The Coarse Witchcraft Trilogy

Coarse Witchcraft is a squint-eyed look at what passes for Craft in many modern groups and just how much of the teaching has been dumbed down so that everyone can acquire rank and have a “crack at the priesthood”. This blind grope for titles, rank and public acclaim have replaced the enlightened quest for genuine wisdom and ability, while the old Witch-magic is practised by fewer and fewer of those who would call themselves Witches. There are also those who insist on being recognised as instant Adepts in a system that takes years of study and preparation – but book-learning is not enough as many have found to their cost when confronted by real Old Crafters. Coarse Witchcraft is a no-holds-barred view of what is going on today in many Craft circles. Hopefully, those who read this book will laugh, and realise that it is possible to mix mirth and magic, while still retaining respect for oneself and the Old Ways.,

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The Coarse Witchcraft TrilogyCraft Working Carry On Crafting Cold Comfort CovenBy Mélusine DracoJohn Hunt Publishing Ltd.Copyright © 2013 Mélusine DracoAll rights reserved.ISBN: 978-1-78279-285-7ContentsIntroduction...............................................................1Part One: Craft Working....................................................3Prologue...................................................................4Chapter One: Joining a Coven...............................................7Chapter Two: What Witches Do...............................................20Chapter Three: Sartorial Elegance..........................................34Chapter Four: I Read It in a Book..........................................44Chapter Five: Coven Etiquette..............................................54Chapter Six: Sabbats and Celebration.......................................62Chapter Seven: Pub Moots...................................................78Chapter Eight: Ancestry and Antecedents....................................84Chapter Nine: The Pagan Camp...............................................91Chapter Ten: HPS or High Priest(ess) Syndrome..............................102Epilogue...................................................................112Part Two: Carry On Crafting................................................115Prologue...................................................................116All Hallows................................................................118Winter Solstice............................................................130Candlemas..................................................................140Spring Equinox.............................................................148Roodmas....................................................................158Summer Solstice............................................................168Lammas.....................................................................176Autumn Equinox.............................................................183All Hallows................................................................206Part Three: Cold Comfort Coven.............................................211Curtain Call...............................................................212Forever Autumn.............................................................214Harvest Home...............................................................219The Rose Bay Quadrilles....................................................226Hunter's Moon..............................................................233Overture for a Happy Occasion..............................................240How the Stars Were Made....................................................245Rites of Passage...........................................................249 CHAPTER 1Joining a CovenPris hoisted her skirt up over her hips, toasting her buttocks infront of the log fire while Rupert poured a generous helping ofFamous Grouse. 'The bloody Craft gets more like amateurdramatics with each passing year,' she complained.Although I'm Dame of the Coven, I prefer to leave Craft spin-doctoringto Pris and Adam. She's a striking looking woman witha slight Gothic bent (which she's gradually growing out of), andthere's no one can swirl a cape quite like Adam when he's goingfor maximum demonic effect. Rupert's trouble is that he's a bit onthe conservative side. He's more than likely to mutter, 'Have yougot any idea what you look like?' when an eager neophyte turnsup to the pub moot in full fancy dress and sporting a pentagramsuitable for picking up radio waves from the Voyager spaceprobe.Until Pris and Adam volunteered to act as proculators for theCoven, the envoy was selected by the drawing of straws. Thismeant, of course, that the senior members, who actively loathepublic affairs, used their magical powers to push the short strawonto the less experienced. (Of course it was unfair, but there'slittle point in having witch-power and not using it!) Needless tosay, it was quickly realised that the least likely people wereacting as the public face of Craft. An hour of Gordon pontificatingon the various methods of cause and cure of colic in horsescan produce a glazed expression on the politest of people. Prisreckons he did it on purpose, so that he wouldn't be asked againbecause he's perfectly articulate when working in the stable yard.Granny was not an option. So here we sat, waiting for the latestreport on the changing face of eclectic, generic, multi-faceted,seasonally shifting paganism.Having made the wrong response to a telephone invitation,Pris and Adam had found themselves included in an introductoryevening for wanna-be witches. Observing the usualcustom of never going anywhere empty handed, they arrived tofind the party in full swing with five people sitting in animatedsilence! They handed over their bottle of wine and a generouslyportioned pizza – simple but plenty being the order of the day onthese occasions. The pizza hastily disappeared into the freezerbut before the wine could be spirited away, Adam reached for thecorkscrew and poured himself and Pris a large glass each. Beingseasoned campaigners they can read the signs a mile off.After the introductions and the invitation to help themselvesto food – a plate of Hobnobs, a bowl of crisps, cheese and a bunchof grapes – Pris found herself next to a woman whom she'd notmet before but who was obviously not a 'beginner'. Pris waspromptly inspected from head to foot before being informed thather fellow guest didn't believe in 'dressing up' to meet newpeople. She peered closely at Pris's flawless make-up andremarked that she was glad she didn't need to plaster her facewith the stuff. In the next breath Pris learned that her companionwas the Southern Counties star of TV and radio on the subject ofCraft – in short, a dreaded Media-Witch.As Pris said, it quickly became obvious that the five guestswere there in the supporting role of awe-struck spectators. Thereal stars of the evening were the Media-Witch and the Host (sonamed because he elevated himself above all others), who werecast as Duelling Egos for the delectation of the visitors.Desperately vying with each other for mouth-space, theydredged up every interview they'd ever given, bandyingproducers' names around like a Who's Who of popular entertainment.Pris and Adam tried valiantly to engage the three would-bewitches in conversation but they'd all developed a vacant, slack-jawedexpression brought on by acute boredom and wereincapable of forming a sensible question. Time dragged painfullyby and at twenty-past nine, Adam had kicked her ankle for thethird time. All the talk about himself had injected the Host withall the compelling fascination of a road accident. It was almostimpossible not to watch him, explained Pris. His physical jerksand twists with his head had a sort of hypnotic effect, like a ferretperforming its macabre hunting dance.'His hair stood away from his writhing head in huge tufts, notexactly 'retro-punk', more a sort of 'recently escaped' look. Hismouth had a horrible bewitchment – two rows of tombstonescomplete with lichen; tiny blobs of spittle that sprayed out withevery 's' huddled together for safety at the corners of his mouth.Oh, the fascination. It wasn't anything to do with the drivel hetalked, more the dribble that accompanied it,' she added.Having put away three-quarters of the bottle of wine, Priswent off in search of the bathroom to while away some moretime before making their excuses to leave. The Media-Witchseized the opportunity and followed, continuing to bombard herwith a monologue of self-promotion. Nervously Pris eyed thespace between the lavatory and the wall, fearing at any minutethat she was going to be 'hag-tracked' as she sat.She escaped and returned to find Adam incoherent withdesperation, making excuses about having left the cats out andthat it was drizzling! The other three took this lifeline and werelast seen scrabbling for coats and car keys as they disappearedinto the night.'I bet that pizza lasted him a month,' said Pris as we wentthrough into the kitchen for supper.'And I bet none of the new ones will ever be seen again,' Iadded, pulling a large pot-roast out of the Aga and nearlytripping over the dog.Rupert assumed his place at the head of the table. 'It's timesome of these people were shown up for what they are,' he saidfirmly. 'Isn't this chap the one who believes that if you've read abook and understand what it means, then you don't actually needto practice magic to qualify as a witch!''Ummm,' confirmed Pris, her mouth full of hot, fresh bread.The Host had been around for a while but there are dozenslike him lurking about on the periphery of Craft; people whoadopt the outward trappings but who possess little or no practicalmagical ability. The real problem is that these are the contactsseekers were coming across when they tried to find out moreabout genuine post-medieval traditional British Old Craft.There wasn't any harm in the Host. He wasn't predatory oranything, except that he did tend to lean over Pris in order tostare into her cleavage whenever he got the chance. By the end ofone evening they resembled twin Towers of Pisa until Adam hadpushed a barstool under his wife's rear end before she fell overbackwards.'People prefer the play-acting,' said Adam quietly. 'They wantsomeone who looks the part and they're not interested in whetherit's a complete and utter prat, just so long as they talk the talk.Criticism is only seen as sour grapes.' He doesn't say a lot butwhen he does, it's usually pretty profound.'But they haven't got a yard-stick to measure anything by,' Iprotested. 'Publishers are now accepting an author purely on facevalue and the book lists have hundreds of different titles givingout this airy-fairy drivel. As a result, the play-actors don't need toknow any more than what's in the books, providing they cankeep one step ahead of those who know nothing. As long as theycan cast a Circle and recite an invocation, it's considered to bewitchcraft and the newcomer knows no different.''I don't think they really believe in the magic, either,' said Prissadly. 'It's like coarse fishing; it's seasonal; anyone can have a go;there aren't any rules; they can make up their own little rituals; itgets them out of the house for a few hours on a regular basis, andit doesn't actually have any practical purpose other than personalgratification.''Coarse Witchcraft,' said Rupert, spooning an unhealthyamount of mustard onto the side of his plate. 'A damned goodtitle for a book. It could contain a worm's eye view of whatpasses for Craft among the uninitiated and warn the wannabes tobe on their guard against the poseurs.'We spent the next couple of hours making suggestions aboutwho and what should go into this fictitious book. We got merrierand sillier. And then forgot all about it ...'Gerry thinks the book is a great idea, providing we stick tofact and only include real-life situations,' said Pris over thetelephone next morning.'What book?' I responded, forgetting my grammar in myconfusion.'Coarse Witchcraft.''Pris,' I said patiently. 'It was a joke. A bit of fun. That's all.'By the time Rupert came in for lunch she'd nobbled him onthe mobile. 'Pris and Gerry think we should go ahead with thebook,' he said tucking in to a large slice of cheese.Rupert is appreciative of fine food and his outdoor lifestylemeans that he can enjoy a good scoff, without losing that 'smalland beautifully made' look, despite the fact that he's now overfifty. That 'we' was the most ominous sound I'd heard for a longtime, particularly as I'm the one who earns my living with thepen.'It's libel, darling,' I said firmly, trying to head him off at thepass.'Do you honestly think anyone's going to hold up their handsand confess that the idiot on the page is them? Besides, we're notgoing to use names, and the instances won't necessarily bepeople of our acquaintance. We can go further afield ... Josh isalways good for some gossip.'Cynically referred to as the 'Witch of the North', we're neversure whether she attracts the comedians, or whether there'ssomething in the water in that part of the country. Whenever wespeak to her, there's always been some hilarity or histrionics toreport. Like the instance of the neophyte who managed to almostsever an artery when he was taken out into the woods to cut hisstaff. He was so afraid of the Magister shouting at him that hedidn't mention it until he'd almost passed out. This same lad laterset light to his robe setting up the Circle – everyone noticed butdeclined to say anything.Of course, there's always a depressing up-surge of interest inCraft whenever a programme appears on television. Which issurprising, considering that the media-junkies (or 'munkies' aswe prefer to call 'em) parading around in the contents of the localtheatrical costumier don't exactly flatter our beliefs. Or demonstratea lot of integrity either.Over the years some rather impressive names have beenpersuaded to appear on film, making complete idiots ofthemselves for the benefit of the camera. Some can even be reliedupon to skip around the bonfire invoking all manner of peculiardeities, having cobbled together strange rituals for theprogramme-makers who know no different – but, in theirdefence, at least they're not giving away Craft secrets.'Munkies', on the other hand, have no shame in flaunting theirignorance – which is faithfully recorded in print and on film forposterity. Like the silly old fool who appeared on televisionperforming a love spell for two people already in love. This wasworked at the wrong hour, on the wrong day, on the wrong phaseof the moon, using someone else's hair (because it was onlysymbolic!) to bind the dolls – which were consecrated byappealing to Mars instead of Venus. It was a total magicaltravesty from an absolute beginner but the 'munkie' soon becamea celebrity and appeared regularly on radio and television as aresult of this performance.Everyone has their own favourite performance by the PaGanTips brigade, but as Pris commented the last time: 'No wonderthe media has such a low opinion of us – so had I after watchingthe latest offering of pagan theatre. Why do even the well-knownnames continue to leap willingly into the humiliation trap? Or isit true – we are all barking? Couldn't someone go on televisionlooking sharp, smart and intelligent for a change?'The answer, of course, is 'no' because it doesn't make for'good television'. As a result, this sort of media exposure alwaysbackfires and the contingent of new hopefuls at the next pubmoot usually arrive in full regalia, only just stopping short ofhaving 'WITCH!' tattooed across their foreheads – just in case thebarman misses the point.On the plus side, the moots ensure that we get to hear fromnewcomers about what's going on further afield, usually relatingthe story about a 'friend' who has fallen for the spiel of thecharlatan. Like the variation on initiation – of a contemporarynature it can best be described as à la Bill Clinton. To attain initiationinto the Craft one lass was informed that she would have toperform oral sex on her tutor as 'this is the way magical power ispassed on'.'I hope the poor, misguided girl remembered not to inhale,'Adam had commented dryly to the person telling the tale. Thecrimson blush confirming that the 'friend' was indeed fictitious.'I've read a lot of books and performed a few spells but havenever got any results. Can you introduce me to an experiencedpractitioner so I can get initiated?' asked one young man,wondering why Gerry's response was far from encouraging.In our branch of Craft, no one can be formally accepted untilthey are at least 28 years of age – and that's the way it's been foras long as anyone can remember. Although our own offspring,Philly and Richard, are accepted as being part of the Coven,neither will be allowed to take their initiatory oaths until theyhave turned 28 despite their experience.The cavalier attitude to magical practice is frequently demonstratedby Gerry's customers, who are always calling into theshop and asking to be bailed out. 'I've done a bottling spell to getback at a neighbour and now I've changed my mind. I've emptiedthe bottle into the river, so that it's no longer in my house. Willthat stop the spell or do I need to do something else?' asked one.'You can't stop it,' snapped Gerry in italics. 'Once a spell is cast,it's cast, it's working. It would be like trying to stop a bullet onceyou've fired the gun. You can't just throw it away and pretend itdoesn't exist. And having thrown it in the river, you've no meansof retrieving it. Inexperienced people shouldn't be messingaround with spell casting.'The customer didn't like this less-than-subtle criticism of hermagical prowess and answered sniffily. 'Well, if I'm so inexperiencedthat means the spell won't work and I don't need to worry,then?' There was a long pause. 'Is there any chance of the spellrebounding?'Gerry went into full witch-mode. 'Murphy's Law works inmagic, too, so I'll bet you a pound to a pinch of witch-powderthat if you carry out a working and then wished you hadn't, thatone will work exceptionally well. And, there is always the dangerof a spell rebounding,' continued Gerry warming to his subject.'That's one of the chances you take if you go off half-cocked.''But there must be some way to stop a spell.' A slight hint ofpanic was detected in the voice.'Only if you can remember every detail and perform the exactmirror opposite. But even then there's no guarantee that you'll besuccessful. Next time, think about the consequences before youstart slinging stuff around,' Gerry had replied in best imitation ofHigh Priestess mode, hoping that the spell-caster might havelearned a lesson.I hear the horse box in the yard and the rattle of steel on cobblesthat means Pris has bought her horse. It's hardly a prepossessinganimal, but Rupert's not looking displeased so despite appearancesit must have a half-decent pedigree. I hesitate in joiningthem because Granny's just pulled up in her battered Volvo andRupert, Pris and Gordon are jockeying for position in order thatnone of them have to stand down-wind. That battered old waxcoat and hat will probably have to be removed with a blowtorchwhen she dies.I hastily make the coffee and take the mugs out to the tack-roomsince Rupert refuses to allow Granny in the house after theincident with the Aga. It had been a bitterly cold morning and soGranny pulled up her skirts and coat to toast her behind (I'veoften wondered where Pris gets the habit from). The kitchen wassuddenly enveloped in the 'rankest compound of villainous smellthat ever offended nostril', as Shakespeare aptly put it. Whatevermalodorousness lurked beneath those garments was exposed tothe warm air and the rest of us turned green. Pris swears shecaught sight of a large and knicker-less, wrinkled bottom; not tomention an ancient snakeskin garter held up by varicose veins! (Continues...)Excerpted from The Coarse Witchcraft Trilogy by Mélusine Draco. Copyright © 2013 Mélusine Draco. Excerpted by permission of John Hunt Publishing Ltd.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

About the Author

In addition to being the commissioning editor for Compass Books, Suzanne Ruthven is also editor of the popular quarterly creative writing magazine, The New Writer (which she produces in partnership with literary agent, and publisher, Merric Davidson). She lives in County Tipperary, Ireland.

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