On March 19, Oestara, Minerva's day, Dennis and I left on a direct flight to Heathrow Airport in London from SeaTac. We arrived in Heathrow on a frosty morning. It had been snowing and was very cold, damp and foggy. We got a bus, and about two hours later we arrived in the beautiful Edwardian city of Bath. It was early afternoon when we found our way to the hostel, just before the last two beds were taken. We stowed our things and went to town to explore a bit. We eventually ended up at the Curfew Pub, where we got to know a few friendly locals, including Jane Day, a coil potter, as well as Sally and Neil MacDonell, two fine artists who work in clay as well. After about four pints of different local brews, we fell back up the hill to the hostel.
Next morning, we went downstairs to have our first "American breakfast" experience of scrambled eggs, cold toast, Canadian bacon, and cold pork and beans with a piping cup of Nescafe. We decided to spend the day seeing Bath and to visit Glastonbury the next day.
In Bath, we saw the Roman baths, well worth the time. The main bath is very large and powerful. It was closed for swimming about five years ago, as someone got spinal meningitis and the bath was suspected as the source of the problem. But it's a beautiful place and full of magical energies; the Lucas bath in particular seems full of psychic doors. I took care not to pass through any, so I don't know where they go. I saw carvings of Sul, Minerva and the Triple Goddess of the ancient baths; all of these objects are not to be missed.
That evening, we met Sally, Neil, and Jane at the Curfew for a round of brews. They invited us to a cream tea the next day at Sally and Neil's house. Tea was to be served at 6:30, and on a hunch I warned them we might be late. Jane then asked us back to her flat, and she fortified us with Nescafe and took us out for a hike up the hill to a holy well in an old churchyard. It was quite a climb but worth the effort. I felt psychically that the goddess of the well might be Tea.
On March 22, the Swedes in our hostel began getting up at 4:30 a.m. I finally gave up hope of further sleep at 6:30 and got up to ready myself for the day's trek to Glastonbury. We had the "American breakfast" again, not having fully learned our lesson.
Minerva's city was beautiful in the morning light as we made our way to the bus station. We found the Badger Line bus to Glastonbury, and soon we were on our way to Glastonbury Tor.
We had a short stop in Wells, and I stayed at the bus stop while Dennis and someone he had met went to see the cathedral. The bus onwards came, and I got my first chance to try my telepathy with Dennis. "Get back here now, Dennis!" I said as loud as my mind could speak. Just as the bus motor started, Dennis and friend appeared, getting in just as the bus left.
We got into Glastonbury and found the road to the Tor. It was raining lightly, and the ground was very muddy. It took at least a half hour to climb the back side of the mountain, which is the fast or steep side. Once on top, we could see about eight miles. I did a check-in Tarot reading for Dennis in Michael's Tower. I kept it short since the rain was coming down.
From there, we made our way down the front of the mountain, which was very slippery. I managed by moving very slowly to keep my footing; Dennis did not fare as well. We made our way by the White Well and on to the Chalice or Red Well. We paid the fee, and I prepared myself as best I could for my devotionals.
The well was open. I made my prayers, and on our way out, we stopped under one of the few remaining yew trees to make a prayer for our mighty dead. We both got a strong feeling that our friend Tim was there and remained after we left. Dennis got a lot of water, a gallon I'd guess, and I took a bit, over a liter. I purchased a bronze pin from the shop at the Abbey, which would later be part of our druid ransom at a rite at Stonehenge. Next thing you knew, we were on the bus.
As we neared Bath, traffic got worse and worse. My hunch played out, and we had to call to let Sally and Neil know we'd be late for tea.
Sally, Neil, Sean and Jane had just started, saying if they began we would show up. There were scones, cream cake, homemade jams and clotted cream. Once sated on the food, we went next door to see Sally and Neil's studio. I loved the place: intaglios on the walls and huge-iron shuttered windows looking north. The greatest part was the location, literally next door to their living space. I enjoyed swapping art ideas and showing my and my partner's work to them, and I think they liked having us in as well.
Neil took pity on us and offered us a ride partway to Avebury the next day, as well as that evening taking us up the hill to the hostel. Next morning, we packed up as quietly as possible and slipped out into Bath at dawn. Right on time, Neil picked us up, and we were off to a druid Gorsedd ritual at Avebury. We made such good time Neil took us right to the Avebury Stones. We found our way to the pub and had a warm cup and met some of the early arrivals and "campers" who had slept over to be there on time.
We met many wonderful people over the next few hours. The rite was set for noon but ran on druid time and really started about 12:45. Phillip, the Archdruid of Caer Abri, asked me to invoke west in my own way, and I joyously agreed. The druid party split in two, the spry among them going along the ridge pathway in a circumnambulation of the site, the other group meandering across the green to the Goddess Stone in the south. Phillip led the circumnambulation, and Bobcat, the Archdruidess, led the group to the Goddess Stone. Once we arrived there, she sat in the druid chair and was offered gifts of flowers and stones by the faithful. I had a rowan-berry garland, which I offered up, and she thanking me put it on.
The Gorsedd was the rite of Alban Eiler or Vernal Equinox. It is a beautiful service. I did my quarter in the Wiccan style, which seemed perfect. At a certain point, we all joined hands and spread out in one large circle, and we filled the large ring. I am sure 200 or more druids and friends were there.
Phillip called out that any who wished to become bards should come forward. My heart rose in joy at those words. I saw Dennis move forward, and I realized I wanted this also. Dennis had asked a druid friend to stand near him with hands on; that seemed to cause a reaction, and many druids came forward to lay hands on the postulants. The Awen was pronounced, and a power rose from the earth, sweeping through my body as I fell to one knee to keep from falling right over. I had never felt a power rise like that from the earth before.
The Awen was pronounced three times, and then the postulants were pronounced bards and were greeted with hugs and welcomes. The performance segment was a lot of fun; I did a piece I had crafted for the occasion:
"Glory to Thee from gilded tomb,
Glory to Thee from waiting womb,
May the ancestors be reborn as our friends."
It was well-received, both I think because of its brevity and its sentiment. Some performances were wonderful, and some were hard to hear, and some headed for the pub. It was all very casual. I remained in the west keeping vigil till the closing rite was led by Phillip. Hail and farewell were said to the directions, and the rite was done.
I was intoxicated by the power of the ceremony, and as we repaired to the pub I noticed that I did not want for anything. There I reconnected with Julie Briton of Dobunni Grove, who had determined to kidnap us for her own later ritual during the performance section of the Gorsedd. We piled into her car with our stuff, the harper and his harp, Julie and her son Lorien Arther, heading for Bristol.
The grovestead was in the backyard of Julie's house, and we spent the next day clearing in the garden, fixing the pergola and planting a white rose on the north side of the circle. I bundled up the cypress we had cut to make smudge bundles for the attendees of that night's grove meeting. The details of the meeting are much the same as the Gorsedd, since this was the grove's celebration of Alban Eiler. Among the grove members were Steve, their new jester, a Green Man Morris dancer and Ronald Hutton, who had just received his professorial chair at the university.
The intimacy of that service was in stark contrast to the large meeting the day before. It was a beautiful service in the grove, with a fire in the center of the circle. The grove members were very open, loving and honest and made us completely welcome.
Julie was a great hostess and showed us the sites we most wanted to see. We took Monday, March 25, off. Dennis had caught a cold and had low energy; I had a bit of a psychic hangover from the rituals. That night we talked late into the night with Julie, letting her get to know us a little and us her.
We planned to let the weather determine where we went the next day. Rainy would indicate south to Cern Abbas; clear would mean north to the Uffington Horse. It was gray and raining when we rose, so we headed south to the giant. It allowed us to see some of the countryside, rolling land with farms and towns nestled by streams and lakes. Everything was in spring array. The blackthorn was in bloom, birds were nesting in the rookeries and the crocus and daffodils bloomed everywhere, as did wild primroses along the roadside. Here and there, a fruit tree blossomed in a mist of color.
After a while, we arrived at the giant. It was cold and miserable, so we did not attempt the assay, since we saw some poor soul who had done so covered with mud head to foot, wet and cold. Instead we did the civilized thing, having tea at the nearby Singing Kettle. We carried on to the antique shop and then hit the motherload at the Fabric Bin. I got lots of stuff there: buttons of the sites, patches, a billed cap with the giant on it, a T-shirt and so forth.
We decided that since we had come this far, we would continue on to Lime Regis. The beach there is covered with sea-washed flint of very high quality, in which many fossils are found. Dennis found me a beautiful hagstone on the beach, and I found one in amber in the Fossil Shop, a wonderful place that has whole dinosaurs, eggs and other petrified delicacies. On the way home to Bristol, we drove by many hill forts and even saw one of the other chalk horses. That night, we again sat up late talking.
Wednesday was clear, so I thanked the Dagda for the grand weather, and we headed for the Uffington Horse. After a time of riding along country lanes, we found it. I noticed a cut where water had eaten into the horse's chalk, and I filled a plastic bag with a few hunks of the stuff. It was full of ammonite fossils and was a great smooth, soft texture. The horse seemed sullen, and I noticed that her eye was very muddy, so I brightened it with five goodly hunks of chalk. Epona seemed somewhat pleased and happy to see us. I took note of a ridge pathway that led to the nearby hill fort, so I began walking up it. I felt a warmth flow up the hill and into my legs to the knee. I seemed to be carried up the steep hill effortlessly. Once on top, I walked the ridgeway of the hill fort deosil east to east. I stopped at the directions to make prayer, and Dennis, who was about halfway around the ridgeway from me, noticed that his compass registered each of the places I chose to stop as a magnetic anomaly of as much as 30 degrees.
Once I had been once 'round and had done my quarters, I went to a spot in the west, where you could see there had been a Roman temple. I entered through the western door and picked up a shard of red sandstone that, since there were hardly any rocks about, I believe was possibly an altar fragment. I made my prayer for this site and thanked it for the chalk and the rock. It all felt very at peace.
Dennis and I then decided to head for Weyland Smithy, an ancient site about a mile away. We walked down the road till we found a sign and then another road till the track was a one-lane field row, which had a ridgeway on one side. Once on the ridgeway, we felt pulled along till we arrived at the tumulus, a chambered tomb about four and a half feet tall. The chambers are only three foot square or so in a rough cross shape. Designs have been worn into the rocks on the face stones, and the front of the tomb seems to have been restored by archaeologists. I circumnambulated the monument deosil, stooping to kiss the stones as I passed each of them. Often where my hand fell, it found a groove in the rock where countless hands had rested before me. When I came to the Slaying Stone, I remembered a previous time I had been there:
A cold wind blew from the south, I had wet feet, which I gazed fixedly down on with tears in my eyes. I could hear that people were speaking to me in consoling voices, but I was only aware of my cold feet and my sense of desperate loss. I had on leather leggings over a rough cloth set of pants (?) of a muted plaid.
I continued along, kissing the stones, till I had rounded the small end and come to the Troth Stone, which is opposite the Slaying Stone and is obvious only by the small hole that pierces it at a handy height for placing two fingers in, one from either side, for the pledging of oaths or handfastings. There I said my pledge and prayer for my tribe and the traditions I am honored to hold. I finished my circuit and entered the first chamber, avoiding the puddle that had formed in its center.
Looking inside the small chambers, it was hard not to notice the graffiti people had left there. Someone had built a fire inside one of the chambers, blackening the stone above badly. We are all fortunate the stone did not break. Such destruction is why these sites need stewards who live there to keep track of things. Perhaps this arrangement can be worked out someday.
I said my prayers and wiggled out of the chamber. We made our way back up the ridgeway road. This time, we were walking against the current, so it seemed to take longer to get back.
The next evening, thanks to our Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids (OBOD) connection, we were able to arrange to use Stonehenge for a private Rite of Thanksgiving. Due to the short notice, there would only be six of us at a cost of only 10 pounds each. The ground rules were no open candles, no musical instruments, no standing on the stones, keep photos to a minimum and leave nothing at the site. We had the site reserved from 6:30 till 9 p.m. These arrangements were made through Bridget Wayman-Low at the Heritage Society.
We spent the day getting ready. I had the good luck to have Julie gift me with the cloth for a white wool robe of a kind practical for the English weather. I did the first bit by sewing machine and finished it off by hand over the next couple of days. That night among the stones, I was grateful to have it. Dennis, being a more normal size (Editor's note: Leon is well over 6 feet tall), was fortunate enough to borrow a robe for the evening. We went to Arcania bookshop beforehand to get stones to charge, and I got a bunch of nifty statues. We also arranged for our ransom by buying a necklace we had seen in an antique store on a bridge in Bath. I recognized this necklace, Victorian from the look of it, from an old picture. It was from OBOD. It had apparently left the order long ago, but as it was inscribed, I was sure it was the real thing. The plan was to take it back to America, use it at the Maryhill site on Summer Solstice and then return it to the order. Till then, it is in Dennis's keeping.
That evening, I became aware as we drove closer and closer to the site that a warm energy was accumulating in my gut, where it grew till it felt medicine-ball-sized and so warm I finally commented on it. Julie affirmed that this is standard for this site and that many people are aware of this effect. She explained that, as Avebury is the head of the dragon, so Stonehenge is the tail. Here, she said, the energy goes both up from the earth and down from above, causing this sensation in the torso.
The guards let us into the site once they identified us, and we robed and gathered ourselves for the procession into the site through the underpass. It was amazing to be there, at Stonehenge itself, walking silently in reverence, a row of white-robed druids.
We processed deosil around the monument, the only sound being the wind in the stones and the popping sound of the war games at the nearby military base. We determined to enter the western gate and then found our meeting place near the recumbent stones in the center. We put out an altar cloth of white lace, and I did a simple arrangement of the elemental symbols, as well as some objects to be Awen'ed later. The Dobunni Grove members opened the circle in the druid fashion. Next we had some prayer, of greetings and thanksgivings, followed by a few recitations. I crafted a piece for the occasion:
"Lovely Goddess of the night
Goddess excellently bright
Grant us your favor, bless us,
All within Your sight.
Wreak neither vengeance
nor violence, unless You must.
"Great God of the Light
God blindingly bright
Grant us Your favor, bless us,
All within Your sight
Lead us not to fight
nor blight, unless you must.
"Great Source of All Right
Force of unfathomable might
Grant us Your favor, bless us,
All within Your sight.
Create nothing that is not bright
Nor with darkness blind, within your sight.
"Bless us!
So mote it be."
We did the usual druid closings and were rummaging around getting pictures and gathering up our things. Despite our attempts to be organized, we could not find a small flashlight; I think we got everything else. The guards said it was no problem, and they really meant it.
Arriving back at Julie's, we all tried to calm down enough, over vegetarian pizza compliments of the grove's Green Man, to get home and go to sleep. I stayed up a while, totally jazzed, but eventually fell asleep.
The next day, I had the worst psychic hangover of my life. I felt like I had been on a bender that had lasted for days, and now it was the morning after. Breathing was too loud. I spent the morning quietly and the afternoon packing.
Next morning at 5:30, we were whisked away by our druidess driver Rachel to Heathrow, a couple of hours away by car, where we caught the tube (the subway). After reaching our hotel, we then followed our instincts to the British Museum via Atlantis Bookshop, where I made their day expenditure-wise. The British Museum ate the rest of the day and most of the next. It was wonderful to see so many objects for real that I had only studied.
Mostly museum-going, we did manage on March 31 to locate the oldest Hecate shrine in England, at a place called Elephant and Castle. We bought salt cod, crescent rolls, eggs and onions and a pint of Guinness to leave there with our prayers and thanks. We looked for Isis' altar but never found it. We did find the 30-foot-high statues of Isis and Osiris at the London Museum entrance, and the Mithris altar nearby.
The next morning, we rose and found our way to Harry Balam's house on the edge of London. A wonderful host, Harry made coffee and took us in hand to the Kingstone on the Thames. After a few pictures and some prayers at the stone, which is placed on a bridge over the Thames so that it is on neither land nor sea, air nor earth, we fell up to the Druid's Head Pub, established in 1649. I met the proprietress and begged the boon of a menu to keep as a memento. She was a hoot.
We arrived at Harry's about dark, tired from our travels. Dennis desired to do a self-dedication to the Goddess and God, so Harry officiated and I sponsored. It was a beautiful service, and I felt it take. We were all tired that night and slept well.
The next day was quiet, and the following morning we were to return home. We said our tearful good-byes to Harry, a great guide and help to us. Then we fell into the tube station to make our way back to Heathrow. We got through the security to the gate about an hour before departure, which was barely enough time. Our return flight left on time, and nine and a half hours later we arrived at Sea-Tac. Our arrival back was anticlimactic, but we were reasonably glad to see home, even if it meant going back to work.
Our tickets to England came out of the blue, but our voyage was truly wonderful. It just goes to show you have to take every opportunity in life, even at a moment's notice, or you could miss out on life's greatest adventures!
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