ‘Magna Carta letter’ was really the impetus which started it, we shall probably never know; but it certainly stirred up matters at the time.
This was the period in his life at which G.B.G. first contacted the witch cult in Britain. Some of his neighbours in the New Forest area were members of an occult fraternity which called itself the Fellowship of Crotona and claimed to be Rosicrucian. G.B.G. was under no illusions as to the likelihood of its claims, or the somewhat flamboyant personality of its leader, one ‘Brother Aurelius’. However, the fellowship had built a pleasant community theatre, which called itself ‘The First Rosicrucian Theatre in England’; and in those dark days of war almost any distraction was welcome. G.B.G. helped them to put on amateur plays with an occult or spiritual theme.
Also, he liked Mrs. Besant-Scott, the daughter of Annie Besant and now an old lady, who had been persuaded to start the Fellowship of Crotona with ‘Brother Aurelius’. He felt her to be genuine and sincere, and was interested in her other activities in Co-Masonry, a Masonic movement started by Annie Besant to enable women to participate in the Masonic tradition. (This Order is affiliated to the Grand Orient of France, and consequently not recognised by the English Grand Lodge.)
G.B.G. realised that some of his friends who were Co-Masons were also members of something else, which was nothing to do with Co-Masonry or the supposed ‘Rosicrucians’. They shared some secret among themselves, which was something on a different level to the highly coloured claims of ‘Brother Aurelius’. He wondered, indeed, why intelligent and well-read people such as they evidently were, bothered with such an association. Eventually, he found out.
They confided in him that as Co-Masons, they had followed Mrs. Besant-Scott when she joined forces with the Fellowship of Crotona and moved to its New Forest settlement. They soon found themselves cold-shouldered by ‘Brother Aurelius’ and his devotees; but they also discovered something else, which made them willing to stay, in spite of everything. They contacted some New Forest people who were the last remains of an old-time witch coven. This was their secret, hidden behind the facade of the Fellowship of Crotona; the rest of whose members knew nothing about it.
The identity of the lady who was the leader of this coven, and in whose house in the New Forest G.B.G. was initiated as a witch, is known to me. So also is the place in the New Forest where outdoor meetings were held. However, for me to enlarge upon these points would be a breach of confidence.
At the time, at the beginning of the Second World War, witchcraft in this country was still illegal. The last of the Witchcraft Acts in Britain was not repealed until 1951. Consequently, G.B.G.’s delight, wonder and excitement at his discovery that the old Craft of the Wise still lived had to be tempered with extreme caution.
He wanted to tell the world of what he had found, because it seemed to him to be not only a discovery which in the realm of folklore was of the greatest interest; but also a happy pagan faith in which many people, unconventional like himself, could find the satisfaction they could never obtain from more orthodox creeds. However, his witch friends, and the elders of the coven, were adamant. “Don’t publish anything,” they said. As one of them put it, “Witchcraft doesn’t pay for broken windows.” They feared that, although the times of burning and hanging were past, publicity would only set the forces of persecution against them again, in other forms.
It was not until ten years later, after the old high priestess was dead, that G.B.G. revealed his knowledge about the Craft of the Wise, and then only in the form of an historical novel. This book, High Magic’s Aid, was published by Michael Houghton, London, 1949; and, as well as being a good story, it contained a wealth of information about what magic and witchcraft really were and how they worked.
Then, in 1951, witches in Britain obtained their legal freedom. The last Witchcraft Act was repealed, thanks mainly to the efforts of Spiritualists, who had campaigned against this old Act of Parliament being used to persecute mediums, whether the latter were genuine or not. It was replaced by the Fraudulent Mediums Act, which legally recognises genuine mediumship and psychic powers, and prosecutes only in the case of deliberate fraud committed for gain.
G.B.G. decided that the time had now arrived for members of the Craft of the Wise to come out into the open and speak out to the world about their rituals and beliefs. He accordingly proceeded to do so, by means of his writings, broadcasts, press interviews, and by his Museum of Magic and Witchcraft at Castletown, Isle of Man. Whether or not he was right in this decision is still a matter of controversy among present-day witches, and seems likely to continue to be so.
There is no doubt that G.B.G.’s action was a complete break with the witch tradition of silence and secrecy. I have reason to think that it was also contrary to the wishes of his associates. Today, many persons inside the witch cult regard G.B.G. as having done far more harm than good by his publicising of witchcraft. Furthermore, they do not agree that G.B.G.’s version of the Craft is an authoritative one; a point to which I will return later.
Such critics point to the undignified publicity in which some representatives of modern witchcraft seem to revel. They say that such antics are not only contrary to witch tradition, but serve no other purpose than the gratification of a few childish egos, and the alienation of intelligent people; and they add that this sort of thing was started by the deliberate break with the good old ways that Gerald Gardner made.
Frankly, this is a viewpoint with which the present writer feels considerable sympathy. In fact, I expressed my feelings on this matter to G.B.G. himself, very forcibly, during his lifetime—as a result of which, he and I were not on speaking terms for some while!
Looking back, however, I can see why G.B.G. acted as he did. His devotion to the Craft and the Old Gods was utterly and transparently sincere. The craft of the Wise had become his life; and he feared that it was in danger of dying out. With regard to his particular coven, in which he had been initiated, he could see that it was mostly composed of elderly people. After the big Lammas Rite in the New Forest in 1940, when they had raised the Cone of Power against Hitler’s threatened invasion of Britain, no less than five of these elderly members died, one after another. It was as if the ritual, which had been repeated four times, had taken the last of their life force. Then later on, the old high priestess died; who was to carry on, when all were gone?
Gerald Gardner decided that somehow the Craft must send out a call to the younger people; people who were witches at heart, and who perhaps had been members of the Craft in previous lives, of which dim and shadowy recollections dwelt in their inner minds. On this point, of course, he was right. I have been told that one of the reasons why the authorities were willing to repeal the Witchcraft Act, was that they thought witchcraft was dead! (Once the repeal became law, they were rapidly undeceived.)
However, some will argue that the method he used was unwise. It would have been better and more fitting, they say, to have proceeded by purely occult methods; because the Craft has its own guardians, the Mighty Ones who have been great witches in the past, and who now dwell on the Inner Planes. They would not have let it die. It cannot be denied, however, that the world is changing and evolving, and the Craft cannot be static. It, too, must evolve, if it wishes to remain a living thing.
Leaving this continuing controversy, I will return to the issue mentioned previously; namely, the correctness or otherwise of Gerald Gardner’s version of witchcraft.
A tradition that is passed down from one person to another, over a long period of time, is almost certain to be influenced by those of its transmitters who were themselves strong personalities. Gerald Gardner was certainly this. He was a character; a man of originality and fearless individualism. Therefore, the covens which he founded bear the imprint of his personality.
For instance, G.B.G. had a deep-rooted belief in the value of going naked when circumstances favoured it. He was a pioneer naturist, who supported the naturist movement before it became accepted, in the days when the very mention of nudity was regarded as shocking, scandalous, immoral, etc, etc. G.B.G. believed that communal nakedness, sunshine and fresh air, were things which were natural and beneficial, both physically and psychologically; and he said so fearlessly, and practised what he preached. Even when one could not be naked outdoors, he believed that nudity, for both sexes, could be beneficial, because it was natural. It made for healthy-mindedness, and lack of hypocrisy, and enabled people to be really themselves, relaxed and genuinely human, without tensions or class distinctions.
With these beliefs G.B.G. naturally approved of the very old religious and magical idea of ritual nudity, which he found in the witch cult. However, many witches of other covens than those founded by G.B.G. regard his insistence upon ritual nudity as an essential for the practice of witchcraft, to be an exaggeration. They point out the unsuitability of the English climate generally for this practice, however much the witches of Italy may have had ritual nudity commended to them in the Witches’ Gospel, Aradia. Italy and Britain are two very different places. Although we know from Pliny’s Natural History (6 vols, Bohn’s Classical Library, London 1855–7), that the women of Ancient Britain performed religious rites in the nude, we are not told that they invariably did so.
Hence, witches of other traditions regard this aspect of G.B.G.’s version of witchcraft as being more a reflection of his own ideas than a real landmark of the Craft—a phrase which brings us to the consideration of the extent to which G.B.G.’s version of the rites was influenced by the fact that he and his friends who introduced him to witchcraft were Co-Masons.
There is a good deal in the witch rituals transmitted by G.B.G. which is reminiscent of Masonic phraseology. There are references, for instance, to “the working tools”, the “Charge” given to the new initiate, who must be “properly prepared”, and so on. The Craft consists of Three Degrees. It would be out of place for me to go into more detail. However, on the other hand there are references from old sources, which state that witchcraft consisted of three degrees of initiation; and G.B.G. in his writings has referred to the resemblances between some features of Masonic initiation, and some features of witch initiation. He has stated his belief that there has been in the past some definite connection between these two traditions—a belief which he bases upon these resemblances.
Gerald Gardner got to know Aleister Crowley when the latter was living at Hastings, a year before Crowley died. He was taken to see Crowley by a friend, and visited him on a number of occasions thereafter, until Crowley’s death in 1947. Crowley took a liking to G.B.G., as a fellow-student of magic, and made him an honorary member of Crowley’s magical order, the Ordo Templi Orientis. G.B.G. admired Aleister Crowley as a poet, and was fond of using quotations from Crowley’s works in his rites.
When I pointed out to him that I thought this inappropriate for the rites of witchcraft, as it was too modern, he gave me to understand that the rituals he had received were in fact fragmentary. There were many gaps in them; and to link them together into a coherent whole, and make them workable, he had supplied words which seemed to him to convey the right atmosphere, to strike the right chords in one’s mind. He felt, he said, that some of Crowley’s work did this.
From my own study of these rites and traditions, I believe that this old coven which Gerald Gardner joined had fragments of ancient rituals; but fragments only. These were in the hands of the few elderly members that were left. Gerald Gardner, believing passionately that the old Craft of the Wise must not be allowed to die, gathered up these fragments and, with the assistance of his own knowledge of magic, which was considerable, and the result of many years’ study all over the world, pieced them together, and added material of his own, in order to make them workable. In doing so, he of necessity put the imprint of his own personality and ideas upon them.
Another criticism made by covens of different origins is that G.B.G. knew only fragments of traditional lore possessed by a few people. He never pretended otherwise; but some of his followers have misguidedly presented him as being the oracle of all knowledge with regard to witchcraft.
Gerald Gardner did definitely possess certain magical powers of his own. I have taken part with him in witchcraft rites and can testify to this. However, he made no pretence to supernormal powers; nor did he ever claim to be anything more than a member of a coven. The titles of ‘Britain’s Chief Witch’ and so on were conferred on him by the popular Press. He himself used no such titles, nor did he desire them. Also, he was flatly against the exploitation of the occult for money; and his outspokenness upon this point made him many enemies.
He himself, however, was a man utterly without malice. In fact, his greatest faults were his blind generosity and lack of discrimination. He would literally have shared his last crust with his worst enemy. He could be at once lovable and exasperating.
The book for which he is best known is Witchcraft Today, which was published by Riders of London in 1954, and has been several times reprinted, including paperback editions. In the foreword he says that his acquaintances in the witch cult had told him to let people know that they were not perverts, nor did they practise harmful rites. I think myself that this was the argument he used, in order to get the witches to agree to his writing anything ‘from the inside’; namely, to defend the Old Religion from all the highly-coloured slanders of perversion, Black Magic, devil worship, blood sacrifices and so on, that have been and still are launched against it. There is still a good deal of hate-propaganda poured out against witches; but at least Gerald Gardner showed that there is another side to the argument, and that witches are people, too.
In May, 1960, Gerald Gardner had the honour of an invitation to a garden party at Buckingham Palace—possibly the first time a witch has ever been asked to attend such a function. Although, of course, he was not asked because he was a witch, he felt that this invitation was proof that in Britain today a person can openly profess his allegiance to the Old Religion without arousing intolerance except among the hysterical, the bigoted, or the ignorant.
The end of G.B.G.’s colourful earthly life came in February 1964. He died at sea, of heart failure, while on one of the globe-trotting journeys he loved. A biography of him was published during his lifetime, entitled Gerald Gardner: Witch, by J. L. Bracelin (The Octagon Press, London, 1960).
GARTERS AS WITCHES’ SIGNS
As far back as 1892, a French writer, Jules Lemoine, in La Tradition, noted the importance of the garter as a sign of rank among witches. He wrote: “Les mauvaises gens forment une confrerie qui est dirigée par une sorcière. Celle-ci a la jarretière comme marque de sa dignité”. (“The bad people [witches] form a brotherhood, which is directed by a female witch. This woman wears a garter as a mark of her dignity.”)
Margaret Murray quotes this passage in her Witch-Cult in Western Europe (Oxford University Press, 1921): and in her later book The God of the Witches (Faber, London, 1952), she advances the remarkable theory that the foundation of Britain’s premier order of chivalry, the Order of the Garter, had its origin in the Old Religion of witchcraft. She believed the Plantagenet king, Edward III, the founder of the Order of the Garter, to have been certainly a sympathiser with witchcraft, if not an actual member of the cult.
We tend today to look upon a garter as a piece of feminine frippery, connected in the mind with can-can dancers and Edwardian belles. But of course the garters of long ago were not frilly things made of elastic. They were long laces or strings, which were bound round the leg and tied; and they were used by men as well as by women.
Margaret Murray has suggested that the significance of the garter in witchcraft is the real explanation of the old story of how the Order of the Garter came to be founded. The story goes that when King Edward III was dancing with a lady of his court, either the Fair Maid of Kent or the Countess of Salisbury, her garter fell to the floor. The lady was embarrassed; but the King gallantly picked up the garter, saying “Honi soit qui mal y pense” (“Shame to him who thinks ill of it”), and tied the garter upon his own leg. This incident gave him the idea to found the Order of the Garter, with twelve knights for the King, and twelve for his son, the Black Prince, making two thirteens, or twenty-six knights in all.
The number of thirteen was given further significance by the King’s regalia as Chief of the Order. His mantle was ornamented with the figures of 168 garters, which, with the actual garter worn on his leg, made 169, or thirteen times thirteen.
The above incident of court life seems a very trivial one for this noble Order to have been founded upon, unless it had some inner significance. But if the garter that the lady dropped was a witch-garter, then the whole episode assumes quite a different aspect. Both the lady’s confusion and the King’s gesture are seen to have a much deeper meaning than in a mere pretty story of courtly gallantry. She stood revealed as a leading witch; and he publicly showed his willingness to protect the Old Religion and its followers.
Further evidence of the importance of the garter as a witches’ sign may be seen in a rare old wood-engraving which is found as a frontispiece, in some copies only, of a sixteenth-century book about witches, Dialogues Touchant le Pouvoir des Sorcières et la Punition qu’elles Méritent (Dialogues about the Power of Witches and of the Punishment They Deserve) by Thomas Erastus (Geneva, 1579).
This picture shows the interior of a witch’s cottage, set in some remote place among woods and hills. Four witches are in the act of departing on their fabled broomstick-flight to the Sabbat. Two of them have already flown up the wide cottage chimney; while a third, before she departs, is binding one leg with a garter. A fourth witch, broomstick in hand, awaits her turn; and outside, unknown to them, a man spies upon their proceedings through the keyhole.
The artist evidently accepted the story about witches flying on broomsticks; but he mingled with his fantasy a detail of fact, namely the garter. Artists who drew pictures of witches in the old days often did this, because they were depicting the popular notions about witches, which were a mixture of actual knowledge and fantasy.
One of the most frequently recurring and most beautiful motifs of medieval art, is that of the Green Man. This figure represents a human face surrounded by foliage, which it seems to be peering through. Often the leafy branches are shown coming from the figure’s mouth, as if he were in a sense breathing them forth. Some of the oldest representations of the Green Man show him as horned.
He represents the spirit of the trees, and the green growing things of earth; the god of the woodlands. Hence he is distinctly a pagan divinity. Yet he frequently appears among the carved decoration of our oldest churches and cathedrals, especially upon such things as roof bosses and the little seats called misericords.
As an old name for inns, too, ‘The Green Man’ makes his appearance; though here he is usually explained as representing either an old-time apothecary who gathered green herbs, or else as a forester dressed in Lincoln green.
In folk plays and customs, we find the Green Man in the guise of ‘Green Jack’ or ‘Green George’. This part was enacted by a man who appeared among the May Day revellers, covered in a sort of framework of leafy garlands, so that his face peered through the leaves, like the figure in the old church carvings. At Castleton in Derbyshire, where the ceremony is kept up to this day, he rides on horseback and is called the Garland King.
The Green Man as a woodland god, is a relic of the old pagan rites and beliefs; and his popularity as a motif of church decoration proves that for a long time in Britain, pagan and Christian concepts existed side by side. When used in decoration, the Green Man is sometimes referred to as the foliate mask; and the foliage which surrounds him is most frequently oak, the old sacred tree of Britain. So he may be the spirit that Reginald Scot in his Discoverie of Witchcraft (1584) tells us about, “the man in the oke”, who was among the fearsome company of unearthly beings that his mother’s maid used to terrify him with, when he was a boy.
I have been told, by a present-day witch in Britain who claimed to have traditional knowledge, that an old name for people who were secretly devoted to pagan lore was ‘Green Jack’s Children’. So far, I have been unable to obtain any confirmation of this; but there is no doubt that the colour green is still regarded as somewhat uncanny, even in the present day. Some people think it unlucky, and this seems to arise from the idea that it is the fairies’ colour, and they resent outsiders wearing it. It is a witches’ colour, as is its complement, scarlet; both, in a sense, being colours of life, the green of vegetable and the scarlet of animal life.
Ki shan i Romani,
Adoi san’ i chov’hani,
So runs the old gypsy proverb, meaning “Wherever the Romanies go, there witches may be found.” The first President of the Gypsy-Lore Society, Charles Godfrey Leland, regarded gypsies as the great carriers and disseminators of magic and witchcraft, wherever they travelled.
Certainly, one reason given for the persecution of gypsies in the past has been that they provided a rallying-point for disaffected and shiftless persons of all kinds, among whom witches were counted. There is a certain amount of truth in this, in that the gypsies attracted to their way of life a good many people who were at odds with society. In fact, they still do; and there are probably more travelling people in Britain today than there are real Romanies.
The Romanies came originally from the East, probably from India; but as they journeyed by way of Egypt, or claimed to have done so, they were called Egyptians, of which ‘gypsy’ is a worn-down version, a name given to them by the gorgios, or non-gypsies. They, however, held themselves proudly in their rags, and called themselves ‘Lords of Little Egypt’, their name for gypsydom in general.
Their great profession has always been fortune-telling, either by the lines of the hand, dukkerin’ drey the vast as they call it, or by means of the cards. On the Continent the Tarot cards have come to be so much associated with gypsy fortune tellers, that these cards are sometimes called ‘the Tarot of the Bohemians’, meaning the gypsies. However, the real origin of these mysterious cards of fortune remains a mystery. (See TAROT CARDS.)
It is remarkable that the Romany word for God is Devel or Duvel, which derives from the Sanskrit Deva, meaning ‘a shining one’. No wonder, then, if the gypsies felt some kinship with the European witches, who were like themselves hounded for being different, for not conforming, and for being alleged devil worshippers.
The Romanies, too, believe in the Great Mother, Amari De, or De Develeski, the personification of Nature; thinly disguised today as Sara-Kali, the Black Madonna, or alleged gypsy-saint Sara, whose little statue can still sometimes be found, dark-faced and bedizened, in the smart motor-drawn caravans of well-to-do modern gypsy families.
The real old-time gypsies of England would never willingly allow their dead to be buried in Christian consecrated ground, or have anything to do with the religion of the gorgios. Nor would the gypsies of the European continent; though they did have a reverence for the Virgin Mary, whom they prayed to as a goddess. The famous Spanish Madonna, La Macarena of Seville, in all her goddess-like beauty and magnificence, is regarded as the special Madonna of the gypsies.
People like this, pagans at heart with strong traits of goddess worship, and with an inborn aptitude for all things of magic, sorcery and the occult, were natural sympathisers with the pagan witches, their companions in misfortune and outlawry. They share, too, another characteristic with them, namely a belief in reincarnation, which Charles Godfrey Leland noted among the witches of Italy, and George Borrow has witnessed to among the gypsies he knew. (See REINCARNATION.)
In his introduction to The Zincali: an Account of the Gypsies of Spain (John Murray, London, 1841), Borrow tells us:
Throughout my life the gypsy race has always had a peculiar interest for me. Indeed I can remember no period when the mere mention of the name of Gypsy did not awaken within me feelings hard to be described. I cannot account for this—I merely state a fact.
Some of the Gypsies, to whom I have stated this circumstance, have accounted for it on the supposition that the soul which at present animates my body has at some former period tenanted that of one of their people; for many among them are believers in metempsychosis, and, like the followers of Bouddha, imagine that their souls, by passing through an infinite number of bodies, attain at length sufficient purity to be admitted to a state of perfect rest and quietude, which is the only idea of heaven they can form.
Among the gypsies themselves the chovihani and the drabarni, the witch and the herb woman, are held in honour. The profession of tribal chovihani is handed down from mother to daughter; even as among non-gypsy witches, with whom the respect for heredity is strong. The whole truth about gypsy religion and gypsy witchcraft has not yet been fully investigated; though some ceremonies and customs have been recorded, which illustrate their beliefs. Many of these are strikingly similar to those of the witch cult among non-gypsies.
For instance, there is the custom of praying to the new moon, which among some of the wildest and most primitive gypsy tribes is performed naked. On the night when the new moon first appears in the sky, they will take off their clothes to her, bow their heads, and pray that she will bring them good fortune, health and money during the coming month.
There is also a considerable resemblance between the outdoor Sabbats and Esbats of the witches, held at a crossroads or in a wood, and the nocturnal gatherings of gypsies, as Jean-Paul Clébert has noted in his book The Gypsies (Vista Books, London, 1963). The open fire with its bubbling cauldron, the music and dancing, must have looked very reminiscent of witches’ meetings to a suspicious passer-by. In fact, the small cauldrons called gypsy pots are much sought after today by witches, as being more convenient to use than the big cooking-pot variety; and both kinds, alas, are becoming collectors’ pieces, expensive and hard to find.
There is a definite belief among some present-day witches that when the persecution against witches grew fiercer in England, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, many witches fled from their homes and took to the roads, becoming mumpers, or travelling folk who followed the gypsy way of life though they were not themselves of gypsy blood. Because of the beliefs they held in common a certain amount of interchange of ideas took place between witches and gypsies, and they tended to protect each other against the mutual enemy, that settled Christian society which tormented, dispossessed and hanged them both in the name of the God of Love.
Throughout history, witchcraft seems to have been the religion of the dispossessed and the outlawed: the down-trodden serfs of medieval Europe, whose misery and resentment are described in Aradia; the people who fled before the conquering sword of Islam; the gypsies who prayed to the moon, and to the spirits of stream and woodland, the Nivashi and the Puvushi; and earlier, the dark aboriginal people of these islands, who were here before the Celts, and the priests and priestesses of pagan mysteries, whose temples were closed and whose rites forbidden by the Early Christian Church.
Because witchcraft is old, its origins are complex; and yet its real essence is simple—devotion to Nature, the Great Mother, and to looking into Nature to find magic. The intellectuals and the sophisticated scoff at it, and yet fear while they scoff; because they recognise, consciously or otherwise, that witchcraft is linked to the primitive, to the depths within themselves that they do not wish to look into, or even acknowledge the existence of.