Hag Stone Charms

According to the dictionary, charm can mean a quality that makes you like or feel attracted to someone or something. For instance, “she was a woman of great charm” or “I don’t trust that easy charm of his”. A charm can also be deemed to have magical powers, to ward off evil spirits such as an amulet like a rabbit’s foot (not so lucky for the rabbit). Charms can also be imbued with supernatural powers and magic to protect the wearer.

Historically, charms can found way back in time in natural things such as rocks, stones or pebbles and these charms are to be found all over Britain. One such example of these is a hag stone or witch stone, fairy stone or holy (sacred) stone, and it is a small piece of rock/stone with a naturally occurring hole in it caused by water erosion whether by a river or the sea. The stone has also been rounded by the actions of water.

Image of a collection of Hag Stones

In folklore, hag stones are believed to possess potent protective powers. Their associations with witches and the supernatural stem from the belief that the hole in the stone acts as a portal, a window through which harmful magic or evil spirits can be warded off. Placing a hag stone above a doorway or tying it to a key ring was thought to prevent witches from entering the home or causing harm. Farmers would attach them to their barns to protect livestock, while sailors carried them for luck and safe passage across treacherous waters. The hag stone’s reputation as a talisman was widespread, and stories of its powers abound in local legends.

Image of Hag Stone as lucky charm to be placed over a house doorway

One of the most fascinating aspects of hag stones is their ability to reveal the unseen. Tradition holds that peering through the hole of a hag stone allows one to glimpse into the realm of fairies, spirits, or other supernatural beings. This belief is rooted in the idea that the hag stone’s aperture acts as a lens, transforming the ordinary landscape into a magical vista. The stone became a tool for divination and discovery, a bridge between worlds.

The name ‘hag stone’ itself is evocative, conjuring images of witches and wise women. In some traditions, these stones were said to offer protection against the ‘hag’—a term once used for witches or malevolent spirits. The adder stone, as it’s sometimes called, links the object to serpents and ancient Druidic practices. The intertwining of pagan rituals and later Christian beliefs ensured that hag stones retained their mystique, even as the nature of their magic was debated and reinterpreted.

Today, hag stones are often collected as souvenirs or displayed as decorative items. Beachcombers and enthusiasts delight in finding them, recognising their rarity and the folklore attached. The stones are sometimes incorporated into jewellery, hung in gardens, or placed on altars, maintaining a link to the ancient traditions and superstitions that once governed rural life.

Image of Hag Stone jewellery by John Smith

Hag stones are much more than mere rocks with holes. They are embodiments of cultural history, symbols of protection, and gateways to the imagination. Whether seen as magical artefacts or geological curiosities, their presence on a beach or in a collection speaks to a deep human desire to find meaning and mystery in the world around us. To discover a hag stone is to stumble upon a story, one that stretches across time and continues to enchant those who seek the extraordinary in the ordinary.

Hag Stones

Ambling along the beach
absent minded yet looking
for clues

in amongst the driftwood
and sea holly there
you were

unassuming, not shouting your
presence despite the wind,
rain, sea’s restless churning

the world can be traced with
your eye, protection descends
from celestial power

ancient reminder of time’s
endless line and an echo
reframing the past.

Dermot.

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In Praise Of The Boats That Rocked

During my early teenage years, an old bakelite mains valve radio was probably my most treasured possession. Its acquisition was certainly one of the best turns my Dad ever did me. He picked it up second or third hand (at least), probably to stop me constantly borrowing his new portable transistor radio! That old cream Philips set looked so unassuming on my bedroom window-sill, positioned there for optimal reception and on account of the heat it gave out - but it was really a portal into another, more exciting world...

Music poured out of my radio from early evening until late at night and it heralded a more vivid reality than Latin prep or the writing up of chemistry experiments, for this wasn't just music; it wasn't only the lure of sex and drugs with a rock'n'roll soundtrack; it wasn't even illegal (yet) but it felt illicit! 

It's hard to imagine in this deregulated age, but back in 1964/1965 the BBC had a virtual monopoly of our very British airwaves with three (count them) radio channels and a stranglehold, in conjunction with two or three major record labels, on the sort of music that got played - not much of which was the sort of music I wanted to hear. Enter the pirate radio stations. Yes! Anchored outside of British territorial waters (three to five miles offshore), firstly Radio Caroline and then Radio London and Radio North Sea International began beaming non-stop switched-on pop and rock programmes to the UK mainland: the Beatles, the Stones, Kinks, Who, Hendrix, Lovin' Spoonful, Byrds, Moody Blues, Dylan, Doors. The boats were handily registered in Panama or Lichtenstein; the advertising (which funded the ventures) was brokered through foreign agencies. The government was disgruntled. The listeners were ecstatic and unfettered.

 For those of you who've seen the movie The Boat That Rocked, Richard Curtiss' affectionate tribute to the golden age of pirate radio, the film, while being a bit of a simplistic caricature, does manage to convey that sense of us against them that the existence of the pirates engendered. Radio Caroline, London and their ilk were truly making waves and not just at 199 or 266 metres on the medium wave band. They were challenging the establishment, providing an alternative and making huge cultural waves - you couldn't have found the likes of Emperor Rosko's show or John Peel's Perfumed Garden anywhere else on the airwaves in the mid-sixties.

Of course, the government eventually devised the Marine Broadcasting Offences Act which did make the pirate stations illegal and closed them down in August 1967 - the summer of love! - but the dam had been breached and it was only a matter of time before British airwaves were opened up to a host of local and commercial radio stations. In the words of Ronan O'Rahilly (the entrepreneur behind Radio Caroline): "It definitely changed the whole radio thing in Britain, and that was a healthy thing. It was all about feelings, about expression, about lots of young people being able to 'kick out the jams' and that turned on all kinds of things. The Sixties were fantastic and they did a lot - not just for Britain, they did a lot for all around the world and a lot of people were involved in that. Everything came together at the right time. It was an extraordinary moment in musical history for Britain. I did it as a way of getting exposure for unknown bands, and that's what it was about."

Years later on, my archaeology friends at university set up Radio Carbon Dating, broadcasting as Kid Bedrock and DJ Half Life, raiding my LP collection to fuel their transmissions to an unreceptive world... but that's another story for a different day.

 

My ruminations on pirate radio stations will surely result in a poem at some stage, so stay tuned.

 

Thanks for reading. Have a good week - and don't touch that dial! S ;-)   

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