Flags, Flax, and Fodder

Flags, Flax, and Fodder

The Secrets of 1734 Revealed.

Wm Gray letter #9

My apologies for not writing before, but events, lethargy and holidays caught up with me in no uncertain fashion. I hope you will forgive me, otherwise I shall have to charge a damned circle round my bed each night, and ward off your thoughts of indignation (joke).

The second group seems to organising itself around me, people are coming in quite happily from all nations and walks of life. My two apprentices have found others, it would seem, and I have aquired an American who confesses to more than a passing interest in paganism. Factory workers, rough diamonds, schoolteacher, artist, mechanical genius, etc, it looks as if we have the basis for a working group at last. All different types, stars and personalities, but all interested in magic and the God. If we fail to get more women, I shall have to start calling myself a sort of Robin Wod and his merry men, with Jane as Maid Marion. However I cannot see myself taking up archery in order to do the ritual properly (shooting an arrow through a garland of flowers at a distance of fourty nine paces. Sun and moon marriage). Still, see what the future will bring. When 'New Dimensions' eventually get round to publishing that article, who knows, a couple of females might get brought in by that. Anyway that is what it was designed for, very tricky, calculated to influence the female rather than the male. See what Bobbie picks up from it, and watch reactions for me and I will be your eternal friend.

Sorry we didn't get the chance to visit you when we were on holiday but the bloody distance was too long, and the buses too short. They did a day trip to Glastonbury, but with only a twenty minute stay, and two buses a day to your home town that were distinctly unreliable. So we scrubbed round it, and held a private little ritual on top of Chalbury rings (and very nearly had our heads blown off for our pains--wind and more wind).

Doreen Valiente is still writing to me, but the last letter was so full of questions I had to cry aloud. I wrote and rewrote the bloody answer three times, then scrapped tham all and wrote a fourth. I mean what or how can you answer a friendly letter that asks you to explain Arabic influence upon witch thought during the twelfth century, Leland's inferences from the 'Aradia' , the explaination of the four stones of the Universe, and a side question as to the meaning of the Maze? Apart from this, other questions cropped up as to the interpretation of the Sword and Graal, Cauldron and Cup. Jesus Wept! When Doreen goes to town, she really goes to town, and I wrote a short and fusty treatise upon Arabic influence upon modern 'witchcraft' with quotations from a discipline of the Ka'ba which covered about a thousand words, whizzed round the other questions as briefly as I could without actually answering any of them, and prayed for a fair wind to the coasts of France. I shall leave England, I really shall, and flap my way to somewhere that will understand me. Yours sincerely, 'Blue Eyes'.

As per usual, I have quite suddenly dried up on the writing side, so the stream of ideas that would have got both of us out of our respective bug holes, has petered away to a mere barren trickle. I expect the full flush of new ideas will come crowding in when I start work again on Monday, and I ain't got any time nohow. She always does this to me, write poetry, She whispers, I write poetry, write a great novel, She whispers, I write a novel, then I turn round, get hold of Her by Her doves wings, and bawl in Her ear'ole, 'Whatta 'bout the lolly, spondulicks, paper nickers, eh?' and She looks at me with a pitying smile, and sweetly says, 'Art, Dear boy. ART! Is greater than mere material wealth' At that point I wring the Muses neck, and have Her for dinner ala capon. Well, I either eat Her, or go on national assistance. I mean what would you do Guv'ner? No! The bitch has just come to me again and in best blue stocking has said snootily 'Emancipation for Muses, fourty hour week, and three weeks paid holiday. Sorry old chap, but the Muse holiday roster coincided with yours.' And with that she has just marched away, bearing a banner with the inscription of 'Votes for Muses. Muses of the world unite! You have nothing to lose but your brains.'

We will be caving in Wales round about October, so we will possibly drop in and see you on our way through. Incidentally we have found a stone age temple in one of the caves. very difficult getting to it though.

Regards,
Roy and Jane