from Witches of Fawsetwood, Alain Brownwell, narrator
“As we road on to Fawsetwood, the trees clustered closer to the road to become a forest worthy of its name. In no time at all we found the clearing where there was a well, a cottage, some byres, a garden or two and several trails branching off through the woods. My heart beat harder. I forgot to breathe as we rode up near the cottage. When the green door opened, an old woman came out to meet us by the well. We all stood down and greeted each other proper like. My mother handed me over like a favorite cloak to the care of this old woman. Refusing any refreshment but a cup of water from the well pail, John helped my mother back up on the mule. Then he struggled with his horse and they rode away as if half way uncertain of what they'd done. I pressed my lips together to hold my breath inside.
I was alone at the cottage yard with Mistress Margot who appeared to be the Crone Goddess herself. At least I thought so then. She stared down at a small boy staring back. Her hair was white and uncovered. Her face seemed unlined for an old lass’s grandmother. Her blue eyes were as clear as the light from her face and pierced through my fear. Perhaps the color of her eyes was sharpened by the simple blue outer tunic she wore over the white one with long sleeves which showed beneath.”
Somewhere around 2010 Eric and I were driving through Cumbria in northern England experiencing the magic of the Fells so I could write my book. We visited stone circles, lakes, and villages that I knew would play a role in The Cup and The Ring novels. But I needed a likely location my characters’ home base. I knew Margot, Alain, Elspet and several others lived in a cottage. There were other smaller homes for the crafters, farm workers, and families situated in the woods around the cottages. There was a byre for the animals. It wasn’t grand as manor farms go, but it was where everyone belonged, witch or not. It was set in the forest with meadows, fields and a Fell nearby. My friend Peg and I had already identified the Lord of the manor as the noble living in Penrith Castle. I gave him the fictitious name Guillame de Morland. Then I picked the name Fawset out of thin air. Somewhere in my searches I learned it meant beautiful hill. It could easily slide in among the other crofts held by the Lord of Penrith.
One night in England Eric and I were returning from Kirby Stephen, going back to our B & B. It was dark, rainy…I mean it was hossin’ down. Visibility was poor and Eric was making up a short cut back toward our temporary home. The road narrowed. Sheep were wandering around everywhere looking for a sheltering tree or lean-to. We slowed frequently and sounded the horn to move them out of the way. Some of them were resentful. It’s their road after dark.
Suddenly the headlights caught a sign as we made a sharp left. Fawcet Mill. “Look!” I shrieked. Eric jammed on the brakes. He thought he was about to hit a sheep he hadn’t seen. When he understood my jabbering he backed up and looked for himself. Surely it couldn’t be. It was spelled wrong. There are many ways to spell Fawset, especially 850 years ago.
But it was. Wisely we decided not to follow the arrow in the other direction. 10 p.m. on a dark and rainy night was no time to go visiting in the middle of nowhere. Eventually we found our way home, but my heart was thumping away in excitement. I couldn’t wait to see what was there.
About three days later we finally found it again. I had begun to think it was a hallucination. We drove all over where we thought it was. Our GPS took us to some out of the way places, but it didn’t find the cottage either, under any spelling. I had been online and written directions for us. That didn’t work. Road signs are few and far between. In the course of my search I found out Fawcett Mill House was a self-catering cottage for large groups. It had been a mill. We could reconnoiter and no one would think anything of it.
But to get there we had to ask directions. That meant we needed to find someone who would know. Finally, we came nose to nose with a big John Deere tractor. Both of us had to creep two wheels up a bank and leave two on the road and ease passed each other. But first I asked the woman driving if she knew where Fawsetwood was. She did! I smiled to myself. She was young with long thick blond hair caught at her neck to keep it out of the way. She could have passed for Elspet who would have loved to drive a big John Deere if they had them in the 12th century.
In 10 minutes we were following the sign seen in the rain. We approached the cottage from the rear and drove on down the driveway. On first impression it looked nothing like my imaginary cottage. Then my brain stripped away the rear entrance and dug out all that fill made to let cars in the parking lot. It took away the parking lot and the 2nd story. I stood by the beck listening to the running water and saw the old smaller cottage that might have been there before. Eric must have been doing the same.
“This is it,” he said. In our imaginations or past lives we both lived there. I shook my head. This was the wrong way in. Tons of fill had been carefully dumped in where the garden should have been. Eric turned me around and pointed out a flat lane overgrown with saplings. That was the lannin where riders came in from the road to Orton. Moreover, I was standing next to a round flower garden circled with a stone wall. I looked closely.
My god! It’s the well.” I whispered. Eric simply nodded. Facing your visions in real time is more than strange.
We took pictures. When I needed a book cover, I gave one of them to my friend Suzan McDermott. I told her some of the differences and to make it a thatched cottage. The mill has a slate roof. She moved the well toward the beck and took off the second story. Her cover is enough like our cottage for us to walk into. The new Fawcetwood is much larger.
Fawsetwood Cottage is near Orton in Penrith in Cumbria County. If you search for it under either spelling you may not find it. Often as not the search engines tell you it doesn’t exist, but it does. It is on the ground near Orton and in my heart.
[Witches of Fawsetwood is available on Amazon and through Eastman Books and Publishing. Book 2, Knights of Lancaster will be released fall of 2024.}
What a delightful adventure!