I later pilgrimaged to Pendle Hill to commemorate the 400th Anniversary of the executions!

“But most of all I am a prisoner of this hill
That shoves its wanton belly in the sky
And stands alone unchanged by wind and ice
Defiant as those pagan monuments
Where wild men used to dance
And make their human sacrifice.
Pendle is in my blood
And the blood of all my brood,
She is the mother of all sorcery
The shadow where our spells are hatched
And mischief brewed within the cauldron of her mists
She is our inspiration”

Phil Smith, in his poem “Demdike”

From a recent visit to Robert Graves´ grave, with my copy of TWG in the foreground.