Tag Archives: Ireland

The Secret Commonwealth

Posted by Sarah-Jayne Farrer on

“Yesterday upon the stair
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away
When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn’t see him there at all!”
~ Antigonish (Mearns, 1899)

“By late noon, as the shadows lengthened and then withdrew quickly across the blue hearth stone, the noises commenced again at this remote and surely cursed relic of an abode. As on previous occasions, it starts with the clicking and then chirping. An incessant and anxiety inducing sound, unlike anything my inner aural library recognised or indeed comprehended…” - April 28th

To the reckoning of most, we are all ultimately alone in this world; but the Witch knows different. We are never truly alone. We are constantly surrounded by our spirits or gods, bugged by our ‘Muses’ and the extremely lucky ones can find a part of their missing soul hidden within another; but even if not, we all have our Otherselves. Witch or no.

Throughout the British Isles, especially in Ireland and Scotland, there is much talk of the Faerie Co-Walker, the Otherself; which has been known throughout the years, and presently, under many names. Doubles, Fetches, or Wraiths are believed to be the ‘attending spirit’ of the living person, and oft times considered a guardian spirit – Usually ancestral.

“Now as the light and warmth quickly diminish from this valley, I perceive the barely audible but pure whistle-like tone they emit on approach to our world. Of course, as time and age take me, I am now beginning to wonder just what distance actually separates us. Surely not enough. In years past, I was informed in a most serious manner, by the people who taught me the ancient art, that these beings or creatures had been (and perhaps still were) the procurers of potent ointments and salves to the Witches of antiquity. My mentor assured me that by carrying church blessed water and the sharpest cold iron I could find, they may just leave me be; due to their inherent fear and contempt for such substances…” - April 28th

The knowledge of these creatures, these Co-Walkers, has been around for centuries. The Greeks had their agathodaemones and kakodaemones which attached to men, swaying their decisions to one side or the other. Socrates would take counsel and guidance from his daemon. The Romans had their genii. And in Northern tradition they had their fylgja (someone that accompanies). It was believed that everyone inherited an hereditary guardian spirit at birth, which held their ancestral wyrd in their grasp, their ancestral inheritance and their luck.

These Co-Walkers, or Fetches, are capable of traveling abroad from the body of whomever they are attending. There is a massive amount of folklore and Witchlore pertaining to this, and most already know of the Witchs’ Familiar, sent forth from their blood and bone counterpart to do their bidding, sometimes in ‘true form’, sometimes that of an animal.

“Feather light and mutable are their forms, ever shifting and changeable, not unlike the cool morning mists that rise above the nearby fens and marshes. Yes, icy cold, like frozen breath in the darkness of the deepest Winter’s night. These vaporous Chameleons have a keen thirst for fine liquor, accompanied by a ravenous hunger for the farmer’s grain and corn. Only the essence mind you, for they quickly discard the husks and gross matter, finding this wholly unpalatable…” - April 28th

But it isn’t all sweetness and light and happy families.

The word ‘Fetch’ may derive from fæcce in Old English, which is glossed for mære; a spirit associated with death and nightmares. It is believed to see one’s Fetch is an omen of impending death, for the body has ‘given up its ghost’, and this is very true, my friends. There will be death. A death to the way you see the world, a death to your way of thinking, a death to all you once believed to be true, and yes, sometimes actual, physical death. For something which has been seen, cannot be un-seen. Once you have stared into the Unseen, and the Unseen has stared back into you, you are forever changed. Not quite the person you once were.

Striving for full awareness of your Faerie Co-Walker, is a dangerous path to walk. I’m not talking here about the dainty, gossamer-winged creatures of Victorian fancy. I am talking about the primal, ancient beings that would steal your baby from it’s crib, lure you to your doom in the fog, forests or wetlands, the powerful subterranean-dwellers who live according to their own laws, that can (and will) rip your face off. I jest you not. These beings should be approached with the utmost care, diligence and respect; a healthy dose of fear would not go amiss either. As a misstep could cost you your sanity, or your life.

“My patrons, both present and past (and undoubtedly, future) met with them at the midnight hour. Out on the dark lonely highways, deep in the hollows, the caves and at the cursed and unholy crossroads; the lonely thresholds that were once home to the gallows and the deep buried carcasses of vagrants, vagabonds, harlots and murderers. My teachers thought more of these places than God’s own churches; and when winds and stars were right, would exchange tokens, make pacts and renew ancient covenants with these strange and fearful folk…” - April 29th

As Witches we take calculated risks, nothing should be approached lightly or on a whim, especially when dealing with these beings. Think of the stories you have heard. Think of all the age old charms to protect against Faeries and the like; their origins are not based in fantasy, but on a very serious need to be cautious. Take heed and protect yourself from these hungry ghosts, the shadows and reflections of our long lost past

Some will never attain full awareness of their Co-Walker, most will never want to, and can be content with a contact of sorts with this Otherself. “If invited and earnestly required, these companions make themselves known and familiar to men”*. This contact can take years to build, but can be increased at certain times, in certain places, especially at ancient sites of cultural heritage. Out beneath the turbulent skies, on wind-whipped moors, surrounded by the unparalleled natural beauty and danger of the wetlands, amongst the haunted hills and vales, deep within the dark forests carpeted with bluebells, or upon the ancient mounds of our Ancestors – The places the dead lie (human, and animal) can become an interaction point between our realm and theirs.

“From my own observation, research and most importantly direct contact, I have to conclude that the nature of these beings reside somewhere between Angel and Flesh-bound Man. I have witnessed them on successive nights moving to and from their dark and hollow hills, while the land seethes and spits the cold fire that lights their way. In horror, I have quietly followed them down from the hills as they descend into our villages and towns to mingle, mimic, manipulate, and on occasion murder the unsuspecting towns folk. They covertly steal the trinkets we surround ourselves with, and if the truth be heard, would steal the first breath from the newborns lips (if the proper wards and sigils were not in place). I have been forced to consider that far beyond their chaotic whistle and chatter, they are as one. A collective, united in serving a single unknown and unseen power. Their faith, politics, learning and motivations are way beyond our reason and understanding. Some nights I hear music and merrymaking from beneath the hills, and have been told that the lanterns they dance beneath bear no wick or tallow, having shone since the land was young…” - April 29th

These creatures are cunning, and ready to catch you out. I’m sure you have all heard of ‘Faerie Trickery’, but their playfulness is not unlike our malice, their games can be cruel, their presence painful, their sport can be what our nightmares are made of. So be prepared on your journeys to meet with them; if you still wish to make the contact that is. They will demand a lot from you, sometimes more than you are prepared to give (and they will take by force what you do not give willingly), and in return you will see very little at first, maybe ever. Their thoughts on exchange don’t always meet our own, and in their minds they may have already bestowed great bounty upon you just by revealing their presence.

Do not be fooled that you ever have the upper hand with these beings, no matter how many times you convene, for they can surely cut you down a peg or two. And cut you down they will. Humility will be one of your greatest allies against this fierce race, and can afford you a measure of protection, however slight that may be. Older than the ancient hills they abide within and beneath, they have seen many ages come and go. Yet, they remain. Steadfast and attached to the Land. And part of it. Waiting and ready. Ready for what?

“Tired am I, of the summoning. The sonorous crooning of old songs to the snapping of ash wand, and forceful tearing of bud and stem; just to be battered and thrown around like an abused rag doll when they rush in from the four corners of the world. Their spitting and threatening no longer brings the overwhelming rush of exhilaration I once felt. I carry the unseen scars of their weapons; the century seasoned wooden sword, the hammers of bone from creatures long past, and their tiny barbed stone arrows, which are forcefully unleashed upon us from the darkness. Weapons that inflict illness and melancholy upon their clueless victims, sometimes death to the weaker and more vulnerable, and no one is the wiser (apart from those who are truly wise and dearly wish they were not, as wisdom seldom brings a peaceful mind)…

But upon this very night, I solemnly prepare myself to meet with them once again (perhaps for the last time), to uphold our part of the bargain and join with them in convocation within this desolate, haunted ruin. This is the legacy my patrons have entrusted to me, to tremble and weep once more, within the ice cold darkness that will soon descend upon this place. To further let go, and lose a part of my humanity, a fragment of warmth from my immortal soul, perhaps to fuel their obscene lanterns, and in return for what?” - April 30th

Text – Sarah-Jayne Farrer & Matt Baldwin-Ives

‘The Co-Walker’ © Ian Thurlby & Matt Baldwin-Ives (www.milescross.co.uk)

All other images © Matt Baldwin-Ives

Diary Extracts - with kind permission from the owner

* Robert Kirk – The Secret Commonwealth: of Elves, Fauns, and Fairies (1691)

Welcome To ‘In The Chimehours’…

Posted by Sarah-Jayne Farrer on

Welcome to ‘In the Chimehours’: An exploration of English folklore, folk tradition & magic, and my journey as an English Witch returning to her roots.

I’ll be working in collaboration with the boys at Miles Cross (Matt Baldwin-Ives and Ian Thurlby), who have been kind enough to provide all the images for this project, and have lent a greatly needed hand with the ‘back of house’ goings on. I’m so excited & honoured to be able to show off their work.

I want to completely step away from Crooked & Hidden Ways, and concentrate solely on this project, but the site will remain running (and I’ll be posting links there) for a while. To give everyone a chance to follow me over here, before completely taking the blog down. I want to thank all my readers, and friends, who have be following along these past few years, I am indeed very grateful for your support and feedback.  

The number one question on everyone’s lips during the lead-up to launching this blog was “What are the Chime hours?”

So with that question… Here we go…

The Midnight Hour - www.milescross.co.uk

“I wor born in the chimehours and can see what other folks can’t see, leastways, so they tell me”

‘Chime Hours’ or ‘Chime Children’ are not much talked of these days, as the chiming of church bells have become less and less frequent.  Not often will you hear the term ‘Chime Child’ uttered, apart from by those who follow the older ways and superstitions of the British Isles, especially those who were born within the chime hours themselves. Three, six, nine, and midnight are the most commonly accepted times of the chime hours. These were the hours that, in monastic tradition, prayers were required, and were marked by the tolling of the church bells. However, in Somerset and East Anglia those hours are held to be eight in the evening, midnight, and four in the morning. There’s still some argument as to whether a Chime Child was born exactly on the toll of the church bells, or within that hour, depending on where you were born. Still in other locales those hours are specifically limited to those who were born between midnight and dawn, Friday to Saturday. According to those, Sunday bore no Chime Children.

I was born on a Saturday, not long after the church bells were rung. A stones’ throw from the hospital where I lay wet and sticky from the womb, mewling naked upon my mother’s breast, the second round of tolls peeled through the night, marking quarter past the chime hour.

Those who were born within the chime hours are said to be gifted with ‘the eyes to see’. They had the eyes to see things which were usually hidden from ordinary people, such as ghosts, spirits and demons. The British folklorist T. F. Thiselton Dyer in The Ghost World (1893) states;

“Thus it is said in Lancashire that children born during twilight are supposed to have this peculiarity, and to know who of their acquaintance will next die. Some say that this property belongs also to those who happen to be born exactly at twelve o’clock at night, or, as the peasantry say in Somersetshire, ‘a child born in chime-hours will have the power to see spirits’.”

Children of the Sea - www.milescross.co.uk

Still other abilities are attributed to Chime Children. They are said to be skilled at herbal medicine, magic and healing, seership, and the power to control animals (both wild and tamed). A chime hour birth also made one privy to certain songs and carols; song and carols that would usually only be sung at certain times, by certain people. A chime hour birth could cancel out the bad luck that the mere utterance of these traditional songs, at the wrong time of the year, could bring. In some stories closer to the sea, Chime Children had an affinity with the waves, and these children were often the ones taught to sing the sailors or fishermen home. It is said that they can even control the sea and the weather, if born close enough to water.

Another belief was that Chime Children were the only ones able to see and hear the Ratchets, the spectral hounds of the Otherworld (the Cŵn Annwn led by Gwynn ap Nudd, or the hounds of  Herne the Hunter) which formed part of the Wild Hunt, and live to tell the tale. To catch sight or sound of those hounds was usually the harbinger of death, excepting those of a chime hour birth.

Chime Children are blessed with ‘the second sight’, and in times of old were watched closely as they grew, to see how their gift would manifest.  In parts of Ireland and Scotland, particularly the Highlands, this was accepted as normal, and it was believed that these gifts and abilities were God-given. Song and prayers were taught to the seer, in order to aid them to ‘see true’. As with any gift of this kind, many of those who were born within the chime hours considered it a curse, and would gladly be rid of it. The burdens of a Chime Child are many, especially when they have no one around to guide them in using their gifts.

“Es aw looked out my asey-casey,
On a moonlight night,
Aw sah th’ dead carrying the live.
Wasn’t that a wunderful sight?”
(Lincolnshire Traditional)

Text – Sarah-Jayne Farrer

Images © Matt Baldwin-Ives (www.milescross.co.uk)