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An old haunt and a new beginning

13/3/2020

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Christ Church, Spitalfields, designed by Hawksmoor
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The Townhouse, Fournier St
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Spitalfields past and present
Last weekend, I took part in a course, led by ‘the Gentle Author’ of the Spitalfields Life blog. I was seeking a fresh direction for my blog - it’s now eight years since I began writing here, and I’ve covered topics from daffodils to David Bowie. I’d now like to strike out afresh – write on new subjects, but also link this all in more closely to the books that I’ve written. So my intention is to set up a new and separate blog, one you can subscribe to, and where I’ll do a regular post at least once a week. As soon as it’s up and running, I’ll post a link here. I’m always bursting with ideas for fascinating topics that I want to tackle, and colourful images to upload. The weekend not only gave me new inspiration, but allowed me to make a special trip into my past.


A Pilgrimage to Cheshire Street
On Sunday morning I wake up in a beautifully restored townhouse in Fournier Street, Spitalfields. Overnight, I am staying here in solitary splendour, while by day the Gentle Author’s blogging course meets in the drawing room below. It’s a typical old Huguenot weavers’ house, and the light top rooms under the eaves are where their looms once stood. Directly across the road stands the imposing Hawksmoor church, dwarfing everything around it. Yesterday evening, a Jack the Ripper tour paused here, so that the guide could project images of letters purported to be by the Ripper onto its lofty white walls. Spitalfields is packed with history, not all of it pleasant.
 
But I have an extra mission to fulfil before our class starts this morning. I want to revisit the streets where I once bought vintage clothing for my shop Tigerlily in Cambridge. (see my blog of Jan 2017, category 'Vintage'.) A rag market began there before dawn every Sunday morning - but I haven’t been back here since the late 1970s! Will I know it now? I walk briskly to the end of Fournier Street and turn left down Brick Lane. Colourful graffiti, curry houses and the litter of Saturday night are all I observe at first. But a train bridge over the road comes into view, and something stirs in me. Yes, I remember this. And just past the bridge are the junctions of Sclater Street and Cheshire Street. I’m on old turf at last.
 
This was my goal, driving down from Cambridge in the dark to hit the market like an early bird after the worm. The sprawling flea market was centred on decaying rag warehouses - the stench was awful sometimes - but the finds could be amazing. I was after Victorian nighties, 1930s chiffon ball gowns, 1940s sprigged crepe dresses, ‘grandad’ shirts, and anything embroidered, pre-50s, quirky or unique. Getting here just before dawn was the best ploy, before the the London dealers hit the trail, followed by the crowds of Sunday amblers. Then I’d stuff the clothes in black bin bags and head back home for a wash and a sleep. 
Yes, I can see familiar landmarks! And there are still some second-hand stalls. I talk to a few old-timers, and they become animated as I tell them that I used to come here, ‘when we were all young and beautiful’.

‘I’ve been coming here since I was twelve. My Dad used to drive the van down, a pick-up with a cover over it. And people would be running up and pulling up the edges of the cover, to see what was underneath, before he could even start unloading. Do you remember it all…the antiques and the furniture?’
 
I do.I’m overcome by a kind of ecstatic nostalgia. My pulse quickens, my hunter’s instincts are awoken again. I didn’t intend to buy anything, but how can I resist a millefeuille glass pendant, and a Cadbury’s pottery cocoa jug, c. 1900? They will be precious souvenirs of this journey.
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A Cadbury's Cocoa earthernware jug, c. 1900
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Millefeuille glass pendant
And now it’s time to return to the welcoming ambience of the blogging course, where I’m inspired to make a new beginning.
 
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Abduction! Married at 13 - the story of my 4 x Gt Grandmother

9/12/2019

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I've recently acquired my Irish citizenship, through my grandfather's birth in Cashel, Tipperary. This and the relaunch of my book 'Growing Your Family Tree' (Endeavour) prompts me to share the story of Mary Max, my 4 x Great Grandmother. At the age of 13, she was snatched from her family home in Kilkenny, and taken off by a bride-raiding party  to Wales. They then travelled up to Scotland, where she was married to her cousin Samuel Phillips by a dodgy clergyman, and whisked down to Brighton where they set sail for France. After hiding out in Paris for some time, with a price on their heads, the couple returned to Ireland, and were reconciled with the Max family. So began the Phillips ownership of Gaile House, in County Tipperary, the place where my grandfather Richard Phillips was eventually born. Did Mary collude, or was she a hapless victim? Read the story, and see what you think.
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Gaile House, as it was in my grandfather's day

Marriage by Abduction - Mary Max 17763-1789 and Samuel Phillips 1756-1816
 
This is the story of my 4 x Irish great grandmother, Mary Max, who was abducted and forced into marriage in 1777at the age of thirteen. She lived in the Max family home at Gaile House, County Tipperary, and was an heiress to a £40,000 estate, including the hosue - worth over £6,000,000 in today’s terms. Her father and brothers had all died in quick succession, so now, as a young teenager, Mary would inherit the family fortune when she turned eighteen. Her only close relative was her mother and guardian, Joan Max.
 
At the time, abduction was rife in the heartlands of Ireland, and Mary was a tempting candidate. It had become almost acceptable as a way of securing a bride, and although it was a capital offence, the risk of conviction was low. Mary’s abductor was her first cousin-once-removed Samuel Phillips, from Foyle, Kilkenny. This was where the Phillips family had eventually settled; they had arrived in Ireland no later than 1600, probably from Wales.
 
By the 18th century, the family had some land and money, but not enough, it seems. And so a secret plan was made to grab the family fortune  of the Maxes, their kinsmen, to add to their own. A raiding party was put together: Samuel Phillip, groom was then 21, and his supporters included his father Richard Phillips, who was a Magistrate and Justice of the Peace, his sister Frances, and, surprisingly, Dennis Meagher who was Mary’s uncle on her mother’s side.
 
Mary was snatched late one evening, as she was returning home from a ball. Samuel’s sister acted as the decoy, pretending to offer Mary a safe lift in her carriage back to her mother’s home. Instead, the coach sped away to Waterford, where the conspirators and prospective bridegroom were waiting. From here, they went by boat to Wales, and then by road to Scotland. All land transport was, of course, by horse and carriage. A hue and cry was raised, a magistrate’s militia sent off in pursuit, and the story was taken up by British newspapers, from which we’ve gathered many of the details.  The Phillips family’s first aim was to get her married off to Samuel, before the pursuers could intervene. Many such marriages were conducted in all sorts of shady ways, with little regard for the legitimacy of the priest. In Edinburgh, Samuel procured a so-called clergyman, ‘a man of very indifferent character’.
 
Mr and Mrs Phillips then hastened to travel south with their ‘wedding party’.  But by then, there was a price on their heads: Mary’s mother offered a handsome reward for Mary’s safe return, and a bounty price to anyone who could hand over Samuel Phillips or his father to the law. Knowing little of the geography, Samuel’s troupe made a strenuous journey by side roads down to Brighton, at the time a small fishing village known as Brighthelmstone, and from there set sail for France. All but one of the party – Mary’s uncle- escaped across the Channel. He however was arrested and clapped in jail in Dublin. It was a close-run thing: according to one newspaper report the abduction party was chased right to the edge of the water.
 
‘Before the packet in which they sailed was lot out of sight, two of Sir John Fielding's men arrived at Brighthelmstone, in pursuit of them, and offered any of the fishermen a large reward,  that would give chase to the packet, and prevail on the Captain to steer back; but not one of them would attempt it.’
(Hampshire Chronicle, 15 Sep 1777)
 
Even in France they were not entirely out of reach of British law, either. As the Freeman’s Journal reported on Sep 25th 1777: ‘Application has been made by the English Ambassador at Paris to have the Phillipses who ran away with Miss Max delivered up if they could be found in the French dominions, and liberty given to have them transmitted to this kingdom to be tried for the felony.’
 
Within the space of a month, a thirteen-year-old girl had thus gone from living quietly with her widowed mother in rural Ireland, to being forcibly married to a cousin, and chased across four countries. But before the law could finally catch up with them, Mary’s mother Joan made them an offer. She was desperate to get her daughter back, having lost her husband and both sons in quick succession. She withdrew her threat of prosecution, and allowed Samuel to bring his under-age bride back to Gaile House, the Max family home.
 
Samuel Phillips now became head of the household in a dwelling that was most definitely  superior to his father’s home at Foyle, Kilkenny, and he lost no time in using Mary’s money to make it even grander. He still however had to stand trial at Kilkenny Assizes for a hanging offence of abducting a minor, But as Joan Max refused to offer any evidence, he walked free. However, Samuel didn’t win hands down. Mary’s money and property was put in trust for her heirs, so he never had complete control of it.  He did however secure Gaile house, which then became the Phillips’ family home for over 150 years after this. My grandfather was born there.
 
Samuel and Mary had three children (Richard, Joanna and Frances), before Mary died aged only 26. Who knows what a toll the early marriage and childbirth had put upon her system? She had her first child, Richard, when she was only sixteen years old.
 
But despite family papers and newspaper reports, we still don’t have the whole story. Was it a forced abduction, that ripped a young girl away from her mother, her only protector, and laid claim to the fortune? Or could it be that Mary and Samuel were indeed in love? Or, again, perhaps she was a headstrong young teenager with a thirst for an exciting adventure. They were not strangers; the  families lived only forty miles apart and already knew each other well. According to the mores of the day, at thirteen she would be considered nearly ripe for marriage. But even for those times, she was still very young: most Irish abductees were under the age of 21, but very few indeed were as young as that. And it seems that Sam and Mary started sexual activity straightaway. One newspaper reports: ‘It appeared that when they left Ireland they sailed for and landed in Wales, that they crossed all England and made the best of their route to Scotland, where it is supposed young Phillips and Miss Max were married, as it also appeared they slept together at Kingston, and at Brighthelmstone.’
 
As her direct descendant, I’d like to think that Mary and Samuel married for love. Or at least, that there was some romance or sense of adventure on her side. One gossip column of the day suggested that they already had an ‘understanding’ and that when Mary’s relatives began to arrange a marriage for her to ‘a young Gentleman of a distinguished Family in Dublin’, Mary and Sam decided to secure their own marriage first.  Nevertheless, would a thirteen-year old girl really understand what was in store for her?
 
My father was a keen genealogist, and he uncovered this story and pieced it together. I’ve added to it with the advantage of excellent internet tools now, and a rich trove of old newspaper reports available for searching online. A tantalising, dramatic, but still mysterious story has unfolded, to which we will probably never have all the answers. One question which springs to mind is why did Mary’s mother Joan drop the prosecution, and accept that her young daughter had contracted a dodgy marriage? For that, there is a historical answer: studies of abductions from the period reveal that a girl was often regarded as ‘damaged goods’ once she had even been alone with a young man, and that she would henceforth be rejected as marriage material. Parents usually decided that even a forced marriage was better than no marriage. And later reports do indicate that Mary and Sam did settle together quite happily, for the thirteen year period of their marriage.
 
I’d like to honour my grandmother by telling her story and keeping the memory alive. Researching it has led me into a fascinating area of history, when the law in central Ireland was largely disregarded, and old clan ways were still partially in force. I cannot help be somewhat uncomfortable, however, about the way my Phillips ancestors acquired their ‘forever’ home. Eventually, there was no one in the family suitable to take it on any more, and so it was sold. But from falling nearly derelict, it’s now under new ownership, and beautifully restored as a stud farm. The wheel of Fortune turns again.
 
 
 
 

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Halliwell's Wonderful Words

25/1/2019

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Halliwell’s Wonderful Words
One of my favourite books is ‘A Dictionary of Archaic and Provincial Words – Obsolete phrases, proverbs and ancient customs from the Fourteenth Century’ by James Orchard Halliwell, 1852. Using old manuscripts and searching local dialect, Halliwell put together his two volume dictionary with a wealth of wonderful words.
 
Any dip into Halliwell produces delights, such as Tossicated - to feel restless and perplexed; Owlguller - to prowl about; Ninny-nonny -to feel uncertain; Meacock - a silly, effeminate fellow; Three thrum - the song of a female cat as she purrs; Giglet - a giddy, romping girl, with implications of wantonness; Bittiwelp- headlong. Today I opened it at random to learn that Wudder means ‘a sullen roar’ and that a Salmon-Gundy is a nickname for a cook. Oh, and then there was Snuzzl, ‘to cuddle’ and a Snuffkin for a small lady’s muff. So there’s no need to be Tetricall (sour, gloomy) if you have Halliwell’s at your side for entertainment!
 
It also makes a great word game – I set up a game at our Exeter Writers Christmas party, guessing the true meaning from three definitions, two of them fake. Along the lines of Call My Bluff, for those who know or remember the TV panel game. For instance, is Clapperclaw
a) To beat, abuse and fight seriously
b) Part of a church bell
c) A hiding place in a clapper bridge to leave messages, goods etc. (Devon)
 
For years, I only had vol 1, J-Z of Halliwell, a gift from an old friend long ago, but eventually I bought Vol 2, and now it’s all easy to get hold of, digitised online or as a reprint from Amazon. There are also a few online portraits of Halliwell - he looks like a chap with a keen enquiring mind, doesn't he? But oh, dear, he wasn't the most scrupulous of antiquarians - in his zest to acquire snippets, he cut up priceless books and manuscripts and stuck the bits into his own notebooks! He was eventually banned from the British Museum. Let's hope his legacy of collections in part made up for his piracy.
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Storming the 60s - an Encounter in Soho

13/11/2018

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I really enjoyed my misspent youth in the 1960s, and perhaps it’s time to reveal select episodes from the past. This one concerns a cup of tea in Soho.
 
At the age of 16, my friend Helen and I spent a weekend in London. It was 1965 and things were just starting to get hot there – and flowery, as you’ll see. Our mothers only consented to this dangerous undertaking provided we stayed in a respectable girls’ hostel – which we did, but there’s more to that than meets the eye, as one night was spent in the house of some rather disreputable musicians in Dulwich. (Innocently, I must add.)
 
Now, I still have all the schoolgirl diaries that I wrote. They are often cringe-making, but are also a wonderful source of re-discovering what I did when. So recently I was delighted to find the full account of what two schoolgirls from Birmingham got up to in the heady streets of Soho, in Swinging London. Here’s an extract:
 
‘Went to Carnaby Street but didn’t see anyone interesting. All the boys walking up and down were trying to look famous. The shops were displaying horrible floral ties and swimming trunks. ugh ugh. Walked to Denmark St (the heart of the record industry at the time)…where we met two boys from supposedly up and coming group called Davy Jones and the Lower Third. One was called Teacup…Bought them cups of tea as they were impoverished. Went back to Carnaby St after lunch and looked in disgust at more floral ties.’
 
Hmm, so we’d met a few young hopefuls. I sent the whole account off to Helen who vaguely remembered one of the boys, and remarked that they were just one of so many groups now lost without trace. I thought I would just check…
 
And then, to my astonishment, I found that Davy Jones and the Lower Third had actually released a record shortly afterwards. But the real surprise was to discover that a few months later, Davy changed his name – to David Bowie!
 
Oh yes, and Teacup really did exist, as lead guitarist ‘Teacup’ Taylor.
 
Could I apply to go on the panel game ‘Would I Lie to You’ with the line, ‘I once bought David Bowie a cup of tea in Soho? When questioned, I’d have to say it was because he couldn’t afford to pay for his own.
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October 24th, 2018

24/10/2018

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Who are these three, and why are they special to me? Find out in my Circle of Nine blog at http://www.circleofnine.org/blog.
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The Suffragettes at Killerton House

26/9/2018

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Imagine a garden party being held on the lawns of a stately home, on July 26th 1910. The ladies are elegantly dressed in summer gowns or long skirts, topped with a smart hat, the men in summer boaters and suits. They stroll on the lawns, admire the roses, and chat sedately while balancing cups of tea. Surely this is the stuff of gracious living? Although a clothing stall set up near the front entrance suggests that it might be a fund-raiser too. And yes, so it is – the party is being held to raise funds for the Anti-Suffrage Movement. Put another way, to stop women getting the vote.
 
In which case, why are so many women present? The guest list shows plenty of Mrs and Misses. Well, the sad fact is that they too wanted to prevent women’s suffrage. It is the Anti-Suffrage Garden Party, attended by the upper ranks of Devon Society at Killerton House, including several Colonels, Drs, Revs, and a Sir and a Lady. The Acland family, who owned Killerton and were hosting the party, had a curious mix of opinions on in their ranks. A earlier member of the family, Thomas Dyke Acland, had already expressed his views on why he opposed admitting women to universities: ‘Girls are different from boys, their brains are too light, their foreheads too small, their reasoning powers too defective.’ And within the current family members, although the male side was against the idea of votes for women - you can see part of Sir Charles Thomas Acland's garden party speech in the photo below - the women were divided. While Aunt Gertrude was a staunch anti-suffrage supporter, her niece Eleanor was fiercely pro-suffrage.
 
Killerton House is today owned by the National Trust, and this split in the female side of the family has given an incentive for a great exhibition about the suffragette movement, and the campaign to give women the vote. You can wander round the house and see suffragette memorabilia. But what made more impact on me was the weight of anti-suffrage propaganda – board games mocking suffragettes, cruel jibes, denigration of women’s worth in society. Sometimes the pictures say it all: there’s a panel of pictures of suffragettes, which are in fact surveillance photos taken in 1914 by the security services of the day and included on the Criminal Register.
 
The final shocker is a map of the world, showing where and women have been given the vote. A surprising number of countries didn’t allow women to vote until the 1940s or 1960s – or even, as in the case of Saudi Arabia, until 2015. Some countries still remain blank, but maybe in many of them there is no chance to vote at all. So, fellow women, let’s be proud to use our vote if we have it, and be thankful we no longer have to fight that particular battle to take an equal place in society.
 
The exhibition at Killerton runs until Nov 4th, 2018.
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Struan - Sublime Harvest Bread

27/8/2018

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Struan Bread Recipe
Now that harvest time is here, I had an urge to bake Struan bread again. This is a bread whose history is rather vague, but the nicest description I’ve found is that it was traditionally made for the Feast of St Michael (Sep 29th) in Scotland and maybe Ireland too. The loaf should be made by the eldest daughter of the household, then carried into the church to be blessed, and set there in honour of relatives and friends who are no longer with us. Last year I made it with my eldest granddaughter.
 
I’ve adapted a recipe from http://www.thefreshloaf.com/recipes/struanbread. Its return to popularity was apparently started by Brother Juniper, a lay monk and star baker in California, and I’m looking forward to getting his cookbook, Brother Juniper Bread Book: Slow Rise as Method and Metaphor – I’ve ordered the original version from 1991. Sounds good for mindful baking!
 
Struan bread is a mix of harvest grains and flours. Now since this recipe has polenta, ie cornmeal, I doubt that this was what they used in the Outer Hebrides! But it goes with the spirit of the dough, and using what you have to hand at harvest-time. I’ve added in millet simply because it’s my favourite added grain at the moment – nice and crunchy.
 
I’ve added in metric measurements. It’s one of those recipes where you really do need to check it out as you go along, and see whether you need more flour or less water. So hold back on the water, add it a little at a time until you get the right consistency. My first go this year ended up much too sloppy and sticky and was a nightmare to manage! Although it turned out well in the end. Today’s was better-controlled. I currently use a Kitchen Aid to do the kneading, but kneading by hand would indeed be more mindful.  If you do use a machine, check that it’s mixed properly early on in the process as there are a lot of different ingredients to blend.
 
Struan Bread Recipe
Makes 1 large loaf – double the quantity for 2, which means you’ll have one to freeze. Worthwhile, as it takes effort to assemble all the ingredients and time to prepare the dough.
Soaker
3 tablespoons polenta              30-40gm
3 tablespoons rolled oats         25 gm
2 tablespoons wheat bran        10gm
1/4 cup water                          60ml
Dough
3 cups unbleached bread flour  380-400gm
(You can substitute up to 25% wholemeal if you wish)
3 tablespoons brown sugar
1.5 teaspoons salt
1 tablespoon instant yeast
3 tablespoons cooked brown rice 50gm
(Short grain is good but long grain is fine)
1.5 tablespoons honey
Half a cup buttermilk (130 ml, or use a little more and reduce water)
3/4 cup water 170ml – Add carefully; you probably won’t need it all
2 tbsp millet
Topping
1 tablespoon poppy seeds
(If you don’t have poppy seeds, use another seed like sunflower)
Mix together the ingredients for the soaker. Cover and allow to soak for at least half an hour or as long as overnight.
 
Method
In a large bowl, combine the dry ingredients, then stir in wet ingredients and soaker. Add more flour or water until the dough can be formed into a ball that is neither too dry nor too loose in texture. Try to keep it so that you can still handle the dough, even if it is a little sticky. I recommend leaving the millet out of the dough until you approach the end of the kneading process, but overall, knead the ball of dough for 10 to 12 minutes, (8-10 in a food processor with dough mixer). Return it to the bowl and cover with a damp tea towel until doubled in size, approximately 60 minutes.
 
Remove the dough from the bowl, knock it down briefly to take out the air, and put it into a greased bread pan. Sprinkle a little water on top, followed by a dusting of poppy seeds. Cover the dough in the pan loosely again and allow the loaves to rise until doubled in size again, approximately 40-60 minutes.
 
Bake these loaves at 180 degrees for about 40-45 minutes. (I used a fan oven; you might need to use 190 in a non-fan one.) It will achieve a high bake colour so don’t be tempted to take it out too early. Test in the usual way, by tapping the bottom of the loaf when you think it’s ready to see if it sounds hollow.
 
Enjoy! As the website says, the aroma from this bread as it cooks is fantastic, and it makes ‘killer toast’.
 
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Baba Yaga - witch and Queen of the Night

21/8/2018

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I've long been fascinated by the Russian witch Baba Yaga, and her connection to the Otherworld. If you go to my blog at www.circleofnine.org, you'll find much more about her there. She is a crone version of The Queen of the Night, who I write about in my new book 'The Circle of Nine'.

Russia and I have 'history' together - I visited Russia nearly 60 times, lived for periods in a little wooden house by a river, met artists and craftspeople, ran a business called Firebird, and immersed myself in the traditional legends and culture of the country. My book 'Russian Magic' (originally titled 'The Soul of Russia') was one of the outcomes from this surprising, 15 year adventure.

Baba Yaga is the second of the three female figures that I said I'd write about this week. Well, I need a little leeway - Kuan Yin is already up here, and by next week I hope to return with the Lady of the Hedgerow.
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The Oracle of Kuan Yin

16/8/2018

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The Oracle of Kuan Yin
The goddess of compassion, Kuan Yin, has her own divination system. This comprises one hundred sticks, each inscribed with a number and each carrying a meaning. In Kuan Yin temples in Penang and Singapore I saw at first-hand how people consult this oracle, along with leaving gifts of fruit and flowers for the Lady of Mercy, or ‘she who hears the cries of the world’. She is much immortal spirit as deity, and is probably the most universal sacred feminine figure that we have, as she’s found not only in Buddhism and Chinese religions, but in branches of Christianity and Shintoism as well. Her main symbols are the moon, the sea, a dragon and a lotus flower.
 
The hundred sticks of the Kuan Yin oracle are shaken in a cylinder – mine is of wood, but those in the temples were of brass, and made an incredible noise as oracle-seekers sat on the floor and shook, shook, shook their tub of sticks up and down until at last one jumped out. Clack, clack clack - it really does work, and you might be surprised how clearly one stick does seem to detach itself from the rest and leap out.
 
In temples of Kuan Yin, seeking counsel through divination is one of the main purposes of a visit. Here in the West, divination is largely frowned on in sacred places, so we must make our own sacred space or simply use a domestic setting for readings, whether from horoscopes, Tarot cards, palms, or indeed Kuan Yin’s oracle.

Interpreting the Oracle
When you’ve got your significant stick, the number is checked against a book of interpretations. The advice comes first in the form of a poem, which is a symbolic utterance or parable, followed by further sections of more specific interpretation. Here’s a couple from the English translation oracle booklet that I was given in the temple at Singapore.
 
‘You long for words from heaven to fall from the moonlit sky:
Dim it is and darkened by the racing clouds.
Let not your heart be burdened with sorrow and care:
The clouds will pass and you will begin anew.’ (Lot 38)
 
‘To climb a mountain with a tiger as your companion,
You will shiver with fear every movement you make.
Good deeds in the past may bring you help,
With them you may survive both safe and sound.’ (Lot 75)
 
If you can’t get to a Kuan Yin Temple, then Stephen Karcher’s English version of the oracle is available, and straightforward to use. Some of the more traditional ‘forecasts’ are lost, such as those concerning your silkworms or ancestral tombs, but I think he does an excellent job of keeping the spirit of the original in an accessible form.
 
As with all good divination systems, there’s scope both for profound spiritual readings and some nitty gritty advice on how to conduct affairs of love, business and health. And, as I’ve written in Tarot Triumphs, the spirit in which you approach divination, and the care and attention you pay to the reading are paramount to ensure that it’s a meaningful experience. Divination can be playful or serious, but it needs to be sincere, and come from a genuine desire to know.
 
I value my own set of Kuan Yin divination sticks, and the two books of interpretation that I have. There’s a strong sense of femininity and compassion in this oracle. I find that it provides a helpful counterpart to the sterner, more masculine and Confucian pronouncements of the I-Ching. Perhaps it will not always ‘speak’ to you – but when it does, you may have the strong sense that this source of universal compassion has listened to your question, and is responding to your need.
 
See my earlier post on Kuan Yin 30/3/12 (use search box for easy location)
See too www.circleofnine.org for a post on Kuan Yin Moon Meditation. This is where you'll find all the info about my book 'The Circle of Nine' and the nine feminine archetypes it describes.
 
Books:
The Kuan Yin Oracle: The Voice of the Goddess of Compassion – Stephen Karcher
Bodhisattva of Compassion: the Mystical Tradition of Kuan Yin – John Blofeld
Kuan Yin: Myths and Revelations of the Chinese Goddess of Compassion – Martin Palmer, Jay Ramsay & Kwok Man-Ho
Outside the Kuan Yin Temple in Penang
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Three Female Figures

13/8/2018

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Yes, it's been a while since I posted here! Much of my energy has been going into the new book 'The Circle of Nine', and I've also uploaded to the book's designated website www.circleofnine.org. I'm sharing a post to both sites today, and I've got a week's work ahead of me writing about three different, significant-to-me female figures – a witch, a goddess, and a lady of mystery. These are Baba Yaga, the fearsome, wise and enigmatic Russian witch, the Goddess Kuan Yin, spirit of healing and compassion, and the Lady of the Hedgerow a figure of stone who I recently found in a hedge and who may be part White Lady, part mermaid.  I have a story to tell about each one of them, and then I’m also going to let them interact as they will, and see what dances, what images or dreams emerge.

I’ll be posting about them on my two blogs www.cherrygilchrist.co.uk and www.circleofnine.org, and maybe they will inspire posts for other sites too. I've written about Kuan Yin on this website before, and if you search you'll find an archive blog. My new write-up will be different though, and will probably include her moon meditation.

For now, here are some images of the three figures to initiate the process.
 

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    Cherry Gilchrist

    Author of books on family history, relationships, alchemy, myths & legends. Life writing tutor teaching for Universities of Oxford & Exeter. Keen on quirky, ancient and mysterious things.

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