Clay, Becky and Sheilagh's drum and didgeridoo session at the Procession's start (photo: Alison Chakir)

The approaching Water Goddess... (photo: Alison Chakir)

Processing in the park (photo: Alison Chakir)

What a busy and amazing month June has been! We have been involved in many exciting projects and events, such as the Holy Wells Procession at the Peace Festival, various summer solstice celebrations, and in the midst of all this, Mosaic magazine - a new spiritual magazine for the Warwickshire area - has emerged. All of this has been wonderful and vibrant - and very community-minded.

Our Holy Wells Procession on Sunday 17th June went really well. Despite gloomy prophecies by some, we had perfect sunny and hot weather. The event featured contributions from various local artists, poets, storytellers and musicians, as well as the appearance of a mysterious Water Goddess on the River Leam. Focal point of the procession was a lengthy ‘River of Wool’, made from many individual blue squares, knitted by people all across Warwickshire as part of the ‘Knit a River for Water Aid’ initiative. The procession began at the Pump Rooms Well with a drumming and didgeridoo session by various musicians, and an introductory speech by organiser Tiziana Stupia. The blue ‘River of Wool’ was unrolled and carried by everyone involved in the procession through Jephson Gardens and the town for the following two hours.
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Performers included American poet Clay Lowe, who enchanted attendees with poetry about water at the Polish fountain, and Leamington’s samba band The Sambassadors of Groove, who drummed out powerful rhythms and a dance in honour of the Water Goddess. By the river, storyteller and Druid Daru McAleece narrated the myth of the mysterious Leamington Spa Water Goddess for the first time, and the Songlines choir captivated everyone with their evocative songs about rivers and water. On Mill Bridge, many were surprised and delighted to catch a glimpse of a veiled Water Goddess, floating down the river in a boat with an elfin consort. The Goddess was showered with offerings of flower petals and in turn waved benevolently at the crowd, before disappearing again into the waters. Further contributions of storytelling and poetry followed courtesy of Methodist minister Pauline Warner at the well monument outside All Saint’s Church, and Sheilagh Holmes outside Robbin’s Well. The procession concluded with a closing blessing, flower offerings, and a joint song at the Pump Rooms Well.
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There is an article in this week's Courier about the Procession - it was a fabulous and magical event. Thanks again to everyone who helped to make it such a success. Some people 'blamed' us for the recent floods in Leamington, saying all this invoking of the Water Goddess is obviously having an effect.... hmm! :-) She has indeed been very abundant this year!

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A few days later, some of us ventured out to Southam Holy Well for a Summer Solstice celebration. After leaving some offerings of flowers and herbs at the well, we shared poetry, stories, songs, meditation, and a small water ceremony, followed by a shared picnic. The weather was mainly lovely and sunny, apart from the briefest of showers, and the countryside around Southam is enchanting. It's really worth visiting, and there is an actual Holy Wells walk you can follow, which takes about an hour and leads past some old, overgrown and very romantic ruins, as well as through meadows and woodlands.

On the evening of the Summer Solstice, we had our social WSN gathering upstairs at Cafe Rouge. The event was well attended and was longer than usual, as everybody relaxed and had a fab time catching up. Dave Graham is putting together a Past Life Regression workshop in the near future and was sourcing interest for this event, so if you are interested, you can contact him on davegrahamish@yahoo.co.uk or see his website on http://www.allareonetherapies.co.uk/

Two days later, on 23rd June, I (Tiziana), had the honour of appearing as the warrior Queen Boudica as part of a rather bizarre line-up in Atherstone, which included also John the Baptist and Lady Godiva. The event was organised by Pauline 'bizarre is what I do best' Warner as part of the 'Knit a River for Water Aid' campaign. The very long river (probably around half a mile long by now!) was unrolled and displayed next to the River Anker. On the other side of the River is supposedly the site where Boudica fought her last battle of the British Rebellion in 60/61 AD. She led this rebellion to defend the rights of the British against the invading Romans, and to avenge the honour of her daughters, who the Romans raped. Pauline's idea of bringing Boudica 'back to life' with her final speech (see http://members.tripod.com/~ancient_history/boadfinal.html), which I recited, was to avenge her symbolically, and also to address something larger that is going on in that region. Many years ago, Pauline became aware of concern by both clergy and other professionals at the high number of child abuse cases they were hearing about or handling. Being aware that geographical regions can be affected by their history, Pauline commented to someone that it was just 'as if some terrible thing had happened in this area which had drawn, and continues to draw abuse to it.' She consequently found out about the research suggesting that Boudica was defeated in this locality. She further added: 'Boudica's rebellion happened not because she was a nasty, war-mongering female and not simply because she objected to being pushed around by the Romans. It was the rape of her two young daughters which inflamed her to rise up against the oppressor. It was the righteous anger of a mother defending her children from abuse. Her defeat represented the triumph of oppression and cruel patriarchy. If it did happen in this area, that would vindicate my intuition that something huge had happened which let loose forces of abuse and repression, particulary against women and children.' I find Pauline's theory very interesting, and it was an honour to take part in the very ritualistic event, whether it was the actual place of Boudica's defeat or not. It felt important to mark and remember her, and everything she fought for.

Furthermore, the rather dashing John the Baptist made an appearance because he is associated with the summer solstice; and Lady Godiva aka Pru Poretta (http://godiva.webeden.co.uk/) once owned the land we were on. Lady Godiva told us an enchanting story about the Water Goddess Coventina, which linked in nicely with our Holy Wells Procession.

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A special treat was the presence of a lady called Angie, who brought some of her reptiles to the centre for the day as part of an educational event. I fell in love with her pet rat snake Tango at first sight and had him coiled around my neck for about an hour. Snakes are such amazing, sensual creatures.

Things have calmed down now, and the next event we can look forward to is our Lammas Bonfire Party on Saturday 28th July. We are not sure yet where exactly it will happen, but I'll post details on this website as soon as I know. The next WSN meeting will be in September, check this site from time to time for details about that also.

I will leave you with the Story of the Leamington Spa Water Goddess, which I was inspired to write on the morning after the procession. Enjoy!

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She lies waiting

She is asleep most of the time. Curled up, she dreamily listens to the sounds of the water as it splashes softly against the rotting boat that is tied to her overgrown little island. Splish, splash. It’s been so long, she has lost track of time. Sometimes, she watches a family of swans that nests on the island. There are three signets, opening their feathers wide with expectation to the life that lies ahead of them. She watches them and sighs. The miracle of youth, she murmurs to herself as she contemplates her own invisibility, lifelessness, transience. It has been so long that algae are growing from her fingers. Memories, flashbacks, come back to her from time to time, some painful, some nostalgic, some joyful like mirages from a distant land. Often, she dreams of a soft, cosy, warm place, and the type of transparent, enveloping warmth that can only be found in the hearts of human beings. She has not felt it for a long time.

When she was a young maiden, a long long time ago, things were different. There were lush springs, wells, and waters all around her, springing from her mouth, her breasts, from between her thighs. She was cherished and loved. People came and celebrated her, thanked her with flowers and gifts, they sang and danced and visited her often. They held her in their hearts, they celebrated the sacred waters that were so much part of their lives. The people cherished her, and in turn, she cherished the people. This continued for a very long time.

In time, the maiden grew into a mother. She wanted to help the people, to help them grow, because she saw their suffering. She loved them, and so she became always more giving, leading the people to more of her sacred spring waters, making them richer and more nourishing. The people cured many ailments from her waters, and they began to prosper. They discovered many healing wells, built big bath houses around them, developed their village into a big town, and yet still honoured her with statues, monuments and mosaics.

But something shifted. Somehow, ever so slightly, things changed. There were less flowers, less singing, less dancing. Less joy. At first, she put it down to lack of attentiveness. The people were so busy, as many visitors came to their town to experience the miraculous waters – even the Queen of England visited. Surely it was only a matter of time until they remembered again, she told herself. And she continued giving. But people paid her less and less attention. Bath house after bath house closed down, well after well disappeared, as the people decided they had more important ventures to pursue.

Without their love, she slowly turned into a crone. Her waters dried up. Still she gave, she flowed, whenever she could, ignoring the sadness and the loneliness that choked her from time to time. Eventually, when she could take it no more, she retreated to the river. She hid. And still she could not stop giving. She sank into a deep sleep.

Yet, almost unbeknown to her, from time to time, somebody remembered her. A small flower, a thought, a friendly word. It was mostly the old people who recalled her, who kept the wells, and their patroness, in their hearts. She experienced this as a gentle warm wave inside her body, a tingling soft sensation like that of a summer breeze, and the waters, of which there was only a trickle left, suddenly flowed more freely for a while.

Then one summer day, as she lay in the deep grass on her island, she heard drumming from afar. Just like in old times, she thought sleepily, maybe I am dreaming again. She scolded herself for being so sentimental, and drifted off again. But the drumming became louder and louder, and through the reeds she could make out dancers, dressed in white and orange. She spotted a big man reading from a book near a fountain, and he was holding a glass of water in his hand. A little closer to her island, she heard a man tell a story to a crowd of curious people. He looked angry, and she thought she heard the word ‘Goddess’ and ‘forgotten’, but surely this could not be. Suddenly, the group of people started singing and dancing in a circle. Most peculiar. They danced onto the bridge, waved flowers and started calling. They started calling… her name. ‘Goddess!’, they called, ‘where are you? Come back!’ She reared her head slowly. No, she decided, it could not be. It had been too long. But they were calling her, from the bridge.

The little elf and boatsman who kept her company sometimes tugged excitedly at her sleeve. ‘Goddess’, he pleaded, ‘there are people who want to see you!’ Only half-dressed, for he had been sleeping too, he jumped into the boat and gestured her to do the same, then rowed her, as fast as he could, towards the bridge. The voices of the people became louder and more consistent ‘Goddess! We remember you!’, they called. ‘What, me? They remember me? Who are they?’, she asked the elf incredulously, who rowed quicker and quicker towards the bridge. Could this be? Many people were leaning over the bridge towards her, with expressions of anticipation and wonder and joy at seeing her. They sang songs, they threw flower petals at her, they welcomed her back amidst much noise and happiness. From despondence and disbelief, her expression changed to deep emotion and joy. She slowly raised her arm, her arm that had become stiff and creaky from the long years on the river. She was no longer alone. She was no longer forgotten. They had remembered her.