The Edinburgh trip

The Edinburgh trip

by | Witches of Dysart Parish

       There is always a good attendance at the April coven meeting at Dysart. This was the meeting where the group made their decision on their annual summer holiday destination and the choice this year was between Killarney ( a coven favourite) and Edinburgh (proposed by Miss Myrtle). Miss Agatha was in the chair as usual and she brought up the matter of summer holidays thus: “Ladies, we have narrowed down the choice of holiday venues to either Killarney or Edinburgh, what is the feeling among the group on the matter. My own vote would be Kerry, we haven’t had a bad holiday there yet, but we are a democratic coven and this year Edinburgh has been proposed, would you like to say a word regarding that suggestion, Myrtle?”

    “Thank you, Chairwoman, yes, I’m proposing Edinburgh, home of the  Scottish Enlightenment, as we haven’t been outside the island on holiday since before Covid, and none of us are getting any younger, I believe its time we began travelling again.”

     “The main figures of the Scottish Enlightenment must be turning in their graves at the consequences of Scotland’s new Hate Crime Law, between Hate Crimes, and Non Hate Crime Incidents (NHCI)  being recorded by the police, is it safe to go there, could one of us have a NHCI recorded against her and not even know it until she went looking for Garda clearance to referee the under 12’s camogie matches?” Asked Miss Agatha.

     “Surely not,” said Myrtle, “the Scots have a long history of enlightened governance behind them, what’s there to be afraid of?”

      “What’s there to be afraid of? Have you read the history of the witch trials in early modern Scotland? Scary stuff, I can tell you! I was hoping that if they were to implement a Hate Crime Law that the least they could do was make sure that witches were among the minority groups protected under such legislation, but no, it doesn’t even protect women, let alone witches. Its all about race and gender and lifestyle as far as I can see.”

      Myrtle could see she was losing the room on this one and so decided on a more accommodating stance. “ Hmm, I can see your point Agatha, how about we go incognito. These pointy hats do make us stand out a little, how about we abandon them in favour of more conventional headgear for the holiday?”

     “Maybe that would be a wise precaution, we could go disguised as a local Women’s Shed members.”

     “And how are they represented?”

     “Oh,you know, they are very crafty types, hats with ribbons and flowers, statement scarves, colourful bags, that kind of thing.”

     “Ah, much like ourselves so, we just need to change our hats, we can manage that alright.”

 Although Miss Agatha was somewhat reassured by the plan to visit Edinburgh, (home of the Scottish Enlightenment-as described by JK Rowling), not all members agreed to go there and it was eventually decided that they would divide into two parties with six of them going to Edinburgh and the others taking up the Roundstone , Connemara’s coven’s invitation that they pay them a visit.

     The ladies decided on continuing their low profile policy and took a Ryanair flight to Edinburgh rather than their usual broom flights and arrived well rested and relaxed, ready for any adventure, which was just as well as they had barely parked their bags in their AirB&B when they heard someone at their front door. The doorbell didn’t ring, and there was no one there when they opened the door  but there as a note was dropped into their letterbox, addressed to Miss Myrtle. 

      “Good heavens, who knew we were coming? I told no one other than our coven,” said Myrtle with a blush. Of course no one believed her.

      “Who is it from anyway, Myrtle?”

      “It’s from Miss Isla, chair of the Edinburgh coven, we are old friends from our college days.”

       “And what does she have to say for herself?”

       “She is looking for help to save the SNP.”

       “The what?”

       “The Scottish Nationalist Party, they have been in trouble since Nicola Sturgeon resigned, and the dream of Scottish Independence is fading by the day, she wonder if we could meet up and formulate a plan to revive their fortunes.”

       “Myrtle, we are on our holidays, I hoped for a culturally enriching but otherwise relaxing break so we could recharge the batteries  before we face into the chaos of election fever at home, not get involved in other coven’s political affairs. Besides what on earth could we contribute to the mess that party has managed to get themselves into.”

       “Well actually she has an intriguing suggestion which just might help with the situation at home.”

       “Oh?”

       “It’s this business of asylum seekers going to Ireland through Northern Ireland, do let us meet up and hear what she has to say.”

       “ oh alright, when and where?”

       “Palace of Holyrood House, eleven o’ clock tomorrow morning.”

Poor Agatha didn’t sleep a wink that night, wishing she had gone to Roundstone with the other half of the coven, and next day saw yet another May morning without a sunrise, just another grey, cold morning of tepid light and drizzle. But Agatha led her colleagues to Holyrood House via Bus link, advising them all in a loud voice to take good notes and pictures of all to be seen there for their Women’s Shed meeting the following month.

       When they alighted at the Palace, they were met by Isla who welcomed them on behalf of the Edinburgh Coven and explained that their help was needed to save the SNP in order to conserve the gender ideology that had been so bravely and fiercely fought for over the previous few years, all would be lost if the conservatives won seats.

      Myrtle soaked all this up with shining eyes fixed on the face of the six foot four, bearded Isla in who wore high heels and raspberry coloured lipstick. Agatha was appalled. She didn’t know where to look, and had no idea that the Edinburgh coven had succumbed to the trans ideology.

    “Goodness, is that my phone,” she squeaked, and practically buried her head in her bag as she rummaged in it. She fished it out and pretended to answer a non-existent call.

     “Good heavens, Beatrice, you’re not serious, you mean, Mildred is in…? We need to get home straight away? Well, of course, naturally we’ll … what’s that? She might not..?    

      “Ladies, change of plan, we’re needed at home,  so sorry to leave you like this Isla, but our first duty is to our coven sister, I’m sure you understand,” and with that she marched across the road to the bus stop to make the return trip to the airB&B.

     Myrtle fluttered in her wake, “Please, Agatha, surely we can give Isla a couple of days help, I’m sure Mildred would understand.”

     But Agatha got on that bus followed by all the ladies bar Myrtle.

     “Myrtle, I’m going home now, what you do is entirely your own business,” said Agatha as she took her seat behind the driver and flushed as everyone stared at her as Isla shouted from across the road in a fine rich baritone, “You transphobic old bigot.”

  Myrtle hesitated but stepped off the bus and recrossed the road to join Isla, Agatha looked after her, more in sorrow than in anger and muttered to herself. “Two hundred years of  ‘a no witch let behind’ tradition gone. How sad.” And with that the bus pulled away from the pavement.Edinburgh trip

Greetings from the Whitehall Coven

by | Witches of Dysart Parish

Greetings from the Whitehall Coven

             When the Witches of Whitehall found that their champion Boris had lied repeatedly to Parliament  they were in a bit of a quandary. Lying to Parliament was such a no-no among the more old-fashioned among them that they felt they had no option but to ask him to resign. They did so with a heavy heart as they were very fond of the old rascal. And they spent the summer organising a contest to find a replacement for him. The media so busy following the antics of the contestants that nobody seemed concerned about the signs that their economy was in a bit of trouble and the media were far too polite to do a reality check of the contestants policies. And they just loved the feisty attitude of the eventual winner Liz Truss, with her can-do approach of low taxes and growth, growth and more growth in the face of rising National debt.  

               Needless to say the witches of Dysart Parish watched the events in Whitehall unfold in fear and trepidation. They knew from experience that when the Whitehall witches stirred their cauldron too vigorously, witches here were frequently doused with their contents. And this didn’t seem like a very palatable potion. Sure enough The Markets took a very dim view of Liz Truss’s potion as well.

               Miss Beatrice call an Extraordinary General Meeting to see had anyone any idea as to what they could do to calm the Markets. The last time any of them took any interest in the Markets was in 2008-2010. And how did that work out? The EU insisted that the IMF take charge and the country followed their prescription- tax hikes and service cuts – a miserable few years followed before things improved. But Britain seems to be on a different trajectory. They have just put a woman in charge who spearheaded the Bill to break the international agreement with the EU-The Northern Ireland Protocol- giving the EU the two fingers as it were. She certainly has form in believing that actions don’t have consequences. “How could supposedly intelligent people have given her the reins of government?” Wondered Earnestina. After much discussion the Coven could only come up with one proposal and sent Liz this message – RECRUIT JEREMY HUNT- and she did, she sacked her Chancellor Kwasi Kwarteng and appointed Jeremy. “Thank Goodness we don’t live in Tudor times when ex-Chancellors were beheaded” thought Beatrice. But will this be enough to calm the Markets?

Working from home

by | Witches of Dysart Parish

                    Sylvia set out with a light heart to deliver her parcel to the local Co. Co. Council building. It was a fresh May morning and the sun shone. The word from Nphet, the agency charged with advising the Government on the pandemic was as optimistic as she had heard all year, which was why Sylvia had donned her best cloak, and wearing a smile behind her mask decided to deliver that message she had put off for the past months. She wasn’t the only one with that idea. There were several people standing outside the door of the darkened, deserted looking building and when eventually a man came to answer their persistent bell ringing, she was startled by the look of fear in the poor man’s eyes.

              So disturbed was Sylvia by this that she detoured on her way home to visit her old friend, Beatrice of Ratheniska to discuss the matter. She hardly had her cloak off and her feet under the kitchen table, still set with the breakfast things, than she began; “The building was completely locked down, Beatrice, nobody could gain access, there is something very strange going on there.”

 

        Beatrice poured them both a cup of tea before she replied “There is probably nothing ‘going on’ as you say, Sylvia, after all Covid is still out there and people are just working from home. They were advised to do so by the Government.  This applies to County Council workers too.”

    “But it doesn’t explain the fear, Beatrice.”

    “Are you sure that’s what you saw, though,” Beatrice answered.

    “How else could you describe it? The locked doors, the lights out, the empty foyer, the notices on the door, advising the public to ring for an appointment, and then nobody answering the phone, just an automated message,  reminding people about the ‘unprecedented times’ and ‘Covid restriction’. This has been going on for sixteen months now while everywhere else people are agitating to open up! It’s like they are everyone in that building are determined to never again deal with the public!”

      “ describe the scene to me again” Beatrice said, as she munched into a fresh slice of toast and marmalade.

          “When I went to deliver that parcel to Mary. The doors were locked. The lights were out. The post box provided was too small for the parcel. I prowled around for a while, and then I spotted the Security man in the building. I knocked on the glass and waved, and eventually got his attention. He put on his mask, and slowly reluctantly approached the door, unlocked it and opened it just a sliver. Keeping his foot on the door and his hand on the latch he enquired as to my business. The way he reached out to take my parcel with one gloved hand, while still keeping one hand on the latch, as though terrified I might try and rush the building, was a sight to behold. I tell you Beatrice, it was weird.”

     “I don’t see that it’s any of our business, Sylvia, people have been told to work from home and that building is mainly empty, maybe the poor Security man has reason to be afraid that people looking for services WILL rush the building,” said Beatrice.

      Sylvia stood up and she looked her most imposing, she seemed to grow two inches and you could sense the warm glow of outrage from her as she almost shouted “our public servants cowering out of sight and being too timorous to meet their clients?  Is it for this our ancestors fought and died? Of course something must be done about it!” and with that she had Beatrice’s attention.

     “Hm, we could try providing them with something they love more than they fear their clients, I suppose” said Beatrice and with that her glance fell on the Aloe Vera plant in the corner, and she smiled, “Well, of course, succulents! Who doesn’t love baby succulent! Let’s pot these up, in the most attractive basket we can find, infuse them with our love spells and send them in to do their magic! Who could resist caring for these ? Assuming they don’t die before the employees get to see them, that is!”

”We can always send them massages that a surprise awaits them in their offices, that needs their immediate attention, I suppose,” said Sylvia , looking a little doubtful.

And so they started their incantation:

 

 

    

 

 

 

“First the Aloe Vera for an Emma or a Stella or a Jenna.

Its tall majestic spikes

 Hold soothing gel to quell the fear of drama.

Some Euphorbia, known to soothe the spirits,

 When budgets don’t allow expected benefits,

And voices rise in disharmonious fury,

 

 

 

And the headaches this induce

Leaves a worker limp and nervy

And only Paracetamol can cause the pain to ease.

Next, some Sempervium which withstands the cold of winter

And can prevent the chill of sarcasm from leaving workers bitter.

They added Haworthia which has so many variants 

That it helps us see others not as pollutants and vagrants

But as people with talents that might help our community 

Grow Harmony and Prosperity.”

 And with that, the ladies They potted them all in fresh soil and grit

And Sylvia took charge of delivery forthwith

 And made a spell so powerful

That workers might cleave

 To the succulent that gives them the courage they crave

To make the trip daily to the building as needed

So their clients will know that their problems are heeded

Candles were lit and spells were recited 

And the parcel was DPD-ed.

 

              Sylvia awaits the results.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tickets for Mass

by | Witches of Dysart Parish

The Witches of Dysart Parish were established in the 18th century and had the same ethos as the United Irishmen. Catholics, Protestants and Dissenters were all equally welcome. However discussion regarding religion was strictly off limits at Coven meetings, that is until the fateful year of the COVID Pandemic. Miss Denise, just back from Brussels, where her culinary skills had brought about a reprieve for the tottering Brexit negotiations, was greeted with the news that she couldn’t go to Christmas Mass in Ratheniska, as she had done for the past seventy decades as she had no ticket. “What do you mean , a ticket? for Mass? What ever happened to ‘Oh, Come all ye Faithful’?”
Miss Justine, a regular at the same Church, explained that due to COVID restrictions only a small number of people could attend Mass at Christmas and the Monsignor had arranged ticket distribution through Eventbrite. She failed to get one herself as the tickets were all gone by the time she figured out how to use the Parish Website. Like Miss Denise, she had been reared on the myth of priests who risked their lives to say Mass for the faithful. Priests who said Mass on rocks, in woods and in fields were the stuff on legends when she was a child. To think that Mass was now an exclusive ticketed event, like a rock concert was a blow.
Miss Julianne was of the Protestant persuasion. She was also disgusted that the Catholics had turned their services into ticketed events. The Protestant services were always fairly exclusive . No huddled masses crowded into the aisles for them. But those Catholic were always trying to copy them. First they came for their hymns–“Abide with me” was sung at nearly all Catholic funerals nowadays and now stealing their mantle of exclusivity- really it was taking this ecumenical nonsense much too far!
Miss Norah, the Dissenter, was delighted with this turn of events. She didn’t have to explain her non attendance at church to anyone, and this year no one noticed.
 
She could just have that extra hour in bed. Lovely.
Corrine

Miss Julia and the NMH

by | Witches of Dysart Parish

Miss Julia almost always wore high collared capes and coats to protect her neck. When she left her little cottage at the foot of the Dysart Hills to do business she felt exposed if she hadn’t her neck covered. She believed people out there looked for any weakness she might display and would go for the jugular if they could find a chink in her armour. “Let’s not make it easy for the bitches“ was her motto. I wondered what made her so distrustful and what might help her see things in a more optimistic light, and what was that book she was reading? tbc
 
i caught up with Miss Julia in our local cafe, where she sat near the window sipping her flat white and reading that book. My curiosity got the better of me so I carefully carried my own coffee over to her table and asked if I could join her. With a wave of her hand she invited me to sit on the chair opposite. She closed her book with a snap and I could see what she was reading. It was a well worn edition of my own old favourite:
old book with text how to keep doing the same old mistakes and expect a different result
“What can I do for you ?” she asked. “Actually I was hoping you would clear up the mystery of the high double collared coats you wore,” I answered “ but I see you are reading my favourite book, has it anything to do with the transfer of the N.M.H. to Elm park, by any chance?”
She threw back her head and laughed. “I’m just sending my old copy of the book to Michael, just a gentle reminder that just as “getting Brexit done” didn’t work out so well for his old friend Boris, “getting the N.M.H. transfer done” mightn’t work out so well for him either.” ”What do you mean?” “Well if a convent of nuns are difficult to deal with, how does he think a country full of women who believe they have been betrayed will react. No amount of mansplaining to Mary Lou will fix it.” And with that she put the book in an envelope and addressed it to Michael at Leinster House and got up to leave. As Miss Julia walked away I noticed the characteristic waddling gait of someone who had a symphysiotomy performed on them. Legacy of the National Maternity Hospital. I didn’t know Miss Julia had any children, but that’s a different story.

Miss Mildred and Housing

by | Witches of Dysart Parish

Miss Mildred was horrified to learn that housing estates for first time buyer were sold to vulture funds. She knew her dear friend Taoiseach Micheal had to do something urgently before there were boots on the street. Anxious to help, she lost no time in rushing out to her garden and harvesting some sage to make him a potion.
And indeed it seems to be having some effect. There was no talk today of commissioning a report or setting up a working group. No, it’s all action, full steam ahead. Manderins in the various Departments where Micheal was Minister in the past are amazed at the transformation. Their various offices are lined with reports Micheal commissioned in his days as Minister. They are shocked to the core that he has omitted this step. They thought report commissioning was an integral part of his DNA.
So impressed are they at the transformation that they are considering contacting the Ratheniska Coven and asking them to reverse a spell that was put on the Department of Finance back in Michael Noonan day, which gave Investment funds such rich pickings on investment in housing, while at the same time putting in place a Ministry of Housing which acted as fall guy and distract from what was happening.
Amazing it took us all so long to figure it out, but then, we didn’t do BESS in Trinity.
Miss Mildred