Today's answer to the question: 'What is Hookland?'
ALT Hookland is the recovered memory that you cannot dismiss.
Hookland is the recovered memory you secretly hope is true.
Hookland is that place you visited once, but cannot find on any map.
Hookland is where all the weirdness you've edited out of your life comes flooding back.
Hookland is ghost soil.
Goodnight from The Elusive Lady pub, where there’s much talk of the Empress Eel slithering the fields. Goodnight from Geoff Hall, his shade hanging around the sign appealing for witness to a road traffic accident, unable to quite work out what is going on. Goodnight from Hookland
We archaeologists tell the stories of the stones not to erase their mystery, not to undo their role as anchoring post for folklore, but to transmit the Long Neolithic. We give context for ghosts, provide new reasons for lithic pilgrimage. – Dr. K. Brophy #StandingStoneSunday
As we've just had the full moon closest to the autumn equinox, known in Hookland as the Corn Maiden Moon, it seems appropriate share some of the folklore of the Heading the Corn. #FolkloreSunday
ALT Full moon closest to the autumn equinox – Heading the Corn Part of the cultus in St. Urith in the county, but clearly also part of much older harvest festival traditions, the heading of the corn is the name for the ritual of the first sheath of corn cut being bound and taken to the nearest church so that the spirit of the saint could live in it to the next harvest. The sheath is traditionally taken on a cart, crowded with reapers, often wearing masks made of sack, shouting: ‘Hooky! Hooky! while the cart is led by an extravagantly dressed couple referred to as the Lord and Lady of the Harvest. Before the procession gets to the church to deliver the sheath, they will be met at a crossroad by a figure personifying death who will let them pass only after the shedding of blood (usually done by the nicking of the hands of the Lord and Lady of the Harvest). When the sheath has been delivered and a thanksgiving mass given, a usually somewhat riotous harvest supper is then held.
Goodnight from Madley’s village hall, where the Lord and Lady of the Fields are not the most drunk folk at a harvest supper lurching towards riot. Goodnight from Leah Blundell, fervently saying pagan prayers under the light of a Corn Maiden Moon. Goodnight from Hookland.
Let us walk the woods as feral possibility space. Let us walk the woods in hope of strange sights, fantastical encounters. Stories we can tell to those we love as an intimate folklore of hope that wonder is still abroad. That we still have places of constant magic. – #DAKilroy
Goodnight from the St. Urith clergy house, its nuns giving retired priest their nightly blessing of whisky as members of the Ghost-layers' Club mutter in a corner. Goodnight from Gail Ash, calling spirits from all five directions of the cunning compass. Goodnight from Hookland.
Thank you to everyone who came to the Hookland talk at Treadwell's last night. I'm sad I didn't get to speak to some of you last night, but I can't properly express how much it meant to see you in the audience and hope to talk to you in person and at length at some soonish point.
Goodnight from Prosperine’s Bookshop, its patrons enchanted by Emily C. Banting’s talk on magical garters and Empress Eel’s folkloric power. Goodnight from the pubs of Store Street, where strange stories are a currency to be swapped for pints of Lazarus. Goodnight from Hookland.
From tonight's Hookland talk on Re-enchantment as Resistance at Treadwell's. 'Folklore is often the wild frontier of belief, the place where wonder may still live. Here be Woodwoses, here be Harrowhounds, the ghosts which whisper wisdom.' #FolkloreThursday
ALT Folklore can ignite enchantment within us. Enchantment that fuels our imaginations. Enchantment that shifts our consciousness, allows us to envisage new and better worlds. It begins the process of manifesting the changes we desire. Re-enchanted, the world is full of new, feral possibilities. Re-enchanted our imagination is an accessible superpower.
The stories we intentionally absorb, the stories we select to tell ourselves, they allow us to live in the world differently. They allow us to make and remake the world differently.
Folklore is often the wild frontier of belief, the place where wonder may still live. Here be Woodwoses, here be Harrowhounds, the ghosts which whisper wisdom. We need this space. We ache for the sublime. For re-enchantment is an assertion of wonder and the numinosity of our relationships with landscape. Re-enchantment is an assertion of our collective ability to both imagine and experience better worlds. As a refusal of despair, as a lensing of hope. In re-en
Locals call the steps up Tingle Hill 'ill-lucked'. Talk of them as having been 'spat on by faeries', cursed by the cunning who don't want anyone 'to see what they get up when they are holding their queer parliaments on the crown'. To tread them is peril. – Dr. M. Benn
Goodnight from The Old School House at Larkspur, its new owners kept awake by phantoms reciting their time tables like an unholy invocation. Goodnight from Pip Harding, casting an unkindness on Meredith Marson for being a vile little gossipmonger. Goodnight from Hookland.
Really love this review of 'Hookland Fragments Volume One.' I couldn't be more pleased to have caused someone to write the words: 'Slightly tainted with his leftist nonsense ...'
Goodnight from Bill Tanner, wondering if there’s any point in ringing the police to report that there’s a giant black cube hovering above Hobble Woods. Goodnight from Kate Watson, wishing making magical inks from mushrooms didn’t stain her hands so much. Goodnight from Hookland.
Priests think they know everything. We told the vicar ill would come from exposing the Doom painting in the church. If the Guflobem comes out of the wall and devours him, it will be his own fault. Things are covered up for a purpose. He ought to know that. – Amy Scurfield #VOH
There are times when your dreams are wiser than any waking words. Paying attention to them can resolve many issues, especially those involving Guflobem.
I should probably point out that Guflobem are like sheep, deer or fish – the same in singular and plural. Hence: 'The vicar has released a Gubflobem'/'Oh shit! An unkindness of Guflobem is coming this way.'
Goodnight from Katie and Julie Turnbull, somewhat over-excited as they practise their corn maiden dance in the living room of No. 42 Hood Lane. Goodnight from Del Winrow, praying that the rain will wash away the last traces of blood on Pull Bridge Road. Goodnight from Hookland.