An unpredictable spring, Truth and lies.

It has been a strange time of late, seeds planted at the warm turn of spring timidly peek from the dark soil to find bitter frost and chill wind awaits, unpredictable British weather at its best and as such brings no surprise.
The land is still radiant down here in the wilds of Cornwall, Mr Frost has had cause to nip at the greening flora but here at least to little effect, astounding when we consider how the equinox moon had bought with it such warmth and joy, relevant and welcome yet veiled behind lie the teeth of winter still.
The changing temperatures bring changing fortunes as the blessings and curses of life form those who would be within the arms of fate, stress and misfortune comes and fades from which we take what lessons are offered and continue to grow with hope and the love of all who surround us, blessings that come are to be treasured indeed as the year has yet to be shaped.
As a time of great change is descending upon us we journey forth, blind into the mist, not volcanic eruptions and tsunami floods but an end of a different kind, the values and dreams of the west are crumbling as I speak, propped up with false hope and paper gold, delusion and false prophets are the true kings of this "civilised" age, man has failed to see the divine so therefor it cannot be seen.
So it would seem that what we consider to be the advanced culture of western civilisation shall be the first to crumble, all beneath the light of secularism and greed, where evolution is measured in terms of technology, when in fact the very opposite is occurring, a race of beings who when faced with adversity would be unable to perform the simple tasks of feeding themselves or to create fire for warmth, a roof over the head and be capable of judgement, moral or otherwise, an idiocracy where no one is ever asked to think for themselves, nanny states and religion that is bought and sold, the second fall of mankind as it descends further away from the source.

I guess that in the light of this truth it might be pertinent to speak of the secret world of the craft, one might even ask why such secrets should be kept from the bulk of mankind upon the eve of its fall.
The truth is that there are no secrets, a wise man once said that" all knowledge is there upon the wind for one who would listen".
There are in this land secret societies and groups of occultists who would keep secrets for secrets sake and little else, to many it seems that is the case of most who practice genuine traditional craft, although it is not.
That which one would have to search for is part of an individuals argosy, to be told what the journeyman will encounter does not serve the journeyman, quite the reverse as it creates delusion, clouds judgement and becomes part of the lie. To tell someone what they will encounter within the void is to deceive, all that is gained is an insight into what the mentor has seen and if he or she is from a longer line of mentors the lie itself is spread and shaped far beyond any hope of truth. Sadly there is so much of this deception prevalent within the occult world "you shall journey to a dark cave where upon the horned one shall greet you and......." sigils and visions that might belong to the writer or even his teacher are of little use to the seeker of truth.
The hidden truth is thereby a blessing in itself, it protects the seeker from the lie and allows the seeker to glimpse something that is a reality and not a falsehood, this will later be concurred by others who have walked the path and will have experienced this divine essence in whatever shape it took, yet after the effect and not before, it is by this essence that we shall no one another and all shall be revealed in time.

And so to reveal a secret of the crooked path to all my fellow voyagers.
The crooked path is no such thing, when the foot falls with truth and devotion all can see that it is in fact the straightest path possible, the way is clear and the view is splendid, illumination and not darkness are the true ways of Fate, deception is that which lurks in the shadows among those unscrupulous individuals who would sell you your fortune, the only crooked thing about the crooked path is those rotten souls to be found along it and who actually have nothing to sell in any case, in fact it can often be said they have nothing of value at all.
The moment that we begin to think that the truth can be bought and sold as a commodity we fall further from that which we seek, beware false prophets and occult salesman as though they were thieves within the shadows of a dark alley, be patient and all will be revealed in time.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony..

The Teeth of Winter, the Love of Family and the Hunters Tale.

Candlemass brings upon its winds the teeth of winter, Jack does stalk the land in shades of white and muted green, his bite drawing that core warmth from within our bodies and moving our souls far closer to the other realms as we shiver at his touch.
Not so white yet hard ground crunches underfoot down here on this far southwestern peninsula, the threat of snow upon the air but it is as rain that falls upon the frozen soil today.

A far cry from the bright sun and still air that did mark yesterday's passing, as this hunter took to the woodland and fields of his home in search of sustenance for the tribe, by need and never desire to stalk the wild within the footsteps of winter ever hopeful to place beast upon the hearth and food within the bellies of his dearest kin.
Silently across the field, the ground as fragile glass beneath his feet he moves, delicate, deliberate steps toward the standing wood of alder and willow, the favoured food of his prey at this time of year, the trees are stripped of the mosses, lichens and barks and some will fall within the passing of thirteen moons, with far too few predators the forest would be gone, would that it be if not for those children that find the spirit of Herne himself within their souls abide.
The grey brown towers of the woodland obscure the view, it is not with eyes alone that this hunter finds his way, the cloven hoof leaves its mark twixt the fallen twigs as does the bare strips left where once the armour of trees was wrapped. He moves between the frozen stalks and lying branches which would alert his quarry to his presence should careless haste take hold, aware that he is not alone here yet it is the eye that sees the eye that will give him away, all senses finely tuned, the sounds of the startled bird, the feather that falls from overhead to land softly upon the loam, the taste of the trees and the air that gives up its secrets as it passes though the mouth and into the lungs, yet there is more, the connection between hunter and hunted grows, it is felt, sensed, almost beyond description, it is a knowing, a certainty that the years of walking this path has taught him. All that we might strive for in our esoteric world is here, in this moment, you are closer to the source than possibly at any other time, within the trees one is almost blind so it comes to pass that eyes cannot deceive the mind, relying of that which would lie dormant within this modern world.
There is no time here, the clock may still turn but the turning is not felt or heard, you become -out of time, the bridge between the worlds, the walker in the void.
Under and over the fallen wood he moves, as silent as is humanly possible he dances through the trees, tuned to the world around him until, it is there, the beat of another's heart, again felt and not heard, the life of his quarry sensed somewhere ahead, something that is not of the flora yet the fauna, through the forest he gazes, looking for that sign of something that alike to his own kind does not quite fit within the surroundings, animal and plant have very different spirit and it is this that gives the position of the deer away.
In the distance there is a movement as she weaves quietly through the wood, head down to fill the belly with moss then up to nibble at the much beloved bark, it is a waiting game, the opportunities are rare to gather the harvest and to take a clear shot through the trees, closer he moves until with those same senses she catches his own spirit, he averts his eyes from her gaze, to connect on that level would give the chase away, this act alone gives her the strength and somewhat misplaced confidence to continue in her own hunt for nutrition and brings her calmly within the hunters sight.
It is here the game ends, the battle for survival is over, for one of the participants anyway, cradled within the hunters arms she is given food for her journey and the words of lament are spoken to her in her last breath, "I am sorry to take your life, my sister, you bring much to my family and you are greatly valued", there is no celebration, no trophy for the great hall, only sadness and relief, as her spirit soars toward the source she will be remembered by all that partake of her bounty, we are Herne's children after all.

And there ends this hunters tale, it is not desire that should steady the aim, it is as I said- need, the times are lean at the moment so the Cunning man has to use his cunning Arte, whether that be fair of foul, in this world or the others, it becomes necessary. The rites of the hunter are fairer than many would imagine, those who would rather stalk the chiller cabinets in the local supermarket are far less responsible and show far less respect to the flesh they consume, than those who walk with mud, blood and bone, the hunter and the vegan are two sides of the same coin and have far less splinters in the arse than those who would sit atop the fence and those who would allow others to hold the burden, to take responsibility for what we do is a means to send hypocrisy packing, I eat the flesh of animals and I try to be responsible when doing so, if any would like to question my ethic then please look upon your selves before doing so, then and only then I will embrace your opinion through and from the point of truth.

Spring I feel will be hot upon the heels of Mr Frost, the serpent has shaken his coils and awaits his journey, my own journey continues to take me far from the Cornish moors, moments shared between brothers and sisters of Arte serve to strengthen the bonds, although time and distance on the surface seem far, it will always feel that it was only yesterday that we were gathered as one. When leaving upon the blessings of Imbolg, we received an unseasonal gift from the divine, as on that day the sun brought news of the coming Spring tide, melting snow upon my coat and the shadow of Angels within the compass leave fond impressions within the heart and soul.
For now I return to the "real" world, always with one foot within the others as there is no separation after all, the many make up the whole and we are a part of all.

May the spirit of candlemass wash away that which is unnecessary and may you face the world anew.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

Clearing mist, A lust for blood and the end of the world.

After what would seem an age in itself the chaos has started to subside, there is illumination at the top of the well and I can fully begin my ascent once more, not so much a fall on this occasion but a retreat, an enforced journey into an uncertain realm which until this point has left me with deep insecurities and a veil that has somewhat hidden the path from view.
The mists are clearing before the eyes as I head toward the light, order is starting to return as the great serpent stretches his coils beneath the earth of our land, the troublesome vermin run for the safety of their own nests as the hunter steps into the bright light of day once more, there is great change within the serpents wake, yet I am ready to accept it and all that it will bring.

2012 shall indeed be the end of this world, not the paranoid delusions peddled by ignorant conspirators but a new beginning, for that to happen something needs to die and death will force change in no small measure, what that will be I cannot see, yet in my heart I know that it will come and the masses shall rise as the great leveller takes its toll, perhaps 2012 shall be known as the year the world changed for the better- we shall see!

The Twelve days were for us a truly mixed bag of blessings and curses, time was spent with dearest of kin yet others were sorely missed, insects were biting at the skin and although no great wounds were struck the ache and the itch were at times unendurable, threats to much beloved family members left this one with an insatiable lust for blood yet wiser council bade me keep my sword together with that of my brothers within its sheath (for now at least). Our financial circumstances changed in no small way when the work dried up, not unexpected yet an uncertain future on that level which does leave us free to pursue new and old Ideas.
Still we journey on, and all serves its purpose, stronger and with renewed vigour we face the world head on, as the end of one thing heralds brighter beginnings, the chance for a new start in many ways, plans and projects that had to go upon the back burner can resurface and I for one have found great joy in this prospect.

Plough Monday has passed and gone, this one spent the day quite literally as the vegetable patch was in need of some tender loving care, financial security has made me idle upon that front so change again forces a valuable reconnection to the land, the soil turned and the labours of Cain have prepared the ground and greenhouse for a hopeful bounty in the leaner times to come.
Many agricultural customs still have those roots within the traditional craft, the actual doing aids the soul and the mind in an understanding of the subtleties and reasons for them, although Horse drawn team and garlanded plough were replaced by eager woodsman,spade and fork, the task of turning soil and feeding the earth becomes a greater ritual that is indeed reflected within the heavens as the old man pushes his own plough across the sky, That in itself brings strength to the back and much joy to the heart.
Plough Monday CTC- this is an article well worth a read if there is any confusion between the Craft and Agricultural traditions.

As we head toward the rites of Candle mass, Imbolc, call it what you will, there are still sacrifices to be made before we can properly emerge from the dark, dead weight to shift from our lives and sins to be absolved, from now to that time when we can finally shed our skins it is worth considering all that which would hamper our forward motion and stop us from evolving, those things that pull us back and make us as rooted as plants, we are the children of Cain after all, I love the forest dearly as every hunter does, yet I am not a tree I am a man and I need to move along the path, as much as I would enjoy the vista I cannot stay and watch it become overgrown as would seem to be the way for the many.

So Journey on we must, and to all who happen upon this Cunning page, a Happy new year to you, may it bring great change and many blessings in the time to come, but remember, all things must die and it is that fragile nature of life that makes it so perfect, divine teacher of souls that grants us joy in every tender moment, if we open our hearts, our spirits and our eyes.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

Damp feet, Misguided intentions and the wearing of masks.

Wind riders haunt the night and day, warm and wet or cold and wet, the Cornish landscape oozes liquid as she can hold no more, stark contrast to this time twelve moons ago, when blessed Celeste radiant in the night sky danced her magic upon crisp white snow, the gentle crunch underfoot replaced by the squelch and slide that persists now, to glimpse that radiant light a treat to behold yet in truth we walk a dark path at this time, so perhaps the cloud displays the lesser mask, a greater focus than the heavenly distractions of her light, as we descend into this period of chaos and misrule, the world upside down.

This time alone, beneath the mask of covered stars should serve to teach us to look beyond, for it is a fool in the worst sense that cannot taste the lunar virtue for lack of visual stimulus, within that time there is no sight greater than that insight which is granted by the heart and the soul, perceivers of truth and honesty, where the eyes may be fooled the inner self knows true gnosis.

The same could be said of those who would wear masks within the mundane world of existence, those who would deceive the onlooker, enchanting facades that hide true intentions and perhaps hidden agendas, a mask of falsities and deception that is only paper thin, yet bedazzles the onlooker into a world where choices are no longer theirs to make!

Beware the one who would wear such a mask, look beyond the glamour and straight into the eyes of the soul, it is there that lies the true face, it may be that of a frightened spirit which hides through fear and not malice, it may be malice itself.

Tread carefully in the company of one who would walk over all to achieve that desire, masked or otherwise, it is never through need that any would cause another to suffer pain, hedonism is the foulest of human traits and empathy one of the greater, they are opposites in the extreme and one who would display either should be incapable of the other, less they wear a mask.

Avoid one who would threaten the peaceful existence of another in any way in order to achieve their goals, veiled or open, to curse another without true cause is to bring down the sword of justice heavy and sharp against the neck, watch those scales and see how they fall or be prepared to take the consequences.

And now to gaze upon those masks of truth, the guise perhaps worn by those families and lone shaman of the world, a facade that does not hide the undesirable aspects of mankind, yet projects hidden qualities toward the onlooker, hidden aspects of the Crafter's nature are externalised to allow the individual and the rest of the company to connect to that aspect, to bring it out not to hide behind.
I have worn such a mask, the effect is astounding and quite desirable, others may perceive qualities that are subdued at other times allowing trust and truth to blossom among the group, we are what we are and nothing is hidden from kith and kin before the hearth or at any other time, the mask serves to remind the individual of this very fact.

So do I myself wear a mask of deception in any sense? the answer is No, what you see you get, I would as you know place integrity before much else, honesty before lies every time, I would not seek to council another but I will offer advice if pushed, if my council you will seek, then expect the truth in return, do not wear a mask at your approach for it is no more than a lie and if we are to start there then the harvest will be a barren one, I have my own concerns in the world and wish not to be troubled with another's unless that other comes with all I hold dear and not that which I would despise.

I guess this brings me to a close for now, the echos of children asking, Do witches have warts ? Well no more frequently than any not of the faith, do we accept each other warts and all? Absolutely, we would expect no less from Family, If you wish me to wear a mask, then I shall remove myself and my warts from your company, as I do not choose to have acquaintances, dear friends are family and family are as dear friends and those I would count as such are very dear to me.

A merry yule to all (now I have got that one of my chest).

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

The longest night, searching the soul and the wise council of the oracle.

Photo by Christine Macleod

To rise before the sun is no hardship as we head into the darker times of the year, the winds they whistle the tune of Odin and the wild ones, rain beats its steady rhythm upon the glass of our home and thoughts of facing the day rise to the forefront of our minds well before the glorious light of morning graces the land with its presence if not its warmth.

The last blooms of summer now blow upon the winter storms, yet if by chance we search the green a rare gem may still be found, bright scarlet lies amongst natures decay, tattered and torn yet as food for the spirit manifest we rejoice at its sight, a reminder, all things must pass, death is but a journey into the new world.
The progression of all things is marked at some point by an end of sorts, to continue along the path and into gnosis there are many pieces of ourselves that must die in order that there may be many to bear fruit in future times, just as those trees and plants that would appear dead to us now shall bear bloom and seed when the warmth of our sun graces them with its radiance once more.
Parts of who we were become as nutrient to that which grows, an end of a kind but not a random discarding of spiritual landfill, who we are is shaped by what we have been, would you change any thing of the past? I would not, for I would not have become who I am today, if but one thing could have been discarded, tears and cruelty, hedonistic behaviour, compromise beyond need, I could not have grown as all joy or sorrow serves its ultimate purpose within that forge, atop the anvil and beneath the hammer of that old blacksmith of the soul, we are remade of that which we once were. The trials of life are as fuel to the artisans fire.

Now that the light of day is short and joyous evening strolls among the flying (sometimes biting) insects and deep magenta sky are all but forgotten, minds within the Craft turn to work of a different nature, moments out and about become less frequent and time spent in thought and meditation more so, Many questions are answered and many more questions bubble to the surface from the depths of the great well, attempting to bring order to the chaos within we muse upon subjects plucked from the ether or riddles set by another.
There is one subject so often over looked yet quoted in disposable fashion by all within the occult community ( including this one), hiding within plain site yet rarely dealt with in truth, a sleeping dragon left unchecked, that once counselled-Gnothi seauton- Know Thyself, the wise warning to the foolish ego that was herald to the Oracle of the temple of Apollo at Delphi.

This very task, given by those who would aid me within my own evolution was one I have undertaken recently, the questions of who I am and where have I come from, what was I and what do I hope to become, not feeding the ego, but placing all in order and calming those turbulent waters within, to befriend this sleeping Dragon and not to have to tip toe around it or attempt to bury it beneath a pile of delusional thought, to truly Know Thyself is the goal, to move forward safe in the knowledge that no angry serpent will engulf you in its flame in future times.
Modern social conditioning does reflect in this journey into the depths, those buried thoughts and emotions, the worst of the self are the first to rise to the surface, emotional tears accompany every mistake made within the time of our short existence, unworthy of life, of consideration, foulest of beings to inhabit this earth, detritus, just another inconsiderate consumer of the resources of the world, but wait, this is not some examining of everything you hate about yourself, it takes time, hours in fact, to truly search the soul.

A death of sorts through realisation has taken place, the worst now dealt with, sweet blooms start to push their way up through the soil of the spirit, those joys of life, what you are truly capable of, those beloved by you and of those who of you yourself are beloved, triumphs that soon over shadow those past failures as the molten metal of you is slowly poured into the mould of who you will become, to be once more tempered and made strong within the fires of this hell.

I am the hunter,The protector.
I am not vengeance,
but I may wield the sword of justice.
I may become Tracker and Guide,
but do not follow me blindly.
Watch,
Learn from the mistakes I have made,
and will make.

This forest belongs to me,
yet it is never mine to own.
It is not the fertile loam that is the key,
for upon that lies a mask.
It is not the majestic oak that is the key,
for that giant too wears a mask.
All truth lies upon the wind.

To glimpse for just one second,
that which would hide beneath.
A key of shining gold.
Perhaps there shall become a chance,
to touch upon that rare metal.
To gaze upon the hidden realms,
to walk in the world of giants.

This crooked path through the forest,
plain to see for those with the eye,
when distractions fade and truth will out.
Yet beautiful they are.
Embrace them fully,
feel the warmth they exude.
Relish the love they bring.


The longest night in this ones life, born of need and not desire I am remade, I feel that in my own heart that at this time I do in fact Know myself, I am me and happy to be me, I sit on the Dragons own hoard warmed by the sighing breath of my new friend and safe in the knowledge of who it is I am.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

A setting sun and A Star crossed serpent.

The sun sets upon another chapter of the life and journey of this would become "Cunning" man.
What appears alikened to that death of summer is with hope and faith a birth of something far greater than anything of which I could have wished to have known.
This once lonely soul that attempted to grace the pages of the Internet with wild grasps at wisdom and knowledge is no longer such, since first sitting here, trying to find the answers that prior to this voyage eluded me there have been so many changes,so many more questions, each door leads to a corridor filled with more doors, yet the answers come, with guidance certainly, but upon the winds as gifts from the divine in most, the mentors work is not to tell the student, it is to point him/her in the right direction so that the enquiring mind may discover the truths for them selves, there are no secrets to those who would listen to the wind.
I have found true faith, love and family, I am able to move through the worlds with far greater ease than ever before, even though at this time I walk the edge, I fear not the drop, for there is the fabric of wyrd that shall gather me home and place me exactly where I need to be.

Faith in fate and a willingness to evolve the soul are the keys to the doors of eternity, these things will not be found within the pages of a leather bound grimoire, although the clues may lie within the pages, an illiterate being (not an ignorant one) would still be able to find the light as is often seen within the tribal societies upon our blue planet. In truth there are many intellectual occultists out there, so bound up within the tangled threads of their own egos that they will perhaps never glance toward the source or be touched by those perfect threads.
Our Craft ancestors were a simple folk, many could not write or read letters yet the Craft survived, symbols and pictures, rhyme and song gave substance and solidity to our forefathers, if many of those blessed souls were to stumble upon any of the nonsense that proliferates through the esoteric societies they would perhaps see only kindling for the hearth and no wisdom at all.
Yet we live within a mostly literate society, words have replaced symbols in many ways yet still they exist, always hiding in plain sight, there is a great deal of fuel for the fire being produced yet there are some true gems that will be understood on many levels by both prince and pauper.
These gems are like buses, you don't see one for a while, then two or three come at once.

Star crossed Serpent vol1 -Shani Oates.

Another long awaited gem of wisdom from the Maid of the Clan of Tubal Cain.
Shani has always given those true seekers of knowledge her time, wisdom and patience, and this is once more revealed in this first volume which I again have been privileged to read prior to publication.
It contains material by three successive generations of the Clan, Robert Cochrane, Evan J Jones and of course Shani herself, there is also a rare gem of a piece written by the Current Magister of the Clan- Robin The Dart. Some of this material has previously been published yet it has not really been edited correctly in those publications, so I would say, forget much of which you know of RC an EJJ's writings available in other books and read this which has been edited correctly and with the correct authority to do so. The reader will find that it makes far more sense than previously.
I will not elude to the various chapters contained for at this time I am unsure as to what is contained within this volume, although I will say that it is marvelous to see the evolution of this closed group through the successive generations, all things must move forward and evolve or become stale and die, this book acknowledges the stream from which it came in no small way, yet it shows how the participants look very much to the future and embrace the craft as a constantly growing, moving and living thing.
Thank you for sharing your wisdom with us Shani, it is much appreciated.


Flags,Flax and Fodder. Tony.

Need fire and a fool at the end of the world

It is beyond the chimes of midnight, a single Hawk calls to his brother upon the chill night air, eyes look up from the dancing flames in awe, recognition of all that has come to pass as a soul returns to its hearth, its family, to take its place among those much beloved, to stand once more between the worlds along side brother and sister of the faith, all is as it should be in this time and is welcome.

So the journey ends.

A Once shattered soul, now piece by piece reassembled, forged anew within the healing fires of the old man himself, deconstructed and remade, stronger and maybe wiser than before, each end heralds a fresh start, a new life, change and growth, the serpent that once hid within the shadows to avoid this gaze now resides in part within the spirit of this ever hopeful wanderer, a child of Cain, a son of Odin, touched by she who waits upon the parting of ways, dazzled by Sophia's light and humbled by the wisdom of dearest Lilith, guided by the divine she and gathered home again.
This Holy fool, blessed indeed, to take his place with kith and kin at that table within the castle of the king, that once lonely call answered at last.

Arab springs and Indian summers have passed, as the coming of winter now wraps at the door of our home, it would seem an age since I sat here last and attempted to place words where there are only thoughts, a personal journey requires time to the self, reflections, perhaps not always to be shared with others, matters for those with the means to discover for themselves and see the value that lies therein, one cannot walk the paths in another's shoes, one can only trace the footsteps of their passing, there is little value in reaching a destination without knowing how it was you arrived, wisdom is found upon the journey as much as it resides at journeys end, wherever that may be.

Yet there is one thing of which I will speak, if it would save the traveller from the thorns and the mire of the winding paths and that is of unification.

We walk between the worlds, we do not have to jump from one to the other, to bring the sacred to the mundane is the key and vice versa, this life is not always easy, but when we bring together those often considered dual aspects of the self (work/spirituality) all becomes clearer, the wild ride of the roller coaster becomes the steady pace of the locomotive, yes there are stops and delays but with fate driving the engine we will arrive safely, smoothly and with fewer pitfalls, the roller coaster has no destination after all, it only ends up at the point it started from with its passengers feeling sick. One life lived is far simpler than two, to juggle these aspects is distracting so we need to bring it all together. this often overlooked reality has been one of the most important keys for this one within the time that you and I have known each other.

There are of course those poor deluded souls who see only misery and destruction, shadows and pain within the other realms, and to consolidate these into the mundane world will only bring about the same there, to look beyond the shadow and lift the veil is the answer, as where there is end there is beginning also, deep shadows are cast by bright lights after all, if all that can be seen is darkness then the blinkers need to be taken off, as I for one have seen sights that continue to amaze me, I have found love, light and Gnosis when I have gazed into the well, there is no hate or pain, the rose blooms bright within the ashes of the fire, we reap what we sow and if we take filth into the void then we will return with filth as a reward.

Well, the chimney at our hearth will not sweep itself, so off I must go, each stroke of the brush shall clean the soot from the blackened stone, dark matter cleansed from home and life, all that would have troubled this one in the past year shall be swept away, the fire shall burn with renewed vigour and there shall be warmth in our home.

And All is Exactly as it Should Be.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.