The Haunted Landscape

The Haunted Landscape: Magic and Monsters of the British Isles was a conference arranged by the London Fortean Society which took place at Conway Hall on 23rd November 2019. There were many and varied speakers on a plethora of subjects; all loosely bunched around the burgeoning term Folk Horror.

Folk Horror itself was formally introduced to the world on 16th October 2016 at an event at the British Museum. Deriving from and referring to aspects of the sinister that are perceived by some to exist within society’s general picture of the bucolic and unthreatening British countryside, such as the worldview in films like The Witchfinder General, TV programmes like Penda’s Fen and countless books, this conference gave a context to the subject matter whilst bringing it to the attention of the wider world. In short, the idea is that something lurks beneath the greenery that bears us malice and ill-will; something that is not normally perceived in direct sunlight and in direct contrast to the seeming relaxing restfulness of trees, fields and sky.

The London Fortean Society is an association of people of whom I will write about in the future. Suffice it to say here that they arrange fascinating talks by folk from and around the edges of the paranormal community who know their subject and have an affinity for it.

Conway Hall is a venue in central London dedicated to free and independent speech. The union of Forteana and the Hall, therefore, is a happy and fortuitous one.

I have, since I can remember, had interests that strayed from the path of normality. There may be reasons for this. When I was a child our father, when it was Hallowe’en, would get a book from the local library and read spooky tales to us by candle and torchlight. We would all gamely hack at turnips to create jack o’lanterns, which is the way it was done before pumpkins were employed, then huddle round in the gloom to drink in the safe horror and enchantment that the time of year is notorious for. This was at a time when I believe that we may have been the only family celebrating Hallowe’en in the neighbourhood. The autumnal fire festival that is Guy Fawkes’ Night was the climax, of course, when effigies were placed on questionably-safe, community-built bonfires of prodigious size. Some of my favourite reading around this time of life were books, illustrated with luscious artwork, of Robin Hood and King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. To continue the theme, some of my preferred toys were Crusader Knights made by a company called Timpo. Without realising it I was looking at and playing with caricatures of the Knights Templar; something that would have a large impact on my life as an adult. Throw such TV programmes as Worzel Gummidge and Catweazle into the mix and there you have the seeds for a life less ordinary. Below I look briefly at the talks given at Conway Hall on that day.

The Rites and Wrongs of Autumn
The meeting started off in a lively fashion as Doc Rowe displayed his collection of pictures of Morris people and other villagers commemorating the arrival of that most atmospheric of seasons; autumn. Here were folk decked out in home-made costumes of varying complexity, having what seemed to be a thoroughly good time bringing in that time of year in celebrations that are rooted in their locality and of varying complexity. Rituals are recorded that took place quite a few years in the recent past. Photographs and film are some of the media used here, combining the recent past with older ceremonies. The good Doc has an online archive where his collection may be viewed if your interests incline in that direction.

Magical House Protection: The Archaeology of Counter-Witchcraft
Brian Hoggard researches the objects and marks that everyday people used to keep malevolent magic at bay. Folk in our past believed that others had sufficient magickal powers to wreak great evil at a distance, and that this could be directed against specific individuals. The anti-witchcraft items range from simple marks scratched into surfaces such as walls to odd and sometimes repulsive objects such as witch-bottles containing nails, both ironmongery and finger, hair and urine; from horse skulls to whole dead cats immured so that they would become the protecting spirit of the place. Much more on this immersive subject can be found on Brian’s website.

The Croglin Grange Vampire
Deborah Hyde regaled us with the folk tale of this denizen of the undead, said to have lurked in and around Croglin in Cumbria. It was supposed to have attacked a woman there, whose brothers eventually hunted it down to a local crypt. Deborah deconstructed the story, pointing out that no-one has found a Croglin Grange but that there are two similar buildings called Croglin High Hall and Croglin Low Hall. There are also sufficiently strong similarities between this narrative and that of Varney the Vampire, a story serialised in the Victorian publications known as penny dreadfuls, to throw suspicion onto it as having any authenticity outside of being fictional.

Fairies: A Dangerous History
It was mainly in Victorian times that fairies were tamed into the tiny humanoid children well-known in picture books of the time. Before that they were capricious and dangerous creatures it was considered extremely unsafe to cross. Much country folklore is concerned with staying on the right side of these ethereal beings or, once under their influence, of how to extract oneself with the minimum of repercussions. Richard Sugg is lecturer in Renaissance Literature at the University of Durham. Despite this he finds time to raise our hairs on our necks by informing us of the misdeeds of the Fair Folk, especially in Ireland, where possibly due to the country being mainly rural well into the twentieth century, sightings of and belief in leprechauns persists to this day.

Hollow Places: The Dragon Slayer’s Tomb
How many of us now have heard of the mighty dragon-slayer, Piers Shonks? He was awarded the honour of a tomb in the Hertfordshire church of Brent Pelham for his prodigious deed. Piers himself was a giant, so that would have given him a head start against his reptilian foe, which was curled in a cave beneath the roots of a yew tree outside the village. Piers, accompanied by a servant and his three hounds, which some said had the power of flight, soon polished off the unfortunate serpent. Christopher Hadley took us on a journey across the centuries where the tomb of a dragon slayer is actually embedded in the wall of a rural parish church.

England’s Historic Graffiti: Voices Preserved in Stone. Graffiti is generally considered undesirable, especially when executed in spray paint on public surfaces. This takes on a different twist, however, when discovered in buildings that predate the creation of aerosols. Normally incised into wood, stone or brick, this more intimate means of expression can offer us an insight into the everyday thoughts of everyday people that mainstream histories may overlook. Crystal Hollis has inspected such markings in depth from a chapel in the USA to churches in Suffolk.

Wolves in the Wolds: The Weird case of Old Stinker
AKA the Beast of Barmston Drain, the Hull Werewolf. The wolves that roamed these islands may have been killed as people expanded and the packs were seen as an economic liability, but tales of their existence cling on in the tales of British werewolves. Even though, despite being present right up until the 16th century, wolves ceased to be a threat to the average Briton when the Saxon kings held sway. Folk memory reaches back beyond the modern and empirical, bringing us face-to-face with the dark and unknowable. Dr Sam George, who is Senior Lecturer in Literature and Convener of the Open Graves, Open Minds research project at the University of Hertfordshire, brought this strange and unlikely case to our attention.

English Witches and their Familiars
Time to revisit the world of witches, only instead of protecting ourselves from them, we look at one of the most intriguing ways that witches were reported to have extended their influence into the wider world. Dr Victoria Carr shared some of her research with us about the popular pet and sidekick of the witch. It can be an uphill task attempting to comprehend just how much fear was caused by the concept of the witch and, by extension, their familiars, in our post-Enlightenment, post-industrial world. We can conjure horrors undreamed of by our ancestors and project them onto cinema screens. Arguably no terror created by our artifice, whether it be on a computer screen or moulded from latex, will ever match the unnameable, ill-formed demons of our own imaginations. The witches’ familiar could be any animal, even the overlooked, seemingly humble garden snail, of which at least one was intended as an assassin(!).

Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren’t go a-hunting, For fear of little men…
Paul Devereux, a veteran of Forteana, examines the invisible paths across our land, death roads, spirit ways and fairy paths. These were a real and powerful part of the landscape to those who went before us. Associated with, but not necessarily synonymous with ley lines, people have reported strange happenings on these lines, which were linked with the spirits of the departed. These happenings affected the lives of the people involved in a powerful way. The talk culminated in Mr Devereux telling us of a startling encounter that he himself had had with an entity associated with the spirit ways.

It was quite a day! The talks, whilst containing common strands, were varied, entertaining and informative, opening the listener’s mind to the mysterious and sinister place that the British countryside had been to those who dwelt there in the past. Every speaker was enthusiastic and knowledgeable, making it hugely enjoyable to listen to them. It was Folk Horror in action, showing us both painstaking research combined with the indefinable, eldritch atmosphere that impregnates the mysteries of the land.

Witchfest and the Unconvention

Looming on the horizon is what I like to think of as Paranormal Conference Season.  This, the month of November, is when like-minded folk head off to large buildings to hear from experts in the fields of knot magic, the real truth about Jesus and not that church stuff, magic lanterns (the Victorian projector as opposed to pumpkins) and ghost-hunting.  There are two main events that interest me amongst quite a few in this fair city that take place very loosely around Samhain (or Hallowe’en, as it is more commonly known).

Both conventions have some things in common.  Both are large events drawing folk from all over Great Britain and points abroad.  Both have larger, main events with lectures and happenings in side rooms, performances and stalls selling goods more or less appropriate to the happening.  Both also have celebrities that the wider public may not have heard of or taken notice of too many times but have strong followings in their respective worlds.  Figures that spring to my mind are Kate West (Witchfest), who is a witch who has published guides for taking up that way of life; Professor Ronald Hutton (Witchfest), who is an authority in several areas pertaining to the witchy path; Jan Bondesen (Unconvention), a consultant rheumatologist who speaks about a very wide range of fortean topics and has published well-researched books upon such things and Jonathan Downes (Unconvention), a cryptozoologist and Director of the Centre for Fortean Zoology.

The first that I mention here is the more specialised of the two.  Witchfest claims to be the largest witchcraft festival in recorded history.  It started in 2002 and, from a glimpse online, 2011 looks to be as full a programme of events and performers as ever it was.  It takes place at Fairfield Halls in the holy suburb of Croydon.  I say ‘holy’ because Archbishops of Canterbury were Lord of the Manor since the time of William the Conqueror, and still act as patrons to this day.  The Archbishops not only had substantial holdings in the town but were in all probability responsible for its current, bustling status as a commercial centre.  They applied for a market charter and the town grew and never looked back.  I suppose that, given the appearance of Witchfest, the term ‘sacred suburb’ might be closer to the mark these days.  Witchfest is a one-day festival.  It makes up for this by running over into the next morning with many musicians of appropriate styles (folk, goth, mediæval, punk, industrial and points in between) that appear after the talking and stalls have been spirited away.  Despite being (in my eyes, anyway) the more specialised of the two, Witchfest has a broader appeal.  I, for want of a much, much better comparison, call this the Buffy effect.  I am confident that most of you reading this (and if you’ve come this far then well done!) will be familiar with the television series Buffy theVampire Slayer.  Since this teen-comedy-meets-children-of-the-night show wisecracked its way into popular culture in 1997, the occult side of teenagers (which I strongly suspect covers mainly clothes, make-up and the occasional how-to book, but I sincerely hope that my cynicism is misplaced) has been noticeable and transmutes itself into ticket sales and purchases from the traders, who stock everything one is likely to need to dress, cast spells and even drink like a witch (mead, anyone?).  The speakers also reflect the width of interest covered by the event.  They range from David Wells, who has appeared on TVs Most Haunted as the show’s resident medium, to Professor Ronald Hutton (as mentioned earlier), probably the UKs most prominent academic on paganism.  There is a strong emphasis on performing, with Morris-dancing in the foyer and the music later on.  One is also invited to attend opening and closing rituals, which serve to remind the visitor as to why he or she is there.  Many of the crowd are so richly attired in mediæval-inspired outfits (although these days, Victorian-influenced Steampunk clothing is becoming de rigeur) that they seem to be part of the more professional side of the event.  To sum up, the day is quite a riot of talks, drinking, shopping and entertainment, and generally caters for the interested “layperson” and casual dropper-in almost as well as those who have a dedicated life to the Craft.

Which brings us to the Unconvention.  Those of you who have visited this blog before may have happened upon my entry for the Fortean Times, a UK magazine covering strange phenomena and taking its inspiration from the American writer Charles Hoy Fort.  The good folk behind FT decided that one could not have too much of a good thing and started a conference that they titled the Unconvention – I’m sure that I don’t have to explain why.  The first such gathering was in 1994.  Unlike Witchfest, Unconvention has moved around, venue-wise.  This year it will be at the Camden Centre in close proximity to King’s Cross station.  One of the superficial similarities is that it covers subjects that fall under the heading ‘paranormal’.  However, despite this, the most striking differences between these musterings is that the subject matter in Uncon is much broader than Witchfest; ghosts, UFOs, parapsychology, parapolitics and cryptozoology just to name a very few.  Despite this, the crowd who attend seem more committed to the data (there is not the same emphasis upon entertainment, although it does appear – witness the burlesque shows of previous occasions) and no-one dresses up – to my knowledge at least.  So, in some important ways, Uncon is a more serious proceeding, with experts from many exotic fields gathered together over two days in Central London.  There is also no ritual of any kind as none is felt necessary or relevant.  What the latter may not have in spectacle it certainly makes up for in diversity and the sheer number of differing opinions that it brings to bear upon the unknown.

At the end of the day, it is all down to what one is looking for in your chosen event.  If you specialise in witchcraft or just want to unwind to a specific vibe, then Croydon East will call to you with its siren train horn (ahem).  If you feel seriously about strange stuff outside of enchantment and sorcery then it’s a more northerly station you may find yourself alighting upon.  Bit of irony, though, as it’s the other way round for Harry Potter fans.

Morris Dancing - Unloved Englishness

Photo: Jim Champion

We are all very familiar with the modern contempt that Morris dancing is held with.  So many things come and go as far as fashion is concerned, and it seems that this tradition became associated with a pastoral way of life that nearly all of the country had left behind when the factories beckoned and football and the music hall moved into those places people’s hearts reserve for their loyalty to such things.  Morris dancing was, as was the way with many things that were associated with a lost way of rural life, ‘revived’ on several occasions, the most recent being in the 1960s that accompanied a wider folk music revival.  Before then it has been dated back to dancers at court in the fourteenth century.  The dances devolved over the centuries, spreading from the royal household to church festivals, then, as the Puritans took over, hardly anything at all.  When they moved from kingly splendour, so did the costumes, and the poorer folk tended to forego the splendour of court costumes in favour of ribbons and bells attached to their everyday clothing, the continuation of which can be seen in today’s Morris costumes.  As with most gaiety, it didn’t come through the thirteen years of Cromwell’s Commonwealth well and, like Christmas, faced a steady decline.  When the Industrial Revolution broke up many communities in the countryside and workers flooded to the towns and factories, much in the way of tradition was not only forgotten, but deliberately cast aside as being out of step with new life in the cities.  It was preserved by four teams in Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire and sought out by folklorists from the late nineteenth century onwards as they rediscovered it.


Despite the generally accepted tradition that Morris dancing is so-called because it was brought into England via soldiers returning from the Crusades, and hence corrupted from Moorish dancing, what evidence there is does not back this up.  Shakespeare mentions Morris twice; “I have seen/Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,/Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells. (2 Henry VI Act III scene i)” and “As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding queen to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin. (All's Well that Ends Well Act II scene ii)”.  This shows that Morris dancing was established by his time of writing and a tradition so common that the audience understood these references.
As would be expected with such a venerable pastime, there are many regional differences in dance, music and costume.  These have come down to us under mainly regional names, although even these, as with other ancient traditions, could vary a fair amount from town to town.  Other old dances, however, such as the Abbots Bromley Horn Dance, are distinct from the Morris tradition and (in this case, most certainly) predate it substantially.  It is worth noting that the Horn Dance is still performed to this day and can be seen on Wakes Monday, the day following Wakes Sunday, which is the first Sunday after September 4th.
The real beauty of Morris dancing, apart from preserving a part of our national heritage that property developers and local councils cannot touch, is that it is very much active and real.  As with much English culture, Morris has been successfully taken with expatriates to some rather far-flung corners of the globe.  As would be expected, it is the English-speaking nations that mainly embrace the eclectic nature of this style of dancing, with a slight, yet welcome, surprise being that of the Hong Kong Morris.  
Many local events have a performance by a local side, and they can occasionally be seen outside (and quite a lot inside) pubs and inns.  There are large annual events that are intertwined with Morris.  The most famous of these is The Rochester Chimney Sweeps Festival, which takes place around the May Day holiday.  Here is a large gathering of sides from all over the country and the festival also involves a parade of the dancers and their accompanists, plus performances by the cream of the nation’s folk musicians.
On a personal note, whenever I have watched Morris dancing, it affects me in the same way that looking around an old stone church or drinking in a village pub with exposed wooden beams.  It’s soothing yet electric – a direct connection to our past.  It does not matter that the church has been desecrated by Cromwell’s Puritans and revamped by well-meaning Victorians.  It does not matter (too much) if the old pub has brilliantly-lit lager pumps.  In that same spirit, it does not matter if the Morris dances are not strictly local, or if the ribbons are polyester and the bells made in China.  What matters is that something that was relevant hundreds of years in our past is still relevant, living, lively, entertaining and part of us to this very day.
I last saw Wolf's Head and Vixen Morris in the foyer of Fairfield Halls during Witchfest, where I was sitting on a bar stool with a glass of mead in my hand.  They have a distinctly modern twist on their dress, adding such touches as dark glasses to their all-black ensemble, but their dancing adheres to a distinct tradition and it is a joy to watch and a sight to gladden the heart.  Long may they dance!

Wolfs Head and Vixen Morris (above) by kind permission

Christmas Dickens festival and others