And a big welcome to our new family.
You'll probably see more of Horsley Woodhouse, and his brother Mansfield Woodhouse. Due to their parents moving after Horsley was born, the brothers were born either side of the Nottinghamshire-Derbyshire border. They've been fighting ever since. Apparently when they were asked to carry out chores when children, Horsley would stand up for his rights while Mansfield could be lured by the promise of sweets to do what he was told.
Meanwhile, Mr Woodhouse is mostly to be found in the library. He has already decided that the kitchen area is too dangerous, due to the hot fats and sharp utensils. Likewise the grounds are out of bounds to Mr W, as he is afeared he may be pursued by a rogue badger. He tends to stay out of the room he shares with Mrs Woodhouse, as she has a habit of sitting around all day complaining about her fake illnesses and having fits of the vapours. However even in the library Mr Woodhouse doesn't feel that secure. He sits around (on a chair with legs, not an office chair that could easily roll away), looking nervously up at the shelves in case a book falls on him. We may have trouble getting the pair of them to join in acts of worship - he's scared a tea light may set him on fire, while she claims that scented candles bring on her bronchitis.
Showing posts with label Beaker Folk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Beaker Folk. Show all posts
Thursday, 2 December 2010
Friday, 25 December 2009
Matriarchy, Patriarchy and Beaker Culture
Frequent commenter Ukviewer has made some interesting suggestions regarding the authenticity of the presence of a female archdruid here at Husborne Crawley. In particular he cites the attached website, which suggests that the Beaker People were patriarchal.
There are many points I could make in response. One obvious comment being that you shouldn't believe that everything that you read on the Internet is true. That Cranmer, for example. I've got a feeling he's not really a 16th century archbishop at all. Not least because if that Cranmer really was alive and blogging, Rowan wouldn't have a job, would he? The second is that you particularly should never believe articles that do not tell you who their references are. For a website simply to state as a "fact" that the Beaker People were patriarchal, and to do so without referring to published sources, an Archaeological journal or famous archaeologists such as Tony Robinson, simply means it can't be trusted.
The Beaker People had female archdruids, and you can trust me on this. Their task was particularly onerous as we know that the Beaker Males were into drinking and fighting. Therefore the archdruids had a terrible time, trying to drag hungover or unfortunately dismembered male Beaker People to sunrise rituals and wicker man burnings. Which makes me think that nothing changes really.
But what does this use of men for fighting, and metalwork in the case of the so-called "Amesbury Archer", tell us? Tells us that men were disposable, doesn't it? So we know who was actually in charge. While the men were out trying to steal La Tene wear, some of them coming home in a Celtic ambulance, the women were busy lighting neolithic tea lights and planning the next cairn-building ceremony. In any case, I have my own theory. Isotopic analysis on the guy's teeth shows that he was from Central Europe and he had accumulated great wealth through having superior skills than the locals. So I think we was probably a plumber.
We do know that there were other gender differences. For example, females were buried in disc* barrows, while the males were in bell barrows. Naturally. So the men were all "look who's got the biggest barrow" while the women lay gently, at one with their surroundings. As I said, nothing really changes.
In any case, I would point out than an interest in concepts such as "matriarchy" and "patriarchy" shows an obsession with status and that other -archy, hier-archy. This whole social-pyramid attitude to life is so modernist. By contrast, the Beaker Folk from 2,500 BC to the present day have gone in for altogether much flatter structures - more gentle, less structured, more organic ways of being community. Basically, what I say goes and they can all lump it.
*Stonehenge is regarded as a prehistoric computer, so the women who designed it (leaving the men to the heavy job of dragging the stones around) can fairly be called the world's first computer programmers. No doubt in recognition of their achievements they were buried in disk barrows.
There are many points I could make in response. One obvious comment being that you shouldn't believe that everything that you read on the Internet is true. That Cranmer, for example. I've got a feeling he's not really a 16th century archbishop at all. Not least because if that Cranmer really was alive and blogging, Rowan wouldn't have a job, would he? The second is that you particularly should never believe articles that do not tell you who their references are. For a website simply to state as a "fact" that the Beaker People were patriarchal, and to do so without referring to published sources, an Archaeological journal or famous archaeologists such as Tony Robinson, simply means it can't be trusted.
The Beaker People had female archdruids, and you can trust me on this. Their task was particularly onerous as we know that the Beaker Males were into drinking and fighting. Therefore the archdruids had a terrible time, trying to drag hungover or unfortunately dismembered male Beaker People to sunrise rituals and wicker man burnings. Which makes me think that nothing changes really.
But what does this use of men for fighting, and metalwork in the case of the so-called "Amesbury Archer", tell us? Tells us that men were disposable, doesn't it? So we know who was actually in charge. While the men were out trying to steal La Tene wear, some of them coming home in a Celtic ambulance, the women were busy lighting neolithic tea lights and planning the next cairn-building ceremony. In any case, I have my own theory. Isotopic analysis on the guy's teeth shows that he was from Central Europe and he had accumulated great wealth through having superior skills than the locals. So I think we was probably a plumber.
We do know that there were other gender differences. For example, females were buried in disc* barrows, while the males were in bell barrows. Naturally. So the men were all "look who's got the biggest barrow" while the women lay gently, at one with their surroundings. As I said, nothing really changes.
In any case, I would point out than an interest in concepts such as "matriarchy" and "patriarchy" shows an obsession with status and that other -archy, hier-archy. This whole social-pyramid attitude to life is so modernist. By contrast, the Beaker Folk from 2,500 BC to the present day have gone in for altogether much flatter structures - more gentle, less structured, more organic ways of being community. Basically, what I say goes and they can all lump it.
*Stonehenge is regarded as a prehistoric computer, so the women who designed it (leaving the men to the heavy job of dragging the stones around) can fairly be called the world's first computer programmers. No doubt in recognition of their achievements they were buried in disk barrows.
Thursday, 29 October 2009
Human Rights and Waxing Gibbons
Now you couldn't get a group of people more interested than the Husborne Crawley Beaker Folk when it comes to human rights. From dawn to dusk we are watching anxiously to ensure that no-one's rights are infringed by anyone else's, no matter how much the rights concerned may appear to conflict. For example, when Bildad's right to play the banjo at 3am clashed with my right to have a good night sleep, we were able to encourage Wilpo's right to smash banjos to resolve the issue.
But today I had a lawyer turned up on the doorstep. She said that by locking Bloodwort and Ludwick up in the Gulfing Room for nine hours, we were interfering with their rights to be bullying, fascist bores and that she would see us in court.
Naturally, I took the opportunity to show her the Gulfing Room so she could see that nothing untoward happens in there. Nine hours later she came out burbling something about butterflies. She was last seen sitting on the lawn, singing "Orinoco Flow" while looking up at the waxing gibbous moon.
On the subject of gibbous moons, we still haven't heard anything from the breakaway Gibbon Moon People. Apparently their negotiations with the Guinea Pig Folk of Stewartby have broken down on the important question of whether they've actually got to keep the rules they're agreeing to, or whether it's all just pretend like being in the Church of England. I get the feeling they're in for a shock.
Tuesday, 21 July 2009
New Moon / 40th anniversary of the first Moon Walk
To commemorate the appalling actions of the so-called "Neil" Armstrong and his co-conspirator against all that is sacred, Buzz Aldrin, we mark this New Moon as a day of repentance and despair.
The Gibbon Moon Folk are of course already in this condition, as they are every New Moon. On this occasion we have chosen to join them.
You have the choice of a number of worship stations, hopefully a safe distance apart in the Ceremonial Paddock:
"New Moon Moonwalk" - in this area you can recreate the first moon walk, in a manner suitable to a new moon, by bouncing around on space hoppers while wearing bags on your head.
"One small step" - recreate that historic and shameful day by climbing down a rickety ladder out of the Big Oak, in a manner suitable to a new moon, by wearing a bag on your head.
"Lunar Taize" - join in the interminable singing of "O Lord Hear Our Prayer", accompanied by an out-of-tune banjo and a bodhran player with no rhythm, in a manner suitable to a new moon, by wearing a bag on your head.
"Astronaut Shredder" - express your disgust at the moon landings by pushing pictures of the so-called "Eagle" into a shredder. With a bag on your head.
"Moon Rock" - consider the beauty of the moon, in its absence as it's New Moon, by looking at small round pebbles of chalk, in a manner suitable to a new moon, with a bag on your head.
"The Game of Trust" - negotiate your way around the trees in the orchard, by obeying the commands of your partner in the game, to learn how we must all trust one another. NB - no bag on your head for this one, we don't want anyone getting hurt.
For reasons of environmental friendliness and to avoid suffocation, do not use supermarket carrier bags or any other plastic bags. We don't want a repeat of what happened to Drayton last year. Well maybe some of us might, but without the resuscitation this time. Instead we will be using authentic Druidic Earth Love Jute Bags, available for only £10 each at the Beaker Boutique. We'll ceremonially throw them on the fire at the end of the night's activities, thus guaranteeing what Burton so amusingly refers to as an ongoing income stream
Tuesday, 30 June 2009
Unwedding Ceremony
Or: the order for the blessing of the relationship of a couple whose marriage cannot yet be blessed on account of the divorce has been unfortunately delayed.
Archdruid: We come together together today to join together.... er, to accept as a fait accompli the fact that this man and this woman (or as it may be this man and this man, etc) have joined themselves together, before the legal ceremony of joining them together, on account of one of them is still legally joined to somebody else so we can't. Or something.
Living out of wedlock is an estate that we'll just have to accept on this occasion. We don't like it, but let's face it, it's an imperfect world.
Second marriages are an estate ordained of the Government and tolerated by the Church, for the giving of second chances and providing an environment in which several people's children may be nurtured. And frankly we'll all be feeling a lot more comfortable when we get them as far as the second marriage.
M and N are about to continue in their state of unwed cohabitation. They have already given consent to one another, and in token of this we'll just move on swiftly.
Archdruid: Now does anyone have any reason why this man and this woman should not be joining themselves together in holy out-of-wedlock?
Traditionalist: (from the back): How about because it's still adultery?
Archdruid: Oooh. Hadn't thought of that. I don't think we are in any place to pass judgement. Who among us could throw the first stone?
Traditionalist: Hang on - I'll nip off and get one...
Archdruid: Who giveth this woman?
P (First Husband): I will, just as soon as the decree absolute comes through. It'll be my pleasure.
Archdruid: N, do you take M to be your unlawfully appointed other half, to complain he's still down the boozer, point out that the eldest kid that causes all the trouble is his, and complain that R, his former wife, still has way too much control over him and gets too much money for the youngest one?
N: I do.
Archdruid: M, will you take N to be your equally unofficial "partner", do your best to drink the money that P sends her for their kids, and do your best to avoid being finally roped into official marriage, as long as ye both shall live?
M: I will.
Archdruid: Q, despite being the child of neither M nor N, yet you unaccountably live in their house. How do you explain it?
Q: Dunno. Did I get left over somewhere?
Archdruid: OK. I now pronounce you... man and somebody else's wife.
You may kiss... well, whoever...
Outbreak of the traditional punch-up.
Sunday, 25 May 2008
Down the Doily Mines
It is wonderful how, as we become more familiar with the People Called Beaker, we are continually enlightened as to the wonders of this Rule of Life. I was yesterday initiated into one of the Beaker mysteries.
As is fairly well known, our Beaker outlets (such as the World of Woad, Woburn, the London Luton Airport Beakorium, Madame Eileen's waxworks in the Marylebone Road and the newly-opened EuroBeaker in Paris) do a roaring trade in authentic Beaker doilies. Doilies are a quintessentially Beaker object, their roundness and whiteness an echo of the beauty of the full moon.
Yesterday morning, with a solemn and reverent air, Hnaef drew we three novitiates to one side, and explained that we had so far enjoyed the Beaker environment in a state of leisure. Now we had to learn the other side of the Beaker Coin (of which, of course, no such thing existed - the original Beaker Folk living in a state of Edenic, pre-currency bliss, each meeting the others' needs, and never having their Advance Corporation Tax stolen).
Hnaef then led us to the Pressing Shed. Never before had we been allowed over the red-and-white tape that separates the Pressing Shed from the Orchard - even though we had oftentimes seen the more experienced Beakers heading down the path towards it after the Pouring-out of Beakers ceremony, and heard the groans of spiritual enlightenment and whacks of endeavour from within. Inside the Pressing Shed, we were shown a large stack of square blank sheets of genuine wholemeal doily paper; a doily press; and the doily-whacking machine. And for the rest of the day we three new Beaker Folk enjoyed the spiritual enliftment that can only be attained through brain-numbing manual work.
First Orville would select the next stack of doily blanks. She would arrange them on the press-plate. Then Gruntrothrix would slam down the doily-press, cutting through the paper as easily as a knife through formica. He would then pass them to me, and I would bang the holes out of the doilies - whacking handfuls of them against the whacking-bar, while the vacuum device sucked the resulting lint out into the recycling bag. To be honest after a while your wrist starts to hurt, but Young Keith came round every hour with flagons of traditional Beaker Cider to dull the pain and increase the spiritual intensity.
A truly wonderful experience of traditional Beaker Life. Unfortunately I have been coughing up lint all night - but Hnaef assures me that after a month or two my lungs will be used to it.
As is fairly well known, our Beaker outlets (such as the World of Woad, Woburn, the London Luton Airport Beakorium, Madame Eileen's waxworks in the Marylebone Road and the newly-opened EuroBeaker in Paris) do a roaring trade in authentic Beaker doilies. Doilies are a quintessentially Beaker object, their roundness and whiteness an echo of the beauty of the full moon.
Yesterday morning, with a solemn and reverent air, Hnaef drew we three novitiates to one side, and explained that we had so far enjoyed the Beaker environment in a state of leisure. Now we had to learn the other side of the Beaker Coin (of which, of course, no such thing existed - the original Beaker Folk living in a state of Edenic, pre-currency bliss, each meeting the others' needs, and never having their Advance Corporation Tax stolen).
Hnaef then led us to the Pressing Shed. Never before had we been allowed over the red-and-white tape that separates the Pressing Shed from the Orchard - even though we had oftentimes seen the more experienced Beakers heading down the path towards it after the Pouring-out of Beakers ceremony, and heard the groans of spiritual enlightenment and whacks of endeavour from within. Inside the Pressing Shed, we were shown a large stack of square blank sheets of genuine wholemeal doily paper; a doily press; and the doily-whacking machine. And for the rest of the day we three new Beaker Folk enjoyed the spiritual enliftment that can only be attained through brain-numbing manual work.
First Orville would select the next stack of doily blanks. She would arrange them on the press-plate. Then Gruntrothrix would slam down the doily-press, cutting through the paper as easily as a knife through formica. He would then pass them to me, and I would bang the holes out of the doilies - whacking handfuls of them against the whacking-bar, while the vacuum device sucked the resulting lint out into the recycling bag. To be honest after a while your wrist starts to hurt, but Young Keith came round every hour with flagons of traditional Beaker Cider to dull the pain and increase the spiritual intensity.
A truly wonderful experience of traditional Beaker Life. Unfortunately I have been coughing up lint all night - but Hnaef assures me that after a month or two my lungs will be used to it.
Tuesday, 20 May 2008
Hi-viz
I never knew there would be so much involved in my novitiate period with the Beaker People of Husborne Crawley. The assignment was a real shock. 3000 words on "the liturgical use of hi-viz clothing". Strictly speaking it was a theological reflection. And this was under examination conditions.
Different conditions to the exams I did when a young Burton, as well. Every couple of minutes the Archdruid would strike my desk with an ashen club and shout "concentrate"!! No wonder the long-term Beaker Folk seem to spend so much time going over the wall.
Different conditions to the exams I did when a young Burton, as well. Every couple of minutes the Archdruid would strike my desk with an ashen club and shout "concentrate"!! No wonder the long-term Beaker Folk seem to spend so much time going over the wall.
Sunday, 18 May 2008
Burton's first Moot
Dear Readers, how could one describe one's joy at one's first Moot? This first evening of the full moon (which one of the Extreeme Primitive Fertility Folk described as the "Tupping Moon", whatever that may mean) I was invited to the Moot, or - as the Beaker People say - "drawn Moot" to receive my Beaker Name. Along with Arthur and Maud Beesley, I went and stood before Archdruid Eileen - resplendent in her fake vegetarian roe deer horns - to be named. Arthur was very keen on being called Cymbeline, but Eileen thought this a bit Shakespearian, and called him Gruntothrix. Likewise Maud wanted to be called Boadicea. However the Archdruid pointed out that this was a nasty Roman transliteration and, history being written by the victors, gave her the name "Orville". I'm not sure if this was a traditional Beaker name, but she put up with it.
For myself, Eileen seemed quite taken with my given name anyway - "it sounds like a small village with a very large bypass in Oxfordshire", she remarked - and so I retain the name of Burton. It's distinctly Angle, rather than Beaker, but - do you know what - I think I may grow to like it.
For myself, Eileen seemed quite taken with my given name anyway - "it sounds like a small village with a very large bypass in Oxfordshire", she remarked - and so I retain the name of Burton. It's distinctly Angle, rather than Beaker, but - do you know what - I think I may grow to like it.
Tuesday, 13 May 2008
A Beaker Initiation
A strange and wonderful occasion, my initiation as a Beaker Person.
I and the other new Folk were dragged from our beds in the bed at 2am by members of the Community. From the smell of ale and home-made cider, I can only assume they had been frequenting the White Horse prior to having a drop after-hours in the community Bar - perhaps the consumption of such libations is part of the preparations for this great event.
Before the event, I was made to change into the traditional Beaker clothing. Frankly I'm not sure how authentic the Cameron tartan is for a pre-Celtic tradition, but maybe that's where the Camerons inherited the design from...
Blind-folded, we three new initiates were led out of the orchard and across a field to the sound of tabors, pipes and - strangely - a saxophone. We were made to kneel while the chanting proceeded around us. Initially it was simply a repeated "Om", although someone - I suspect it may have been young Keith - varied this at one point to "Burn the Witch!". That they subsequently segued into "Summer is i cumen in" would make anyone who has seen The Wicker Man rather nervous. However the ceremony was pronounced to be complete, save for a ceremonial cleansing ceremony. I can't help thinking this was rather clumsily carried out, as we ended up face-down in the mud at the bottom of the brook. We waited for a while in the brook but, since nothing else happened, we presumed our initiation to be complete. Taking our blindfolds off we walked back to the Great House to discover that it was locked and dark.
Cold and wet, we realised we had to find somewhere to stay the night, so we were relieved to find the potting shed. However we were much less cheerful when we discovered that the Hermit of Suspicion and Hermit of Imprecation were both already in residence. One spent the rest of the night watching us very closely, while the other swore under his breath and occasionally threw pots at us.
The funny thing is, when I mentioned the Initiation this morning to Archdruid Eileen, she pretended not to know what I was talking about. Perhaps the secrecy is part of the rite?
I and the other new Folk were dragged from our beds in the bed at 2am by members of the Community. From the smell of ale and home-made cider, I can only assume they had been frequenting the White Horse prior to having a drop after-hours in the community Bar - perhaps the consumption of such libations is part of the preparations for this great event.
Before the event, I was made to change into the traditional Beaker clothing. Frankly I'm not sure how authentic the Cameron tartan is for a pre-Celtic tradition, but maybe that's where the Camerons inherited the design from...
Blind-folded, we three new initiates were led out of the orchard and across a field to the sound of tabors, pipes and - strangely - a saxophone. We were made to kneel while the chanting proceeded around us. Initially it was simply a repeated "Om", although someone - I suspect it may have been young Keith - varied this at one point to "Burn the Witch!". That they subsequently segued into "Summer is i cumen in" would make anyone who has seen The Wicker Man rather nervous. However the ceremony was pronounced to be complete, save for a ceremonial cleansing ceremony. I can't help thinking this was rather clumsily carried out, as we ended up face-down in the mud at the bottom of the brook. We waited for a while in the brook but, since nothing else happened, we presumed our initiation to be complete. Taking our blindfolds off we walked back to the Great House to discover that it was locked and dark.
Cold and wet, we realised we had to find somewhere to stay the night, so we were relieved to find the potting shed. However we were much less cheerful when we discovered that the Hermit of Suspicion and Hermit of Imprecation were both already in residence. One spent the rest of the night watching us very closely, while the other swore under his breath and occasionally threw pots at us.
The funny thing is, when I mentioned the Initiation this morning to Archdruid Eileen, she pretended not to know what I was talking about. Perhaps the secrecy is part of the rite?
Monday, 12 May 2008
Burton joins the Folk
Dear Reader, perhaps I should explain my presence here. I am aware that I have occasionally graced the chronicles of the Beaker Folk over the last couple of years, acting as I did in the role of Independent Examiner of the Accounts. However over a bottle of mead at the Husborne Beltane Ball, the Archdruid persuaded me that I should join the community as a resident.
In many ways this has already meant great sacrifices. The Archdruid's insistence that I should surrender my credit card as part of the joining ceremony means that I can no longer pursue a materialist and self-centered life, having to be content with the simpler things.
It was strange filling in the entry form for membership of the Folk. Some of the details they ask for are quite strange. I don't see why they are particularly interested in my mother's maiden name, for example - although I am sure my date of birth must have some relevance.
However for the time being I am enjoying the peace and quiet - broken only by the sounds of the emergency services racing down the M1 from time to time, and the beeping of the industrial machinery over at the Marston Gate estate.
The Archdruid herself seems to enjoy a particularly spartan life, as an example to us all. However I was surprised to see the delivery of the complete works of Genesis (the group, that is) that arrived from Amazon this morning. Not to mention the frequent deliveries of fine wine that constantly seem to arrive from Tesco's in Kingston. I am sure they are for the good of the community. Perhaps she is planning for us to enjoy them during the three-week holiday she has unexpectedly booked on a private island in the Caribbean?
In many ways this has already meant great sacrifices. The Archdruid's insistence that I should surrender my credit card as part of the joining ceremony means that I can no longer pursue a materialist and self-centered life, having to be content with the simpler things.
It was strange filling in the entry form for membership of the Folk. Some of the details they ask for are quite strange. I don't see why they are particularly interested in my mother's maiden name, for example - although I am sure my date of birth must have some relevance.
However for the time being I am enjoying the peace and quiet - broken only by the sounds of the emergency services racing down the M1 from time to time, and the beeping of the industrial machinery over at the Marston Gate estate.
The Archdruid herself seems to enjoy a particularly spartan life, as an example to us all. However I was surprised to see the delivery of the complete works of Genesis (the group, that is) that arrived from Amazon this morning. Not to mention the frequent deliveries of fine wine that constantly seem to arrive from Tesco's in Kingston. I am sure they are for the good of the community. Perhaps she is planning for us to enjoy them during the three-week holiday she has unexpectedly booked on a private island in the Caribbean?
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