Janet VanMeter Blessed Be! It was so great to see everyone at Weekend this year, even if we were all jammed together in a room for the circle! I thought it rather impressive the number of folk who came - it would have been rough to fit any more people in there. Too bad we had to lose Kip to a previous "official" engagement. Since we all are interested in finding the Paganish stuff in RoS and everywhere else, I want to mention a book I found recently that fits in rather nicely. It is Earth, Air, Fire, Water by Robin Skelton and Margaret Blackwood. The 'sub-title' is Pre-Christian and Pagan Elements in British Songs, Rhymes, and Ballads. This collection also includes notes at the end for explanation of certain elements in the songs. Mother Goose, Shakespeare, Keats, Jonson, and a host of others are given with topics ranging from the God and Goddess, Witches and Witchcraft, the Craft of Magic, Country Folk and Feasts, the World of Faery, and Visions and Transformations. Pretty nifty book. There is even a poem called In Sherwood by Robert Jones. I've also been raving about a set of cards called The Celtic Oracle by Nigel Pennick and Nigel Jackson. This is not just another tarot deck with new artwork. This is a nice combination of ogham and Celtic archetypes using a different system similar to runes. But whereas the runes usually seem to deal with a 'spiritual warrior' bent, this new set seems to add an artistic or inspirational side that I find appealing. So, has anyone else, besides the folks who heard me go on about this, seen or used this deck yet? I will be impressed if the Wildwood Tarot can improve upon it. Once again, it was terrific to meet the Cousins whom I only had a printed name for! Thanks, Hilda, for working so hard to make it happen. Herne Protect. *** Georgia Fleming Thank you SO MUCH for the back issues of Cousins - which prompted an immediate Fun Word... White Rabbit: Someone who comes on board so late that it's all but impossible to deal with, or even follow (-: (I'm a leftist Saxon scum) all the questions, issues, and streams of consciousness that flow through. (Also the title of my favorite Jefferson Airplane number). [Georgia also offered another Fun Word which was just too much fun to unwrap now - it's in the file for later. Ha ha! -H] I did indeed make this stationery. [My advice to those who haven't seen it: write to Georgia and beg. -H] My husband and I own a medium-sized commercial print shop. I am the (guffaw) graphic artist. I can't draw anything except swords. I do a LOT of cut and paste, tracing, and other forms of cheating. Printing is what he wanted to do, and when we first opened, about 9 years ago, we couldn't afford a real graphic artist, so I had to learn "on the job" what little I know. If I'd known, I'd have taken more than just Art Appreciation in college! B.A. in History and German, M.A. in History is what I have, with a concentration in ancient Britain. [More personal-letter type stuff here - it's been taken care of. If you haven't received what you requested, please holler. -H] I love the way you plug environmental issues and other good works in some issues. My current battle is me and one county commissioner vs. the city's herbicide truck. The very word "herbicide" sends shivers down my spine, and I don't shiver easily. This monstrosity sprays killer chemicals down the sides of streets and highways, supposedly to kill the "weeds." It also sprays all the cars behind it, your front lawn, your children, and anything else that gets in its way. Next comes the electric company, which sends a truck around to lop off any tree limbs that get near its precious power lines, without asking. (The property owner OR the tree!) One question - who out there, do you think would be willing to share (as in copy, or loan) the series tapes to poor me? RoS has never been shown here on any channel I could get. How annoying! any suggestion? I have the 4 movie-length videos, but so many things are mentioned in Cousins from shows I haven't seen. HELP!! What do you call us folk from Alabama? I very much prefer "Albion," thanks! Know any others in my area? Even close? How I got interested in RoS: My husband and I were in the video store one night and he picked up Swords of Wayland and said, "Babe, this is your kind of thing." It was. I'm a long time fan of Robinic things anyway... I even have the 1922 Douglas Fairbanks silent version, and quite a few of the old Richard Green TV shows - what a trip! [Sounds like some heavy trading leverage to me! -H] My kids love RoS best, and so do I. The kids show varying degrees of fandom - the most interest my almost-14-year-old has expressed is, "Michael Praed is fine. He is so-o-o fine." I am told this is a compliment. Her name is Victoria (the Princess Royal), she whose hands do no housework. Roxanne, who is 10, is "into it," but it's the very devil to watch the movies with her... "Why is he doing that?" "Why did she say that??" "Where did that come from?" - sounds almost like... YOU GUYS!! Then come my twin- fen, three-year-olds Joe and Virginia. Joe becomes Robin very easily. Actually, he becomes Robert. Joe is a perfect 10 on the Blond-O-Meter, and he wears his hair That Way. He has a stockpile of plastic swords, bows, etc. - he freaked his day care teacher by knowing the word "scabbard" - and proper period clothing. And I don't mean the Halloween costume variety. He informed me that the pattern for a child's Robin Hood outfit "looks like Peter Pan." Which it did. So now he has attire for both forest and earl's hall, even if Mom here did have to learn how to sew to produce them. His twin, Virginia, assumes she was born into the world just to be Marion. But I suspect she has something more up her sleeve. She's very fey. Ahh, paganism! If someone asked me my faith, I don't think I'd say, "I'm a pagan, Teutonic family, Saxon branch." As the Princess Royal puts it, "My father is a Presbyterian, and my mother is... something else." My husband is a devout Christian, in fact a theonomist Presbyterian (they uphold many laws of the Old Testament which other branches of Christianity say were eliminated by the New Covenant). You'd think we'd lock horns (guffaw) quite often, but I am constantly amazed at how our faiths blend. I've never known a Christian other than Brian (High King image!) whose mind was so open to different "faces of the divine," as he calls them. He refers to Yahweh and Herne/Woden as "our universal god." Amazing, isn't it? We are planning some rituals incorporating elements that appeal to both of us. Some of the kids are "combos" - Joe's table blessing is often "God is great, God is good... May Herne protect us!" So I can't really label what I am, other than to say it is of the Saxon persuasion. Well, somebody has to BALANCE (yes!) all you Celtophiles! Herne and Woden are one and the same to me, I forget who mentioned this parallel before. Woden actually led me to Herne, whom I call "Master" (as in, "of the Hunt"), to be my guide in this (my fifth) lifetime. Woden awakened me when I was 8 or 9 years old, and I took a very circuitous route (over a 30-year period) to get to where I am now, wherever that is. I have occasionally used both Robin and Robert as images in worship, because they seem to fit so well: Robin as Frei, who will die at Ragnarok because he gave up his magic sword for love of a woman... and Robert as Balder, who will survive and rule over the new world of peace. Keep going? How about Will as Thunar, and Nasir as Honir, the silent god? John is a good candidate for Tiw. My current obsession (and it is, ask Kate Raymond!) concerns the runic inscription on Albion. The one you can't get a real good look at, because it's always being whipped around somebody's head, or the sunlight decides to glint off it and obscure the runes, or you buy a poster of Robert holding it (just to copy the runes, I swear!) [You can swear here, but I'd prefer it to be a bit more convincing... -H] and find that some Norman decided to crop the photo close to the sword's hilt, then there's the 20 different versions I've seen in the zines... some of which are squigglies rather than runes (-: and so on and so on. Kate says it's supposed to say something like "I cannot slay Herne's son." In Swords of Wayland, somebody (Herne?) says that what is written on the swords are "words of power unspoken since Wayland made them," or something to that effect. How come there's been so little chatter about Wayland/Weland? I feel close to him because my mother was a Smith. Biologically, not professionally. My son thinks Wayland Smith is an uncle (why not? He has an Uncle Raymond Smith and an Uncle William Smith - which reminds me, in my mother's family, "Albia" is a traditional male first name. Coincidence? NOT! Albia Smith was my great-great-grandfather.) What was I on about? Albion. The runes. "I cannot slay Herne's son" in Anglo-Saxon would be something like "Ne maeg ic cwellan Hernes sunu." And in the Saxon rune system: (saxon runes can't be translated into ascii, sorry, Susan) But the inscription obviously isn't that long. Is it esoteric? Is it in some other language? Wayland, as Volund Waddason, would have written in Old Norse I reckon. Maybe it's in Gothic, or Indo-European (smile). Or Atlantean. Or Mu-an. Maybe it says "PROPS DEPARTMENT" in Etruscan! Help me, someone with quick eyes, before I go mad. Another Albion-related gripe. Maybe it's not really a gripe, just a "point" (laugh). It has a disc-shaped pommel, which really wasn't common until the 12th century. Before that, the shapes known as "tea- cosy" and "walnut" were used, and most early and late Saxon swords are one of those two. Maybe Herne accidentally hit it on the cave wall, knocking off the properly shaped pommel, and he had to put a new one on. What did he use, and what did he do with the old one? AND... is anyone curious as to where the names of the other swords came from? I haven't found Collins' The Seventh Sword. Those of you who have, how does he deal with the names? None of the ones in RoS rang any bells for me: Urias, Morax, etc. All great swords have names, like Beowulf's Naegling (made by Wayland) and Siegfried's Nothung. God, I luv swords! I personally think Gulnar was a renegade Saxon wicca. (Wicca is a masculine noun, meaning "wizard." The feminine counterpart would be "wicce.") Why? Because he uses the Saxon rune system in his divination. You can see them best on his circle, and he calls some of them out, e.g. lagu and daeg. If Gulnar were a Viking, wouldn't he use the Younger Futhorc? In which lagu is lšgr and there is no equivalent for daeg. I know the guy has a Norse-sounding name, but this wasn't all that unusual in Saxon families in the eleventh century (how old IS Gulnar?) and probably later. Earl Godwin (the historical one, not the one in the show) gave his three older sons Norse names, and the younger ones English names. OK, I'll hush about runes. For now. Janet R.: Don't bother with Parke Godwin's Sherwood?? How could you? Ow! Ouch!! (Calling Mary Sue! Hurt/Comfort Situation!) I loved it. It brought tears to my eyes, and a few even rolled down my cheek - and no other book has EVER made me cry. The way John was handled was just beautiful. Just my humble opinion. (sob, sob). Oh yeah, now that we've determined that Murry Hope is a woman, what is Parke Godwin? Laura: (from #3) Can Fenris be killed? Somewhere, Morgana says he has "been killed" by Vidar, son of Woden. Not yet! In Time of the Wolf, Herne says, after the victory, "There will be no time of the wolf." And Robert say something like, "Not yet. But one day there will." And Herne says, "Yes. One day." Did y'all take this to mean that Herne and Robert accept the Teutonic world-view? Needless to say, I did (-:. What they are talking about is Ragnarok, the final battle between good and evil. The sign of its coming is the Fimbul Winter, the worst of all winters. Then the ravening wolves will come from the forest and devour the sun and the moon. Fenris (the genitive form of the name actually - the nominative is "Fenrir," but both are used) will break the bonds that have held him since the gods first chained him (which is how Tiw lost his hand). The gods then do battle with the giants and monsters, and it is Woden who opposes Fenris, in a combat he knows he is doomed to lose. Fenris will devour Woden, and will be in turn slain by Vidar - literally by forcing the wolf's jaws open and tearing him in half. There is a stone at Gosfarth Church in Cumbria depicting this combat. When it's all over, a new world will bloom, presided over by Robert of Huntingdon. I mean, Balder. So... is there a Celtic end-of-the-world scenario? Robert Graves' Robin Hood as "Rofbrecht Whoden" - lovit! Linda: I love your insights into Robert's character. And I REALLY love the mourning/ hatching ritual. I have not been able to get that image out of my mind since - Robert coming out of the egg, that is. I'm not sure I'll ever eat another egg -which is probably good for my cholesterol count anyway. And I, for one, love your story ideas. Tara: You like history from 1066 to Agincourt?? Tara, history ended in 1066 (smile). Then began the Thoroughly Rotten Age, when the Normans messed up a very good thing. Not to mention the architectural havoc they played with Waltham Abbey. Tacky! A Norman Marion? No, please! Anything but that! God knows where that could lead... "Vous etes le fils de Herne?" (You can tell I don't speak very good French. That's intentional.) Petit Jean? No, no! I feel another hurt/comfort situation coming on! A few recommendations, then I'll shut up (maybe): There's a decent article on "How Mary Magdalene Became a Whore" in the current issue of Bible Review (a "layman's scholarly publication" - and quite well done!) Julianne, if you like the Gospel of John, try the Gospel of Thomas among the Gnostic works... Jesus: "And you shall drink from the waters of my mouth, and you shall become as I am." Joseph Campbell turned me on to that. By the way, I love Tennyson. My fave is Ulysses, which I carry with me. For ancient Saxon beliefs, a good source is Myths & Symbols in Pagan Europe: Early Scandinavian and Celtic Religions, by the devastatingly knowledgeable H. R. Ellis Davidson (1988, Syracuse U. Press). The "H" is for Hilda! And if ANYONE has access to a major university library, and can find a publication called FOLKFORE, in issue #69 (1958), the above-mentioned H. R. Ellis Davidson has an article on Weland the Smith which I would love to have a copy of. Pp. 145-59. Will trade Thor comics! [Or send it to me for multiple photocopying. -H] One more: Robert Anton Wilson's 3-volume Historical Illuminatus Chronicles, for a swell comparison of "wicca" and Freemasonry (sorry, Kip, it is relevant). In Vol. 2, see how the midwife uses Robin and Marion to aid in childbirth. "Robin, Marion, Orfee, Bride, all you spirits come from sidhe" - good, huh? And the footnotes alone are worth the price of the trilogy. Some are legitimate and some... are not. Hilda: St. Hilda's feast day is 17 November. She was the daughter of King Edwin of Northumbria, and founded Whitby, a double monastery; that is, men and women in adjacent quarters (not in Hilda's abbey, no way!! Honi soit qui mal y pense, or however that French thing goes). She was present at the council held at Whitby, which decided whether England would follow the Roman or the Celtic ecclesiastical customs. The Romanists won. Hilda was pro-Celt. And for St. Julie: St. Juliana Falconieri, foundress of the Servite nuns, f.d. 19 June. The Cousins Con is a splendid idea. When? Where? (Sorry, Hilda, this is no longer a letter, but a "weighty tome." Just remember, I'm a White Rabbit.) I will leave off soon! Favorite quote "From a word, to a word, let me be led to a word." But Master, what does it mean? Herne Be With You! *** Hilda Grace - Guess what? Your description of your approach to the Craft and of your experiences at Weekend in Sherwood constitute participating in our discussions. You're no less qualified, and seem no less inclined, to share your heart's knowledge of Robin of Sherwood and of things magical than any of us, and I can only hope that you come to value your input as much as the rest of us do! Your "Cousins Photo Gallery" sounds like a fine idea. While I can't give it a high priority (getting this newsletter out is my #1 promise to this crowd, and I'd rather decline a fun idea than break a promise), I'll gladly start pasting up a "mug sheet" of all who choose to send me photographs. As soon as I have enough photos to make the project worthwhile, I'll treat it as a reprint: available by request for the price of a SASE. A picture of yourself with another Cousin or RoS fan would be doubly useful, but clarity and detail are the most important criteria. Of course, if there are multiple people in the picture, get their permission first in writing, to be sent with the picture. Thanks! I was lucky enough to learn Tarot with Jennifer Moore, a Bostonian whose approach to Tarot is very experiential and archetypic, so I don't have a favorite book on the subject; but I did find Walker's Tarot and the accompanying book more stark and dire than my own experience can substantiate. Besides, she seems overly fond of a certain shade of red which I absolutely can't stand... Seriously, I chose the Morgan-Greer deck because of its vibrant, jewel-like colors, but set it aside for the Robin Wood because the M-G left me so thirsty for GREEN! I still like Kip's idea best; and even beyond that, I've long daydreamed of doing a "Tarot" involving such familiar pictures as the Cat, the Roommate, the Dirty Dishes, the Musician, the Diploma, the Veteran, the Attic, the Doctor... HUZZAH! for your brilliant Robin Hood Bibliography Database idea! I'll send along my own listings. (If I don't, I'll consider any stray clothyard shafts that appear in my vicinity well-deserved.) Wow! Does the 25% discount apply to The Seventh Sword? Sign me up! May this bookish brigade find intellectual ecstasy through your generous offer, and may your chemistry students not blow anything up without sincerely enjoying it. Congrats on the new job! Julie - Thanks for the GreenwoodÊinfo! If anyone will ever lend me money again after this December's escapade, I may well try to make it... The move went well, thank you; as well could be expected with my 6 years' and Craig's 5 years' worth of stuff. I probably wouldn't have been the world's most coherent hostess had you arrived in August, and I think the dust levels may have attracted the attention of the Environmental Protection Agency! I see no reason not to have a Cousins picnic/gabfest next May, especially now that I have a real back yard. Now where did I put the picnic blanket... Linda F. - I think that Kip actually "borrowed" Herne from Windsor Great Park and transplanted Him to Sherwood, but I'm also of the opinion that a place of power will announce itself to those with whom its power resonates, whether or not there's a specific deity associated with the place. Just as long-term appreciation of and collaboration with the spirits of a place will eventually turn any old patch of ground into a place of power, conversely people tend to pick this or that spot because of energies or spirits who await them there (in however active or inactive a state). In the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries, it took more than just guts to stick up for the common folk, and exactly what (or whom) it took obviously had a home in Sherwood Forest! No, Michael and Jason are not Robin Hood, any more than are you and I. As we creep up on the show's tenth anniversary, I doubt that even any first-time actor who played a bit part in RoS is still so short on acting experience as to confuse their own identity with that of their character! The RoS cast did get an unusual amount of leeway in creating their characters, though, which could engender a certain amount of thespian pride. To give your full interpretation of a character, to the point of having active input into the script, and then to have fan writers radically rewrite the character as though your portrayal were unacceptable, could come as quite a blow. I imagine it's like stepping onto an elevator and hearing your own favorite composition "adapted" for Muzak; or serving up a culinary masterpiece only to have it drowned in catsup after no more than a cursory taste. I recently learned one Sufi song/dance, and it contains the line: "The Divine: Lover, Love, Beloved." I'll try to spell it: Ishk Allah (ª: Allat) Mabul Leila. It reminds me of the concept "NamastŽ," (what language is that?), which was once explained to me as "The Divine in me honors the Divine in you." Sounds like "Thou art Goddess" to me! I guess I was going by Carpenter's David, rather than history's. Is his ethnicity ever even mentioned in the show? I don't consider Robert an unusually practical or level-headed man (though he holds his own), but I see his dual experience (noble upbringing, egalitarian ideals) as a real asset compared to Robin's black-and-white "Nobles Torture and Kill Peasants for No Reason" experience. That's what I meant by "worldly" - Robert's seen noble nobles and maybe even met a few who have been robbed by Robin, and has a broader perspective because of it. Robin may well have grown up thinking that he would probably get senselessly murdered in the end, no matter what he did! So why not make sense of it in a way that the Normans would never figure out? And as for "practicality" meaning "solipsistic self-interest," I apologize for my utter lack of clarity! I don't think English has a word for what I consider practicality: living in tune with the big picture, whether or not you anthropomorphize it through religion. Is there a word for that? Maybe "down to Earth" is as close as a Pagan can get! Wasn't Abbot Martin of St. Ciricus wonderful? Apparently Kip had a far more subdued delivery in mind, but the idea of a good zealot was a great twist. In the "What Makes a Rebel?" panel at Weekend in Sherwood, the panelists suggested that Martin may have been a Franciscan, a faithful member of a rebel order. Please pardon my blatant temptation for a spoiler, but: if you've got any idea of what your own universe might be like when you start writing Robin Hood professionally, is the Goddess going to be visible? If so, which aspect? (I know I'm asking you to give away your plot to people who haven't even read your stories yet, but this was the first big topic of discussion in Cousins, and I just had to ask! If my question is out of line, I certainly respect your right to keep the magic bound into your stories.) I guess our crossed signals regarding Pagan spiritual rigor were a geographic phenomenon. Just as you seem to have been exposed to a lot of white-light fluff, my first formal introduction to the Craft was through a shaman who felt they had to impress us all with what they had to go through to be our spiritual go-between; so that we'd be awed enough to support them financially. I'm not sure of how prevalent this is along the East Coast in general, but a big chunk of the Boston Craft community has a definite "we're looking for a few good martyrs" flavor. Perhaps through communication we all can reach a happy medium. (Oh, all right, that one was intentional.) I, too, find "he sold his soul" or "she's possessed" thin ice on which to build a villain. My only idea of why we see so much of this on TV is that it spares the writer the time necessary develop a more plausible villain within a medium that's mostly been tailored to a one-episode- maximum attention span. When you're writing your Robin Hood TV series (I'm not joking; I find "talking in the future" a fascinating exercise), by all means keep us up to date on how you maintain the balance between series coherence and episode self-containment. (Of course, by then network blockheads will have stopped scrambling episodes!) Linda, I usually hesitate to speak for other people, but I really doubt that any Cousin would think that you say what you do about Robert "because it sounds good." It's plain that Robert plays a big part in your creative endeavors, and that anything you say about him comes straight from your heart. Creativity is an effective way to accept healing, and to accept healing is a powerful (and woefully uncommon) way to honor the Lady. Heal and be healed, sister! Blessed be. Janet Reedman - On actors becoming fond of the roles they play: I'd like to find out how many Cousins occasionally play their own version of a favorite RoS character when they're scared or stuck or just plain worn out. Also, that idea could lead into a fun game, for anyone planning a local RoS party: to pull from a hat a piece of paper on which is written a simple sentence, and to say it as a specific RoS character would, and have the other partygoers guess the character! It would have to be something that any one of them might say. For example: "You're not going anywhere on that ankle," John observed; Much fretted; Marion insisted; Robert decided; Robin declared; Tuck admonished; Will warned; Nasir indicated... Please, Janet, where on Earth are you finding all of your fascinating tidbits on old English ritual? All over the place, I would guess; but if there's a good source or two you could name for us... Your comments on the Celtic root "fionn" touch on the current discussion of the folkloric meaning of the color white in old Celtic culture (especially as related to cats). A lot of what I read about "leukophobia," fear of the color white, mentions white as the color of death or of the ghost; but Guinevere and innumerable Jennifers are named "white phantom," hardly in derogation! Perhaps a ghost evoked reverence? Is this a reference to "unearthly" beauty, or to the Evans- Wentz idea of Faerie as the realm of the dead? Any ideas? I think that Herne had every right to sound sinister at the end of The Enchantment, and Belleme looked sufficiently miserable to have finally caught on that this apparently harmless small-time shaman was onto something big. Well, there's only one way out of this: KIP!!! WHO GOT THE LAST WORD? As for Woolley's neologisms, if you figure that Arthur and Guinevere were probably speaking a pastiche of Cymraeg and Latin, I just sort of considered her style a translation (although I did wince at the "okay" business). Carol Burrell's treatment in Herne's Stepchildren #10 of the linguistic knot that was medieval England is priceless - check it out if you can! Woodswalker - It's definitely the "dark" stuff that provides plot incentive, but in terms of memorability and story quality in general, I'll have to go with our Antlered Avatar and cast my vote for balance. I suspect that this is simply a personal preference. In fact, some of the more uplifting stories stick in my mind just as clearly as the more horrid, painful ones. I find that what matters to me is neither darkness nor light per se but rather clarity of viewpoint, style of dialogue, and sudden surprises in the plot. Anyone else? What makes for a truly memorable RoS story? (These needn't necessarily be your favorites, just the ones that keep coming back unbidden.) It strikes me as odd that your local Pagan community has a problem with heavy metal, but on reflection it seems that the Boston Pagan crowd does too. It really seems more of an economic-class than a religious distinction, at least up here. If you have access to Peter Gabriel or Laurie Anderson or Kate Bush, then you "should know better," Pagan or not. So this is the city of Boston/the home of the bean and the cod/where the Lodges speak only to Cabots/and the Cabots speak only to God! (Except the only Cabot I've run into keeps introducing people to Her...) By the way, have you heard Yngwie Malmsteen's Rising Force? It's been around a few years, but talk about GUITAR! Joe Satriani is another amazing guitarist, but you probably already know that. Hmm. For what it's worth, the utterly unhelpful snobs in your SF writing group just made me feel a little less stranded in pretentious old Boston! There's only one reason to belittle or dismiss the Muse's touch upon another's heart, and that's envy: fear that another person might prove a finer tool for Her work. And from your description of their trite rehashings of age-old rocketship fantasies, I'm afraid they might be right, at least in regard to you. Tara - Again, I crave your respect in regard to not requesting that I run zine adverts or calls for submissions, but you're right - I left a big gap in my guard. Consider me bruised, soaked, and embarrassed beyond belief. Meanwhile, according to Todd Parrish, Tree of Life may be shedding its leaves once and for all with Issue 4, so I'll consider Guardian the logical next turn of the Wheel. Anyone trying to locate Paula and Amy, I'm sure Tara can provide you with their address or forward your submissions. I heard that the Glastonbury thorn grew from St. Joseph of Arimathea's staff; and that one of its descendants still grows there, distinctive in that it flowers in winter rather than spring. Can anyone substantiate this? Also, I'm curious about the name "Arimathea." I recognize "ma" and "thea" ("Mother" and "Goddess,") but I'm not clear on "ari." Any ideas? Hebraic, isn't it? While I hardly consider Robert a "blank slate," I do agree that once you've tried to put yourself in his shoes, he doesn't leave you alone. When the peasant Loxley was confused he could just say "I mean, what does that mean?" without feeling like he was betraying people to whom he was responsible; but I identify far more strongly with Robert's desire to handle life's various dilemmas in a more discreet manner: ***Well, I'm missing some information, but these people are counting on me and don't need me to act confused right now, and I do have an idea of how to find the next piece of the puzzle, so I'll just keep my mouth shut and my eyes open...*** Having similar words for "fire" and "holly" doesn't seem too surprising, really: both offer a brilliant red, neither should be approached carelessly, both are important Yule/Midwinter symbols. Fine. You know that Mark Ryan reads this newsletter, and still you mention Findbhair and her eyebrows. So if we ever see a facially- depleted Mark chasing something (or two somethings) around Ireland with a butterfly net, we'll all expect you to apologize profusely. An aside to anyone who enjoys new treatments of Celtic tunes: there's a Massachusetts band called Cordelia's Dad which you must check out! They have a self-titled album out on CD already, and can be reached at Box 1023, Amherst, MA 01004-1023. (I'll leave it to you to decide which of these fellows is most worth Llyring at.) Well, if "Cailleach" is a linguistic metamorphosis of "Kali," maybe the giant cats of Cymry and Eire invoke a folk memory of proto-Indo-European experience with, say, leopards; or perhaps even the bigger, more Northern, and considerably older saber-tooth. Anyone familiar with Celtic or pre-Celtic cat lore or feline paleontology in the British Isles? I know that the Isle of Man has its hidden tales... Thank you for letting me give your extra Who We Are space to newer Cousins, but I can't see anyone but a typist ever considering you scary! And if you really had no brain, you would have no interest in such a theory-sodden publication as Cousins, much less anything approximating your writing talent. Please tell me that winter, with its soggy self- deprecation and apologetic snivelings, hasn't arrived early this year! Or if I may quote King John: "DON'T BABBLE!" You have no brain like I have no computer. Ariel - I thought Todd meant that he found it odd that Marion didn't seek a lover after Robin's death (probably many years after) in the fanfic. I do agree with Linda Frankel that we have a lot to learn from past traditions of ecstatic sacrifice, but the lesson needn't be one of mimicry. I find the concept oddly comforting when pondering exactly how much of what we are is "human nature" and how much is acculturation: people haven't always considered death an unspeakable terror, held their own continued survival above everything else, or mistaken our place at the top of the food chain for a mandate to wantonly despoil. In this age of dust bowls and atmospheric depletion, we can still finger the faltering pulse of the Earth and spill what we may to ease Her starvation: sweat in a recycling effort, ink on a ballot, minutes on a Congressional letter-writing campaign. Just as the blood of no single Sacred King could physically fertilize the soil of an entire island, but his gift of love charged his blood with the power to do so after all; so may our seemingly minute "gestures" become devotions, and so, acts of magic. I don't think that Robin and Marion needed it to be Beltane to fulfill the Blessing... As for "presiding" over such an event, if we are to use the model of coven- or village-scale Great Rites, at least Robin might have needed either serious divine intervention or prosthetics, and Marion would want a copy of Gulnar's cookbook! ("*HIC* Is that you again, Robin?" "In a *YAWN* manner of speaking...") Herne doesn't strike me as the sort to punish Robin by killing Marion (and even if He were, He didn't stick by it). Rather, Robin let his idealized image of the Lionheart blind him to the events taking place around him, and Marion's death is the price he pays for his pigheadedness; not a manifestation of any sort of divine wrath (except, of course, that Kip was mad at him. I certainly was!) I just hope that Morgana's Mad Rabbis of Sherwood (sorry, Helen and Laura) deal with Lilith as a whole, rather than just one titillatingly ghastly aspect of Her legend. But then, outcasts like Rabbi Esther and Rabbi Judith might prove quite trustworthy... Janet V.: Thank you for, among other things, the ritual sequence on which we based our Weekend circle (when I wasn't getting confused and mixing it up!) Are you going to Visions? Would you be at all interested in putting together a ritual for us to share there? For that matter, would anyone like to give it a go? We'll probably get together one way or another, but please let me know if you're working on something so that we're not running in eighteen different directions. As always, any actual circle will only be heralded by a small note to "Cousin Jennet" on the Con bulletin board. Given the hectic schedule and large number of room parties at Visions, I would hesitate to schedule another party, but a circle would be nice. Anyone else? Georgia - Yes! I love the song White Rabbit. Between you and Laura Todd, this nest of nervous Nellies may yet find our way to admitting that we LOVE good music - of all kinds! Here's an open invitation, Cousins: we take album and concert reviews, as well as plugs for your favorite books and movies! Hey, I'm the "graphic artist" for my local open Circle - it just means that I have a Macintosh, a good graphics program, and access to a laser printer. I haven't gotten a bad review yet! Graphic arts is kind of like computers: people assume that they couldn't possibly do it, and won't even try; so they never find out how easy and how much fun it is! My mother recently bought some herbicide to get rid of some persistent weeds (the only kind they have in Florida), read the bottle, and promptly brought it back to the store. The clerk said something like, "Didn't want to wipe out the whole neighborhood, huh?" I remember one time up by Lake Dunmore in Vermont (the most gorgeous spot on the planet, subjectively speaking) when we were besieged by poison ivy, and rather than poison the Lake, my boyfriend and I went out in rubber gloves and goggles and yanked the stuff up and mashed it in a trash can with ammonia. (IF YOU'VE EVER HAD EVEN A MILD CASE OF POISON IVY, DON'T DO THIS. Neither he nor I is sensitive to it yet, so the airborne juice from the broken stems didn't ruin our lungs.) Anyway, we just pulled enough of it to make a path to our dock, and the remaining P.I. kept neighbors with cockboats (you know, the nasty little "jet-ski" craft which kick up a fine rooster-tail of spray while dumping gasoline in the lake) from using our frontage as a launch point. (I hope. If any of them did, I don't think they will again.) Instead of watchdogs, we had watchweeds. Princess Victoria is a very perceptive lady, even if her hands are atrophying. There's nothing wrong with her eyesight. (Wish I could say the same for Michael, but eyes seem to come in two kinds: the kind for seeing out of, and the kind for gazing into!) I love Joe's table blessing! Hi, Joe! The Fimbul Winter sounds a lot like the Nuclear Winter of bitter cold and continual cloud-cover caused by the smoke from huge fires engendered by nuclear war. (Although Mt. Pinatubo seems to want to give us a sneak preview! I don't know about you, but New England has been freezing its beans off for months.) It almost seems as though the Norse world, where honor is earned in battle, ends in the most honorable fashion possible. As Linda Frankel mentioned, the only Celtic "end-of-the-world" scenario with which I'm familiar is really more of an "end-of-all-that-really- matters" situation, and is generally held to have already happened. For a culture that seems to value curiosity, the slow fading of mortals' regard for anything but themselves seems a far less satisfactory finale - which may explain why the Teutonic Ragnarok is still in the future, while Celtophiles often seem to talk like nostalgic ghosts! "When?" and "Where?" are good questions regarding the Cousins Con. I sort of guessed that most of us could best afford something held in a (cheap!) campground, strictly B.Y.O.S. (Bring Your Own Shelter). Do people think they could handle a long weekend at a Bed and Breakfast? Where? Which holiday weekend? What sort of price range? No one has offered an opinion regarding what sort of event they could attend, which I have (perhaps erroneously) taken to mean that nobody can handle another con right now. Also, the registration rules would be extremely strict: due at least two months in advance, with NO exceptions (even if you turn out to be my long-lost alter ego), because there's only one of me. Any offer of assistance will be greeted with profuse emotional gratitude but not acceptance: we're all financially on the brink, and counting on anyone in this windblown fandom is invariably an embarrassing mistake. Thanks for the info on St. Hilda! You won't believe this, but just this week I sat down to lunch with one of the fellows who works in the cafeteria, and he asked me my name. When I told him, he said, "As in Hilda of Whitby?" Not your usual reaction! His name is John, and he's an Episcopalian; a member of a church which is in an odd bind: they've just declared their own patron saint, St. George, fictitious! But we know better, eh? Solar heroes never die, no matter how much practice they get... *** More Favorite RoS Quotes: Julie Phipps: "I'm gonna kill 'im!" (Will Scarlet,) and "Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham. You're two sides of the same coin!" (Gisburne) *** Happy 1st birthday to Cousins! Thank you all for making this such a scintillating place to be! On this, our anniversary, I need some advice. The back-issue packs I'm sending to new members are getting rather unwieldy, and all of that microprint must look a bit daunting to a new member of our family: where to start? I'd like your input on how many back issues should be automatically sent to any new Cousin with their first issue. Of course, all back issues will be available by request in an archived form, as soon as I figure out how I want to set it up. But in the meantime, about how back need one go to make sense of our ramblings? Two issues? Three? IMPORTANT NEWS! Anyone seeking a copy of The Guide to Legendary London should send away for it NOW, as stocks are low and there's no immediate plan for a second printing. Caitl’n Matthews describes it as a "perfect mystical guide to London for all visitors to the inner place." Sterling traveller's cheques to John Matthews, 10 pounds includes postage. (Pictures by Chesca Potter). They can be reached at: Caitl’n and John Matthews BCM - Hallowquest London WC1N 3XX ENGLAND Other recent works available from the Matthews' include John's Robin Hood: Green Man of the Wildwood; Caitl’n's The Arthurian Tarot Course, and the joint venture The Faery Tale Reader. The Matthews' also offer a tempting variety of individual classes, training courses, books, and tapes designed for those whose spiritual leanings are toward England. Requests for information should be accompanied by International Reply Coupons, and remember - postage in England is more expensive than it is here! Better Late than Never Dept.: For information on John Matthews' evening seminar, Robin Hood and the Green Man: The Archetypes of the Greenwood, to be held Saturday, November 14, at 8:00 PM at the New York Open Center, 83 Spring St., New York, NY 10012, please phone (212) 219-2527. Mr. Matthews will also be offering Hallowquest: Seeking a Personal Grail on Sunday, November 15, from 10:30 AM-5:30 PM. (Thanks to Julianne for the information!) Hear me and heed me, for you, too, can be Lord or Lady of your very own oak tree! An organization called Crann (I mean, what does that mean?) is bringing the broadleaved trees back into Ireland, and for the very affordable donation of,10 pounds, their Oak Glen project will plant an oak for you in the Glencree Valley. Simply pick up a \o(L,-)10 traveller's check at a bank which handles foreign currency and send it to: Mary Holohan Oak Glen Aughavas, via Cavan, County Leitrim, IRELAND And it doesn't have to stop there! What better gift could there be for someone whose sweater size you never get right, or whose apartment is already jammed full of stuff, or whom you suspect of being out of their tree... They'll send the acknowledgment certificate to whomever you designate; and they're even keeping a grid map of which tree is whose, so you can visit "your" tree next time you happen to be in Ireland! At Ecumenicon this July I picked up a book by Doreen Valiente and Evan Jones entitled Witchcraft: A Tradition Renewed and opened it to a random page. That page was part of an interesting account of the mythic and religious significance of Robin Hood. Between that and the fact that I've enjoyed Valiente's other works, I bought the book. This book was actually written primarily by Jones, with Valiente acting as advisor. Jones is extremely forthright about the fact that he is for the most part describing only his own tradition, not Witchcraft in general, in his detailing of specific rites and roles within the coven. While I appreciated his clarity on the necessity for one's practice to originate in one's own heart, I had problems with his particular ethics. I can personally imagine no use or justification for cursing, and although Jones has only used this technique once in twenty years and is not at all eager to do so again, he nonetheless seems to think that there can be circumstances under which a rite of cursing is appropriate. He does list the rebound effects which befell his covenmates, and wisely does not describe the rite itself. Jones' basic religious philosophy and historical background is both sound and readable, and his explanation of Robin Hood as the archetypic coven leader in a world where nature religion is forbidden is well- reasoned. "To the knowing, singing the ballads of Robin Hood was not just singing songs about an outlaw and his merry men cocking a snook at the establishment. It was an expression of belief in the old ways, a way of passing on a memory of the old ways..." The particular tradition which Jones describes is interesting in its quaint, ceremonial insistence on precise pattern, down to the formal greetings and incantations with their poetic archaisms. He is unusual in his descriptions of the stang, the forked staff representative of the Horned God; and of the use of a human skull in contacting those who have gone before. I would categorize this book as a worthwhile curiosity. I.O.U.: If you request a reprint, and your name is on this list, I already have a SASE from you as of this issue: Amber, Cinda, Kate, Donna, Linda Frankel. (I'm not trying to be formal; we have two Linda F's!) Please remind me that I have your SASE, as my filing system is a far sight better than my memory! Anyone looking for copies of Legend, you may now obtain back issues 1-4 through: Bill Hupe 916 Lamb Rd. Mason, MI 48854-9554 This goes for all future issues as well, including #5, which should be out in time for Visions if fen submit sufficient art to complement the text. SPECIAL REQUEST: Would whoever expressed interest at Weekend in Sherwood in buying Julianne Toomey's cross-stitch picture of Herne please contact her? Due to some severe aberration in the space-time continuum, Julianne fails to recall who it was. *** Who Do You Think You Are, Adam Bell? Abbot Hugo eyed his brother with more than his customary level of mistrust. While he appreciated the opportunity to be seen attending a public execution as the Church's representative, why this particular one? Why February of the leanest year Nottingham could remember, with rumors flying, unrest seething, and Sir Guy of Gisburne off at a tournament? Robert must have some motive other than a desire to see his brother squirm, but what could it be? "Come now, brother, why the long face?" sneered the Sheriff, as though he had read Hugo's thoughts. "I should think that seeing justice served would warm your heart almost as effectively as those costly velvets." "You know as well as I do that I don't enjoy the sight of rebels, on the gallows or on foot," muttered Hugo. "You've hardly chosen an opportune moment for your little spectacle." "Little spectacle? You underestimate me, Hugo. This is no common criminal. We're to witness the final moments of Adam Bell." "Adam Bell? Wasn't he some sort of hero to these Saxons?" "Was, Hugo. You've put your finger on it. He was quite popular in his day," the Sheriff continued, climbing up to the dais and accepting a proffered cup of warm wine. "Until he saw sense, or whatever sort of sense an outlaw can see. Unfortunately," he drawled, relishing this chance to drag the impatient cleric through an excruciatingly long explanation, "sense tends to put an end to heroism. Wine?" Unconvinced, Hugo accepted a cup from a cowering servant as he seated himself next to Robert. "Perhaps, but will they" (this with a crowd- encompassing gesture of his cup) "be aware of his... fall from grace? There are still tales of Adam Bell about, most of them complimentary. You're a fool to trust this rabble, and mad to tempt them with a martyr. We'll be lucky to get out of here alive." "My dear brother, are you advocating mercy? Perhaps all of those prayers have done you some good," said the Sheriff, spitting the word "prayers" as though it were a bad joke. "It's true, the guards at the city gate confiscated a surprising number of sickles and pitchforks this morning. Imagine it. A peasant trying to hide a pitchfork under his rags." He snorted with malefic delight, more at the Abbot's discomfort than at his own imagery. "You know, Hugo, I do believe you've convinced me." He turned to the captain of the guards. "Bring forth the prisoner!" Two soldiers hauled a chained Saxon up the platform stairs to the gallows. He looked like any other criminal, scrawny and filthy from having been forgotten in a dungeon for a week. Perhaps he seemed a bit angrier than the average convicted robber, but certainly no more than that. The Sheriff purposely slouched in his chair and addressed the ragged captive. "Well, Master Bell - you are Master Bell, are you not?" "Aye," snarled Bell. "Adam Bell." He scanned the crowd to gauge their reaction to the name and found it alarmingly minimal. Any illusion he may have had of dying as the people's champion from the tales of his youth melted away, and why not? A hero is a creature from a story, not a human being, and while Adam had once found heroism an acceptable way of life, it had paled considerably as a way of death. Not that it would have been much worse than his impending ignominious end on the gallows, but it was a little late for such considerations now. His tales and his people had abandoned him, however many years after he had abandoned himself, and there was really no reason to be surprised. "Have you anything to say for yourself, Master Bell?" The Sheriff suspected not, and was satisfied with Bell's numb headshake. "As I thought. No sense putting them to sleep, is there?" Robert waved a languorous hand at the guards. "Let him go." The guards looked at their master as if they were no longer sure of their hearing. "Yes, fools, you must be going deaf, unless you're considering disobedience and its consequences. I said let him go!" The soldiers swallowed their incredulity and hurriedly unlocked Bell's shackles, which clanged noisily to the platform amid gasps and murmurs from the spectators. Bell's lower jaw nearly followed suit. The Sheriff offhandedly addressed the surprised crowd: "After discussing this matter with the good Abbot, I've concluded that in appreciation for his past" (this word received the same treatment as "prayers") "...consideration in letting some of his victims live, Adam Bell is to go free. Go home, all of you. Oh, and..." (as though it were an afterthought) "...mind your purses." "Why?" hissed Hugo as the grooms brought his and Robert's horses up to the dais. "You never intended to hang him. Why the charade?" "It's an entertainment. Something pretty to keep them quiet," explained Robert. "Surely something that someone in your line of work can understand." Hugo crossed himself more out of habit than piety at the blasphemy. "Why don't you just burn a village or two? Heaven knows that's worked before." "Because when the whole shire is ready to burst into flames, it's imprudent to fight fire with fire. Fire should be fought with water. It's a matter of image, Hugo. If they want a hero martyred to the cause of justice, give them a disillusioned highway robber to wander free among them and steal from those who can least afford it. And as for Adam Bell himself," here the Sheriff allowed himself a small smile, "if he's so fond of feeling persecuted, why should I give him the satisfaction?" Hugo clambered onto his horse and glared off into the distance. He didn't appreciate his brother's condescension any more than he did his own inability to find fault with the nasty little man's logic. At least there was decent brandy and edible cooking to be had under the Sheriff's roof, and that would have to be his consolation. Adam Bell, meanwhile, was nearly as overwhelmed by his seeming invisibility in the crowd as he was by his need to relieve himself. He received a few curious stares, but not one of the people who still told his tales approached him as they would the legendary Adam Bell. They jostled him as they did each other in their shufflings, unsure of how to interpret the Sheriff's act of mercy or its object. Bell drifted through the crowd like a bewildered ghost, alternately longing for a hero's welcome and mentally flogging himself for ever having expected one. A young cutpurse in the act of stealing an old woman's last few pennies caught Bell's glare, and only glared back as he pocketed the threadbare pouch and prepared to run away. Infuriated, Bell tore off after the boy, picked him up by the back of his jacket, and stopped. Who do you think you are, Adam Bell? he wondered. The woman could starve any day. So could the boy. Or they could both drop of the goddamn fever tomorrow, who cares? He lowered the ragamuffin back to the cobblestones and wandered off, leaving the young thief to wonder only a moment at his bitter expression before a passing soldier's purse caught his eye. *** The Splatterer of Sherwin Puddle seems to have leapt out from between the pages of Herne's Stepchildren and into one of the more secluded recesses of my brain, and gotten me to thinking of riddles. So: Call me Luke or call me John, Cut down I was, I'm dead, not gone. I'm hiding in a golden cup 'Til my detractor lifts me up Amid the music and the smoke. I think it's such a funny joke I laugh until you hear bells ring! So who am I?