Witches and wives tales

In an early morning mist an old woman wrapped in a dark cloak against the morning chill moves quietly around the verges of a wood. She stoops, and with great care selects and picks a handful of leaves. Holding them up to inspect them in the early light she speaks a few quiet words before slipping the harvest into a leather pouch at her side. With concentration she moves on a few paces to select a handful of small pale flowers to add to the pouch. As the morning sunlight spills through the trees and the mist thins she speaks a few grateful words of farewell and leaves the wood to make her way back to her home on the edge of the village.

Within the hour she is standing over an open fire tending a blackened cauldron. Into the simmering water she sprinkles dried roots and powdered tree barks. After a few minutes she adds the prepared leaves and flowers collected from the wood. From an ancient handwritten book she reads quietly to herself and is prompted to add a forgotten ingredient.

Using knowledge passed down to her over generations our 'wise-woman' has prepared a potent medicinal tea from freely available, sustainable ingredients. Unaware that later generations would isolate the chemicals within the plants and classify them as analgesics, sedatives, and parturients that stimulate labour contractions, she does know that her grandmother always used this tea when help was needed to aid a difficult birth.

Our skilled midwife had counterparts in most villages in Britain and her knowledge, skill, intuition and compassion were valued by all who understood the intricacies of her work. The village community knew that they could not afford the fees of an Apothecary in the local market town, and the services of the Physician in the city were only available to rich merchants and the gentry. Known to all, the village wise-woman was the primary health provider to the village.

In later years our wise woman would be persecuted for her 'craft'. Fear and prejudice swept over the country as political and religious institutions overthrew the traditional order. Vilification, torture or death were pronounced on women (and some men) who were proven or even just rumoured to be healers, mystics, Gypsies, or midwives. It was seen as heresy for a woman to possess knowledge of medicine, or to have been seen gathering herbs. In Europe one of the definitions of the word 'witch' was 'herbista' meaning herbalist.

The cauldron, recipe book, and jars of dried herbs became symbols associated with evil or 'witchcraft', and the death sentence could be passed on those accused of being 'suspiciously attuned to the natural world'.

The vast body of traditional healing knowledge that had been faithfully maintained for so long became scattered and lost. The lore that remained was entrusted to just a few, passed on by word of mouth in rural communities, and also maintained by the Gypsy nation.

Today the few fragments of the wise-woman's tried and trusted knowledge that have survived are scornfully dismissed as 'old wives tales' by a society with a dominant (historically male dominated) medical industry.

How many fragments of herb lore do you remember? I have asked hundreds of people and there are rarely more than two recalled. Dock leaves to treat nettle rash, and the graphic warning that Dandelions may induce you to 'wet the bed'. These pieces of herb lore learned as a child relate to the facts that yes Docks relieve nettle rash, and that Dandelion is, as among other things, a mild but very safe and effective diuretic (promotes urine output). Can you remember any more? Just those two. Such is the depth of our loss. And how many children will be able to identify a Dandelion in one, two, or three generations from now?

One of the reasons for our loss was that herb lore was an oral tradition. Why would anybody write something down if it was 'common knowledge'?

I feel a debt and obligation to the wise-women, Gypsies, and herbalists of old to regain and preserve our heritage.

'Old wives' knew a lot. As for the disappearance of our male tradition of herbalists - well that's another story.

Comments

[Tynan]

My Grandmother couldn't read, but she knew all her plants that grew around the hedges and fields. Nothing was considered a 'weed' to her... all were part of God's medicine box. When I had a stye she would find eyebright, when I had a cold she would get ransoms or rub onion on my chest, (very pungent) when I had briar scratches she would chew plantain or chickweed, make a ball and then use it to rub on the scratch which would quite lieterally diminish as I looked..... we had mallow for tummy upsets and of course elderberry wine, syrups teas for a wide variety of ailments. Once I cut my head really badly and wondered how she would deal with it as I had long hair and thought she would have to cut it off (I was only little you see), she slapped on a piece of mouldy bread and made me sit there with it on my head for what seemed like ages!.. later she 'puffed' a puff ball over it .... It seemed to do the trick... I never had lingering infections or chest colds, and she inspired me to become a herbalist myself.... now as an adult I have read and learned much that she may never have known, but I still use her chickweed ointment for all kinds of wounds and even eczema.... I use her cough syrup and eyebright for my styes... not yet used mouldy bread... but who knows as things change we may yet need to resort to that knowledge too...