Stories and local legends abound about Wistman's Wood. It is one of the few surviving ancient woodlands in England and is thought to date back around seven thousand years before the coming of the Christian church. It is little wonder therefore, that tales abound about Satan, hell hounds, Pixies and Druids. Yet, as so often is the case, these are all eclipsed by the nightmare of the Witch trials.
In the case of Wistman's, Witches were chained to a large stone that is roughly circular and lies in the centre of the wood. Witches were secured to the stone at noon, no good Christian being foolish enough to venture anywhere near the dreaded place during the hours of darkness. And every time the good folk returned to the spot the following day, the chains always lay slack, the Witch long gone.
The most common explanation for this of affairs states that Satan claimed the women as his brides, taking each of them down to Hell with him. The fact that tracks made by his cloven hooves were often found by the trees, being given as proof that this theory was correct.
Our interest was piqued as we practice Tantra, love old stories and Wistman's is our favourite place on the moors. The fact that Beltane was almost upon us, sealed our decision to use the old witch stone as our altar to celebrate the festival. Our rituals are always about energy and using it to bring about our wishes. Tantra teaches us that we should experience everything without judgement. While Beltane celebrates the union of the sky God, with the earth Goddess. Does that explain our rashness?
We arrived in the carpark at the end of the track to the trees in the late afternoon, hoping that everyone would have left by that time, then followed the path to the wood. Although the Witch stone is described as being in the centre of Wistman's, the wood has shrunk over the centuries, leaving the stone nearer the upper edge of the trees now and perhaps a mile from where the wood starts as you approach from the road.
The chains once used to restrain the Witches, have long since rusted away, but we came prepared with tent pegs and scarves. We also brought a blanket, some candles and matches. The moor was very wet, so there was little risk of us causing a fire. (We also brought a flask of coffee. What? It gets cold at night.)
We lay our blanket out on the stone and positioned our candles. The ancient holes in the stone from where the chains once were still remained, so we hammered a peg into the peat by each of them, followed by tying a scarf to each one. When we were satisfied that everything was ready, we stripped of and began our ritual.
We knelt in the wet moss, facing the centre of the stone, then explained why we dared to trespass in such a sacred place. By the time we finished, the trees around us were still. Not a single sound spoilt the silence around us. Yet we could feel that we were far from being alone.
Night was beginning to fall by this time, so we lit our candles, moving from one to another around the stone in turn. As we lit each one, we bid the Old Gods and the spirits of the wood to join us in our ritual. As we touched the match's flame to the last wick, we could feel the sense of expectancy reach a climax around, as well as within, us.