The Devil with It! ~ Jen Goldie #writephoto

I remember it now. It was a hazy day, mid spring. I’m sure of it. She’d decided to explore the rocks a bit, then make her way to the Hills to a cabin we built. I remember telling her you can’t make a trip like that in a day. The cabin’s miles aways. Deep in those hills up there. Take a look! Nothing but tree spottin.

Ah, but she’d have none of my advice. She was wistful and wailed at the slight mention that she could be wrong about anything. “What! Milk in coffee!” simple stuff. For her nothing was simple. Even if she was wrong, she was right. Wilful Spitfire!

Continue reading at Jen Goldie

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Living Lore: March folklore ~ Gary Stocker

Gary shares some March-related lore:

“A peck of dust

 Is worth a king’s ransom”

A peck being a unit of dry volume. Finding that much dry soil in March is very unusual.

“March many weathers”

As we have seen, March is rather a volatile month weather-wise.

“If March comes in like a lion,

 It goes out like a lamb.

 If it comes in like a lamb,

 It goes out like a lion.”

“March borrows its last three days from April” (some say ten). In other words, the weather at the end of March and the beginning of April is similar.

“As many mists in March as there are frosts in May.”

“March’ll search ye, April try ye

 May’ll tell, whether live or die ye.”

Sources: “The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady.” by Elizabeth Holden, page 21.
“Weather Forecasting the Country Way.” by Robin Page, page 61.

The twenty-fifth of March is the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary:

“St Mary blows out the candle,

 St Michael lights it again.”

This is to do with the evenings getting lighter and then getting darker again come Michaelmas.

Source: “Discovering Saints in Britain” by John Vince, page 45.

A nineteenth century poem about Mothering Sunday goes:

“The lad and lass on Mothering Day

 Hie home to their mother so dear;

 ‘Tis a kiss for she and a kiss for they,

 A chine of pork and a sprig of bay.

 A song and a dance – but never a tear.”

Pork was the traditional dinner and a delicacy called frumenty, the recipe for which you can find on the internet. It is a sort of a porridge.

Source: “Folklore of Warwickshire.” by Roy Palmer, page 254

About the author

Gary Stocker graduated from Coventry Polytechnic in 1991 with a degree in combined engineering. He worked in civil engineering for nearly twenty years. For the last six years he has worked in materials science and currently works as a test engineer. His hobbies and interests include voluntary work, conservation work and blacksmithing. He is also interested in history, mythology and folklore and he says, “most things”.

How did your granny predict the weather? What did your great uncle Albert tell you about the little green men he saw in the woods that night? What strange creature stalks the woods in your area?

So many of these old stories are slipping away for want of being recorded. legendary creatures, odd bits of folklore, folk remedies and charms, and all the old stories that brought our landscape to life…

Tell me a story, share memories of the old ways that are being forgotten, share the folklore of your home. I am not looking for fiction with this feature, but for genuine bits of folklore, old wives tales, folk magic and local legends. Why not share what you know and preserve it for the future?

Email me at and put ‘Living Lore’ in the subject line. All I need is your article, bio and links, along with any of your own images you would like me to include and I’ll do the rest.

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Wistful ~ Brian F. Kirkham #writephoto

She returned to the moor

every hill a passing memory

veils of tears ran down her face

Continue reading at The Inkwell

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Dear Don: Imaginary Isles…

Dear Don,

It was an interesting weekend with the research. The south transept window from Ashbourne has opened a whole set of mysteries to track down and so far I’ve only got a little way in. I enlisted the help of our friend who is interested in these things and she will look at some of her sources over the next week or so. I’ll be damned if I can find out anything about this Inbal person except the meaning of the name, ‘the clapper of the bell,’ or ‘that which makes music in a silent shell’.

blackpool 029On the other hand, all the personages in the window are either Biblical characters or saints associated with music, or more specifically, with song. And they are all depicted with halos and a dove above their heads. Of course, that would tie in with the octave… especially as there are seven of them… Wonder if that ties in with the Creation and the Word? Are the notes of the octave tuned to our days and to the seven of Genesis?

While I remember, I missed a fair bit when I was there, including an odd angle in the construction of the church itself. It has been suggested it mirrors the position of the body of Christ Crucified.

Add that to the other anomalies we had already identified there and I think it is going to need a second visit.

Continue reading at France and Vincent

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Technical Difficulties ~ Frank J. Tassone #writephoto

I had a lead on today’s assignment grading, until Frank brought me his replacement phone. “It’s not activating,” he said.

The cascade soon followed. Verizon’s website offered no workable options. Customer service proved an overlong wait–interrupted when my doctor’s office finally returned my call. A virtual trouble-shooter ran every protocol without providing a solution.

I finally asked him the obvious question. “Did the package come with any literature?”

Continue reading at Frank J. Tassone

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Are we there yet?… Sue Vincent

This week, I will be sharing again a little about the people behind the Silent Eye…

nick north days 052

My grandfather gave me his annotated copy of the Mystical Qabalah by Dion Fortune when I was fifteen. “This is the only magical book that you will ever need,” he told me. “But you’ll fill a good many bookshelves before you get there.” He was right. It was all in that first book; but learning is a spiral and you have to come back to the same point over and over again, bringing new knowledge and understanding each time before you can really see what lies in your hand.

I was born in Yorkshire into a family that was about as spiritually eclectic as you can get. The various members were Jewish / Buddhist / Methodist (but High Church for special occasions), with one grandfather who taught me very early about the Qabalistic Tree of Life, the other a Spiritualist minister and one grandmother a noted psychic, like her mother before her. I attended the Zion Baptist Sunday School with my Hindu and Moslem friends and that pretty much completed the picture. So, throughout my childhood, a lot of things were thrown into the melting pot.

11 Rombalds moor (14)

Everyone, it seemed, celebrated the convergences rather than the differences between their chosen paths and everything was treated as possible. I grew up simply accepting the spiritual journey, encouraged to find my own path forward, not encountering religious or spiritual prejudice until I was much older. There was never any question of there not being a greater reality, it simply was. So was the journey; that meant growing up in the understanding that you hold responsibility for every thought, word and action… not in fear of some celestial tally-keeper; you, your Self hold the scales… and when you look through the eyes of the soul, there is nowhere to hide… it is between your soul and the One.

In outward respects, life was perfectly normal, with me getting into as many scrapes, as much mischief and making at least as many mistakes as any other youngster. Little has changed there, then, except the age… There was nothing, as far as I knew, any different; my family was the same as any other, it was only in much later years I saw how incredibly lucky I had been to have that particular education; educing rather than dictating, letting me stub my toes and learn through experience how I could grow and what I could believe. Nothing was imposed, nothing dismissed with contempt or disbelief; ideas were greeted with an open mind and the acceptance of possibility. I was given a rich education in mythology, folklore and symbolism… and that too I simply accepted at the time as ‘normal’.

Continue reading at The Silent Eye

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Feather Your Nest ~ Craig Towsley #writephoto

“That fucking idiot fell down where?” Pen’s father screamed, half up from his lounger, newspaper falling, fluttering.

She thought of birds.

Her mother came in from the other room. “Is he hurt?”

“If he isn’t, he will be,” her father said.

Continue reading at A Bunch of Dumb Words in a Row

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Peacock #midnighthaiku

Many-eyed watcher

Spreading resplendent feathers

Seeking to impress


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Working one’s assets ~ Tallis Steelyard

Reblogged from Jim Webster, aka Tallis Steelyard:

Working one’s assets

We were discussing fundraising for the shrine and the meeting, under the stern eye of a lesser canon, made little useful headway. Eventually we all made our excuses and decamped to a quiet bar before we made our various ways home. One of our number, Paps Murgaton, who had been a usurer before becoming a minor cleric, purchased two bottles of wine.

Half way down the first glass I turned to Paps. “Come on, Paps. Surely somebody with your connections should be able to raise some money for us?”

He put down his glass and took his pipe out, purely to fiddle with it to gain time for thought. “I know somebody who used to be able to raise money, nobody better.”
“Who’s that, I enquired, intrigued.”
There was silence round the table, and the old man got his pipe going, the lichen in it glowing nicely. As he seemed happy to stare thoughtfully into the past I asked, “Maljie?”
“Yes, Maljie.”
Eventually I lost patience. “I assume there’s a story here, Paps.”

Continue reading at Tallis Steelyard

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Wistful ~ Joe M #writephoto

morning mist burns off
merlin overhead hunts breakfast
i live by myself

Reblogged from Joe M at Does Writing Excuse Watching?

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