Graeme Talboys has been a Druid for many years. He runs
the Hedge Druid Network, and has written books including: 'The Voice Within
the Wind', 'The Path through the Forest' & 'Arianrhods Dance' (with Julie
White).
What are your earliest memories of paganism?
It is difficult to know at this distance when I first became
aware of paganism as something that might have a name and be considered as
something ‘other’. I do know that my earliest memories are of
listening to the belling of red deer stags in rut and hearing the herd moving
close to where I lived. I also remember having picnics with my mother under
the trees with deer wandering by. And strongly mixed with this is a slightly
later memory from the same place (overlooking the southern end of Richmond
Park) of a summer storm with sheet lightning that tore up the sky and left
me with a deep fascination with thunder storms.
We left London when I was five and I have lived all round the country in the
many intervening years, but I can still see the sky alive with light and still
shiver with delight when I hear red deer calling. Perhaps these awakened in
me a way of perceiving the world that is what I would now term as pagan. They
were images and understandings that were certainly reinforced by many happy
holidays spent in Gloucestershire playing in dense woodland with siblings
and cousins up on the ancient landscape; later shaped by solitary wanderings
in the Sussex countryside.
You meet many things in the woods and up on the high hills with the wide sky
above you. Insects, birds, wild mammals, ideas, dreams, and spirits of the
place and those who once lived there. Most importantly, you meet yourself.
The companionship of the deer and the strength of the storm stood me in good
stead.
Did you ever have any sort of moment of realisation?
There was never any sudden flash of light that came with a realisation that
I was pagan (unless you count that storm back in 1956), but there was a moment
when I was shown what particular type of pagan I was (although it was some
years before I could put a proper name to it). After we left London, we lived
for a while in Norwich and from there we moved to Sussex. This was six weeks
before the end of my second year at secondary school. As a result, I inherited
(or was inherited by) an English teacher, Bill Euston, who was just six weeks
away from retirement. To celebrate this fact, he sat us down, handed out copies
of ‘The Once and Future King’ by T. H. White and began reading
to us. That was when I first met Myrddin properly.
I realize that White’s vision of the Matter of Britain is somewhat unusual,
but it is nonetheless captivating. And of all the characters, it was Myrddin
with whom I most identified. Whilst I realized the importance of Arthur’s
task in this world (and even then realized that women played a key role in
the story that had been twisted and hidden by generations of Christianization
– it was years before I learned that Myrddin had a twin sister), I knew
I was not up to that sort of thing. The world of learning, and learning about
the unusual and seeing things from an unusual perspective, is where my strengths
lay; learning and passing on what I learned (for what is the point of learning
if you do not share your experience of the world?).
Myrddin became my role model and has, with Gwendydd, guided me ever since.
How difficult was it as a younger pagan?
I had no particular problems. I did not encounter prejudice simply because
I didn’t share my thoughts in any overt manner. I wrote poetry and sometimes
shared that with those I knew would understand my sentiments, but even that
was exploratory stuff – a bit like a diary. Being of a solitary nature,
I did not worry about lack of pagan companionship. I knew there must be others
out there (and that my friends were somewhere on the fringe – this was
the ‘60s and ‘70s, man), was aware of pagan and unorthodox religious
and spiritual groups, but was never attracted towards them. As far as I was
concerned, my spiritual and religious development was my own business.
The outward element of those beliefs meant that I was involved with environmental
groups of varying kinds. I watched over badger setts, actively campaigned
against nuclear power (for which I now have a fat Special Branch file), and
became involved in Green politics (which probably made the file fatter). Those
same beliefs were probably an important factor in deciding to train as a teacher
(at a Church of England training college of all places).
How did you find Druidry, what made you pursue
it?
Having found Myrddin and Gwendydd (or been found by them), it was inevitable
that I would realize that the Forest in which I was wandering was the Druid
Way. I had long since been reading books on and of Celtic mythology (having
always been more attracted to the Welsh than the Irish), and had a deep love
of all things Arthurian. It was all there, really. It wasn’t until 1970
that I overcame my resistance of applying the word to myself. That was when
I began to realize that whilst the function of ancestral Druids no longer
applied to present day society, the metaphysic by which they (and all Celts)
understood the world was still relevant and was driving my own understanding
of what was around me. It was shaping my spiritual understanding, it was making
me an environmentalist, and it would make me a teacher.
Having discovered what it was that was shaping me and my relationship with
the world, there was no question but that I should try to understand it and
express it more fully. I’m still working on that.
As a young pagan, did frustration or difficulty
ever make you want to give up?
No. Giving up on something of that sort has never been in my nature. There
are, of course, good reasons for walking away from some things (especially
if you realize they are not in accord with who you are) but finding something
difficult is not one of them.
Becoming and being Druid isn’t an easy ride. It takes time, dedication,
physical and spiritual energy, and a great deal of faith simply to acquire
the skills that enable us to approach the great Forest, let alone undertake
any real exploration within its depths. That is not say that I did not have
difficult and frustrating times, but I did learn very early that not only
do you have to work for understanding, but also that when you are ready for
something it will arrive.
I also learned very early on that being Druid is the essence of my existence.
It is what I am, shapes all other aspects of my life. How do I give that up?
Looking back now, what would you say about
your young pagan days, how have your experiences shaped your own vision now?
I was lucky in that I grew up in a loving family, with tolerant older siblings
and parents who, though they may have been a bit puzzled by me, accepted I
had the right to explore the world in my own way. I was also lucky in that
I grew up during the 1960s. A great deal of rubbish has been written about
that time – it wasn’t all sex ‘n’ drugs ‘n’
rock ‘n’ roll (at least not where I lived, dammit), but there
was a wonderful sense of freedom and optimism abroad in the world (despite
the usual roll-call of famine, pestilence, and war). The music was great,
there was a vibrant arts scene, literature was exploratory and fun, folklore
was reaching a wider audience, the ‘underground’ was open to all
genuine folk, and spiritual exploration was tolerated no matter how exotic
it seemed. In my little corner of the world (Lewes, Brighton, and Seaford)
we generally had a wonderful time of it and I recall those days and my many
friends with great affection.
All of which may seem, at first, to avoid answering the question. But the
point is that being pagan and working toward understanding what type of pagan
was part of a much wider cultural existence. That exploration was part of,
and accepted by, a much wider world. It did not seem to me to be anything
special, in the sense that everyone else around me was also on a voyage of
exploration. This might, perhaps, be exemplified by my favourite haunt in
Brighton – the Unicorn bookshop. All sorts of folk were to be found
in there. I often went in to look through their Arthurian material and their
books of green activism, but whilst there mixed with established and wannabe
musicians, writers, artists, political activists, spiritual seekers, and the
usual assortment of dope heads.
Unicorn is no more, which is a great loss, but it was part of a world and
a time that allowed me to explore with confidence, even if I felt I was –
in my particular journey – on my own. I do not know if that climate
exists today, or if it does, it is nowhere near as universal as it was back
then. This is not to say that it was a Golden Age. There were casualties,
burn-outs, exploiters and the exploited. It was the height of the Cold War.
But the cauldron in which I was formed contained a heady mix – a sense
of general community, a confidence in my right to explore my spirituality,
and a belief that no matter how small a change I might make, I could change
(and still can) change the world for the better.
What would you say to any young pagan/Druid
who came to you asking for advice on 'where to go' and 'what to do'?
Giving any kind of advice carries with it an enormous responsibility and
depends a great deal on the person who is asking. Before sending a person
on (for although I have taught on a personal basis in the past, I no longer
have the energy to do the job properly), I like to know where they have come
from, what they have already done, and why they wish to continue.
In terms of ‘where to go’, I usually advise joining a group, grove
or Order with the caveat that these are communities of like-minded people,
not wonder-machines for producing instant enlightenment. In terms of ‘what
to do’, I always entreat people to make it practical – whatever
you learn as a Druid, apply it to your everyday life and be guided by that
in every thought, word, and deed.
And finally, is there anything else you'd like
to add, in general?
Yes. But it would (and has) filled whole books. And whilst I believe books
are wonderful things, they are not the be all and end all of being Druid.
Read the standard modern texts (and watch out for the phoneys of which there
are, sadly, a great many), collect the source material (every Druid should
have books like The Mabinogion and the Táin Bó Cuailnge as well
as early Arthurian literature on their shelves), but also read widely in other
areas. A book doesn’t have to have Druid or Celt in the title to be
relevant. Look at folklore, philosophy, other religious and spiritual traditions,
natural history, and so on.
But save your books for the evening and the winter when it is difficult to
be outside. The real source of a Druid’s understanding is the natural
world. Learn from the world outside the covers of a book. Search out there;
come to know that world and how to listen to it (because it has everything
to tell you that is worth knowing). And don’t always look in the obvious
places. If you are practical, enrol in classes for hedge-laying or dry stone
walling, learn about organic gardening by doing it (even if it means getting
hold of a small allotment). If you are artistic, go to classes that help you
develop your talent. If you are social minded or love animals, get out there
and help people and animals. As I’ve already said, and constantly re-iterate,
being Druid is about how you live every aspect of your life. You do not need
to mix with other Druids to do that (although it always good to be with like-minded
folk). Helping out at an animal sanctuary is being Druid. Installing energy
saving light bulbs and insulating your loft (if you’ve got one) is being
Druid. Recycling is being Druid. Helping your neighbour is being Druid.
And of course, sitting in woodland listening to the birds, dozing in the sunshine,
and having a good time is also being Druid. For ours might be a difficult
path, but it also a Way of joy and Light and there is nothing wrong with remembering
that drawing strength from all the goodness there is around us.
With Blessing
Graeme K Talboys
aka Greywind
