WITCH – is she or isn’t she?

My Tuesday Talk guest: Tracey Norman

talking about her theatre production of 

The idea for WITCH was born late in 2015. I had recently graduated from The Open University with an Honours degree in History and wanted to do something practical with it. A few ideas kicked around for a while, but none really caught my enthusiasm. Whatever I chose needed to be heavily connected to some aspect of social history, which has always held a deep fascination for me. I believe that it is essential to capture and preserve past traditions and experiences wherever possible, using whatever medium suits them best. I have seen stunning contemporary photographic work which captured the everyday lives of a moorland family whose house and farming practices were still rooted in the traditions of the 1950s. Recalling that display made me wonder if there was a way for me to do something similar, but using the medium of theatre. As a professional actress and member of a new Devon based production company, Circle of Spears Productions my project had to involve theatre somehow.

One day, I hit on the idea of dramatising witch trial transcripts. Having visited the Museum of Witchcraft and Magic earlier in the year, it highlighted the importance of so many traditions, superstitions and practices which could all be collated under the umbrella of ‘witchcraft’ whilst still being a skill in their own right, such as herbalism. This idea caught my imagination - I was curious to see if there was a way of presenting the actual words spoken by those involved in witch trials to make them more accessible. I mulled over a few possible treatments for a while before approaching the Museum of Witchcraft and Magic in Boscastle to ask if they had any transcripts I could work from. That was how I first encountered Deanes Gimmerton, who became the inspiration for my character Margery Scrope.

Deanes Gimmerton, of Lyme Regis, Devon, was tried for witchcraft in 1687. Hers is the most complete written record of an English witch trial and I was able to read the various depositions given by the victims in the case. They were absolutely fascinating and contained a wealth of information. They particularly excited me because I had never heard of the case and it was precisely that sort of material that I wanted to try to bring more into the public awareness. However, I realised that I needed to slightly shift my focus. The information, while fascinating to me as a historian, would not translate particularly well to the stage.  A huge amount of attention is normally given to torture, interrogation, the trial process and the execution of the accused. I wanted to do something different and look more closely at the accusation itself. What had happened within communities to make neighbours turn on one another in this way, knowing that such an accusation was likely to end with the death of the accused? What social factors could have influenced people to take that course of action?

I started researching the history of witch trials more widely and, gradually, the story took shape. I selected a variety of actual occurrences both from my research and from the Gimmerton papers and from this, created my three characters: Margery Scrope, the accused; Thomas Latimer, her accuser; and local magistrate Sir William Tyrell. The play is set in Sir William’s library and takes the form of an informal deposition as the magistrate questions Latimer and Scrope, trying to determine whether the accusation has merit and whether Scrope should be committed for trial.

The story needed a less informal setting in order to bring out the various plot points, so a little dramatic licence had to be taken with the early Elizabethan legal system. The questioning had to be less structured than it would be in court and the characters had to be able to react freely to what they were hearing. In addition, my accused, Margery, needed to be able to provide rebuttal to Latimer’s evidence against her, which she does with great energy. Ultimately, the story seemed almost to write itself and, unusually for me, I found that I didn’t want to overdo the editing, a trap I generally fall into every time. I sent the finished script to a historian friend who is an expert in witch trials. After a few facts were corrected, I approached the Museum of Witchcraft and Magic to see if they would be interested in Circle of Spears performing the show for them.

The Museum of Witchcraft and Magic’s managers, Peter and Judith Hewitt, were incredibly enthusiastic and supportive of the project from the outset and were happy to arrange a test audience for the show. I wanted to make sure that I had got my facts right, both as a historian and as a writer portraying witchcraft when I am not a witch myself. I was overwhelmed with the positive feedback we received, which included a fantastic review by author Joyce Froome. One or two tweaks later, the show was ready to be premiered.

Our summer season at the Museum ran from July to October 2016. The show was incredibly well-received by all who have seen it and the audience feedback has been absolutely fantastic. “Compelling throughout”, “Deeply moving performance”, “The best thing I’ve seen in years”, “Well-researched,” “Thought-provoking” and “Utterly immersive” are just a few of the comments received. In addition, several audience members have been reduced to tears by the end of the show. I won’t give anything away, but there are a series of twists in the plot so the ending is not necessarily what you would expect…

The play is specifically designed to stimulate discussion, so while it poses a variety of questions, it does not necessarily provide answers. I didn’t want the audience to find themselves following a predictable, linear story where the accused is clearly innocent or guilty. There are a lot of grey areas. This has enabled us to have some brilliant Q&A sessions after each performance – audiences are overwhelmingly keen to engage with us and talk about the play’s themes of loss and persecution and the fact that they resonate with our world today just as much as they did with Margery’s world.

So what is next for WITCH? It has already gone further than I dared hope and I am currently in discussion with several tour venues for 2017. We have dates for Exeter in February and April and will be at Crediton’s new East Town Theatre during this year’s Credfest in June. Most exciting of all, I recently successfully pitched a book proposal to a publisher in Cornwall – the book will be based on WITCH and will examine in more detail the various aspects of social history, folklore and tradition which appear in the play, but will look at them from the point of view of my three characters to show how theatre can be used to preserve our social history.

As one of the new writers-in-residence at the East Town Café in Crediton, you will find me there on Wednesdays, working on the book. You can also pick up a copy of the audio version of the play from the online store at www.circleofspears.com/store and follow WITCH-related news on Facebook (Tracey Norman’s WITCH – preserving folklore and tradition through theatre) and Twitter @WITCHplayCoS

website (to be active soon) 

The Silent Shadow of the Barn Owl

A collection of owls: A Parliament, or a Wisdom of Owls.

One of the biggest delights, I discovered, when moving from a busy North London suburb to the rural countryside of North Devon were the owls. Not just hearing them at night, but actually seeing them, in flight or roosting in the trees near the house. The icing on the cake occurred two weeks after we had moved in on a snowy 18^th January 2013. My husband and I happened to be in the kitchen looking out at the glorious (if somewhat wintery) view – and saw a barn owl gliding over the field beyond the orchard. It was the most wonderful moment and even now, these few years later, there is still something magical about watching ‘our’ barn owls hunting over that same field.

photo ©Kathy Hollick-Blee

Owls are fascinating – even awesome. Fossils have been found from sixty million years ago, revealing that the species has changed very little. They are admired or feared, worshipped or condemned. They have been regarded as good omens, bad omens, associated with superstitions, witchcraft, medicine, death, birth and even the weather. Why? Probably because they are night birds (although we have seen the barn owls hunting as late as 11a.m. and as early as 3pm – in the summer.) Almost undoubtedly the fear of them is because they are silent. Barn owls rarely call (unlike the noisy Tawny Owl) and their flight is completely without sound. You don’t hear their wings beating, or even a swish of sound as they glide past.

All owls are carnivorous, devouring small mammals, small birds, reptiles, large insects. They have sharp beaks and claws, and some can be particularly vicious if encountered. Most owls have a rounded shape and large head, with face-feathers which form a facial disk serving to direct sound towards the ears – a bit like your TV satellite dish. An owl’s vision is highly developed with eyes in a frontal position, allowing for depth and three-dimensional sight. They can turn the head 270 degrees. Owls have particular flight feathers, fringed at the top surface and then contoured. The friction between the feathers and the air is damped, thus creating the silent flight.

photo ©Tony Smith

In many branches of folklore and myth, like in Indian culture or the Greek Myths, owls are associated with prophecy and wisdom: “The wise old owl lived in the old, old oak, the more he heard the less he spoke; the less he spoke the more he heard – now why can’t we be like that wise old bird?”

To dream of an Owl is to be forewarned of shipwreck or robbery, and it seems owls became a night bird as a form of punishment: the 12^th Century English preacher and fabulist, Odo of Cheriton, insisted that because an owl stole a rose, the flower of beauty, the other birds condemned it to a life in the darkness.

The Greek Goddess of Wisdom, Athene’s symbol is the owl, although her bird is a Little Owl, Athene Noctua. The Goddess – and her owl – were seen as protectors of Athens and her armies. Soldiers took it as a sign of immanent victory if an owl flew overhead just before battle commenced, and as a guardian of commerce and trade the owl was depicted on the reverse side of coinage.

For the early Romans, however, a dead owl when nailed to a house door to ward off evil, a custom which persisted throughout Europe, and England, into the 19^th century. 

For a Roman, to hear an owl calling predicted a death. Apparently before Julius Caesar, Augustus, Commodus Aurelius, and Agrippa died, owls were heard. Not really surprising if owls were in abundance and it was evening – no one seems to remark that on other nights when owls were active various figures of importance managed to survive the night!

In Europe, by the Middle Ages, however, owls meant witchcraft, even in Roman times witches changed their appearance into owls to drink the blood of babies. Owls were regarded as wicked spirits, portents of death and the carrying-off of the spirit or soul. Understandable when you think of a dark forest, an eerie call, and a silent shape gliding through the frightening shadows. On the other hand, various countries, and in particular in the north of England, owls were considered to bring good luck.

photo ©Kathy Hollick-Blee

William Wordsworth (1770-1850) used the barn owl as a bird of doom in his poems, while for weather-watchers, an owl’s screech meant the coming of cold weather or a storm, although if it was already bad outside an owl’s call indicated a change in the weather. (Nothing like hedging your bets is there?)

A raw owl’s egg will cure drunkenness, or cooked until they became ash would be a cure for poor eyesight. (With my failing sight… no, I am not going to try it!). Whooping cough could be cured by drinking owl broth.

Some American Indian tribes regard owls as bringers of sickness and death, others as protective spirits or the souls of the recently departed and should be respected. The Cree of North America believed that the calls of owls were spirits, if a person answered with a similar sound he (or she) would soon die. In Dakota the Hidatsa Indians thought of the Burrowing Owl as a spirit to protect their warriors, while the Hopis Indians thought of the same owl as the god of the dead, a guardian of fires and carer of things underground, including sown seed. They called the Burrowing Owl the Ko'ko, meaning "Watcher of the dark." In California, the Newuks believed the brave and virtuous became Great Horned Owls after death, whereas wicked people become barn owls. For the native peoples of the Sierras the Great Horned Owl took dead souls down into the underworld. For some tribes death was described as passing over the owl bridge.

The barn owl, Tyto Alba, with its pale colouring and heart-shaped facial disk is unmistakable. It doesn’t build a nest, but the female lays her eggs in tree holes or buildings – often barns, hence its familiar name. Adding to the superstitions, their ghostly pale colour, silent nocturnal flight and a tendency to nest or hunt in places like graveyards it is no wonder that they are associated with the spirits of the dead. When they do vocalise (they have seventeen different calls) their voice when alarmed or issuing defence is similar to a human scream.

photo ©Tony Smith

Whether you think them lucky or unlucky, the barn owl is an endangered species, lack of suitable habitation, pesticides, and meeting with oncoming cars being their greatest danger. When you think that a pair of barn owls can devour about 2,000 mice a year, to farmers they are essential. Be wary if you (or your fictional characters) find an injured owl, use a jacket or sack (or lady’s underslip?) to wrap it in – those claws and beak are sharp. Leave it in a quiet, dark place and contact your nearest wildlife centre - except of course, in the context of historical fiction.

One of the most famous old Welsh stories about owls can be found in the Mabinogion, Blodeuwedd, the Goddess of Betrayal, was created from flowers by the magician Gwydion, but due to her actions of betrayal she was transformed into a white owl, destined to haunt the night forever in lonely sorrow. In Welsh, Blodeuwedd means ‘owl’.

photo ©Tony Smith

Barn owl hunting over the field behind our orchard

February 2016

©Kathy Hollick-Blee

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