Druid's Hill

"Are you sure you want to go in? It's ten past five and I shut at six."
The grey-haired lady in the ticket booth of the museum gave me a funny look. The postcards displayed on the rack next to the hatch window showed a creature with the torso of a man and a goat's head. This image contrasted sharply with the homely-looking museum attendant.
"It's all rubbish you know. I've worked here for eleven years and I don't believe a word of it. I've never even looked at the displays. It's just a load of old mumbo-jumbo." She adjusted her round specs and wrinkled her nose disapprovingly.
"Two tickets please." I smiled, undaunted. As I handed over the money a sharp gust of wind picked up the five pound note and blew it out of my hand. I grabbed at the air but the money flew towards the back of the ticket booth.
"The magic's started already," Liz giggled.
The lady selling the tickets did not smile. She counted out our change and added, "I start cleaning up at quarter to six so I'll be up with my broom presently. You're bound to be my last customers."

We crossed the threshold of the "Museum of Witchcraft" in Druid's Hill, Cornwall. In the distance I heard the roar of the sea as it crashed against the rocky cliffs. I was glad to be inside. Although it was mid-summer there was a powerful gale coming off the sea. The museum offered shelter from the ceaseless rain and hopefully some amusement. The interior of the museum was dimly lit and - judging by the way the wind whistled through the building- not well insulated. The first corridor we entered displayed etchings, drawings and paintings depicting anything to do with witchcraft.

"Molly, Come and look at this." Liz beckoned me towards a picture. The painting depicted the devil in his best known guise. He had long curling horns, a satyr's face and the hindquarters of a goat. He sat cross legged on a throne, a great fire roared before him illuminating the night scene. His arms were raised heavenwards and he was surrounded by naked bodies in various stages of copulation.
"Well that's one way of keeping warm on a cold night," I joked.

An etching next to the painting showed a young dark-haired woman breast-feeding a black cat. The typed caption read: "Witch suckles animal familiar. Familiars are traditionally witches' companions and can take on human form when it suits them. Witches were also accredited with the ability to take on animal form. A witch called Julian Cox, aged about seventy years, was indicted at Taunton, in Somerset, in 1663, for transforming herself into a hare and for other sorcery."
"So that's why my biology teacher used to smell of goats, she really was one in secret" Liz chuckled.
The next small drawing showed a nymph-like woman lying along the branch of an oak tree gazing up at the full moon. An owl glared out from between the branches. Underneath I read: "Witches have often been associated with the pagan and nature religions, worship of natural phenomenon such as trees and animals was believed to have been part of their ritual practise."

We rounded the corner further towards the centre of the museum. A board with the word 'spells' written in bold black letters hung above a glass cabinet. We gazed in wonder at the objects arranged in front of us. A selection of small cloth dolls sat in the glass cabinet, some with long steel pins stuck into them. Beside them I read: "This spell was believed to get rid of a husband's lover. First acquire a lock of hair or fingernail clippings of the offending woman. Make an effigy of her using these and then insert pins into offending areas."
I giggled uneasily. I knew that Liz's long-standing boyfriend had recently had an affair. That was mainly the reason we had gone on holiday together, to try and cheer her up. Next to the cloth dolls stood a selection of long-necked, flat-bottomed, bulbous bottles.
"Look at this Liz, this is what the witches used to capture their farts in," I read on, "they thought the farts were evil spirits and wanted to save them to use at a later date. I wonder how on earth they did it."
"I just feel sorry for whoever must have opened the bottles."
"You never know, perhaps there are professional fart connoisseurs, like wine tasters, they can tell by one sniff in which year and by whom the fart was made."
We rounded the next corner in the labrynthian museum.
"Wait a minute" Liz rummaged through her rucksack. "Oh no, I think I must have left my purse at that tea house, I'll have to go back and look for it."
"O.K" I replied, "I'll wait here."
My clothes felt cold and clammy. I rubbed my hands together in an effort to stimulate my circulation. In a glass cabinet opposite stood, entirely alone, a round swivel mirror. I walked over to take a closer look. Etched onto the surface of the mirror was a female face. I read the caption: "There is an old witches' meditation technique which involves calling down the 'man in the moon'. To exercise this technique one must position the mirror so that it reflects the full moon; gaze into it and the spirit of the moon will come down and inhabit the soul of the recipient. This mirror was the property of one Margaret Gilbert, a local healer who lived in the last century and was famed for her herbal remedies."

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