With the long-awaited arrival of spring, lengthening days generate a feeling of life and light within us. Thoughts of the natural world sprout in our minds as budding green shoots, tuning us into this season of growth and rebirth. But where there is light, there is also darkness; the balance of nature demands that where there is life, death is sure to follow.
Striking this balance between life and death has historically been an integral part of the folklore surrounding the natural world. The use of baneful plants treads the fine line between kill and cure, with the homeopathic nature of certain treatments requiring a consummate knowledge of herblore. Here we examine three plants in an effort to understand their use within cultural and literary contexts, and the effect they had on society’s perception of wise women at a time when healers became innocent victims of mass hysteria.
YEW (Taxus baccata)
The ancient yew tree has a long association with Druidic culture and was initially brought to Europe by the Celts. Due to its miraculous ability for rebirth it quickly became synonymous with sacred ground, hence its presence in many modern churchyards.
Its deathly reputation stems from its toxic nature, a plant that should only have been administered by highly experienced practitioners. Accidents happened easily and the yew’s inherent toxicity caused fatalities that adversely affected the reputation of those that worked with it. Folklore stated that yew trees were excellent hiding places for evil spirits and witches, but conversely planting one in your garden could ward off witchcraft.
During the witch hunting era in Europe, William Shakespeare used the yew as a shorthand reference for his audience as to the dangerous nature of his infamous witches, the Weird Sisters. In Macbeth, he ominously describes them using,
“…slips of yew, silvered in the moon’s eclipse.”
The mention of the moon is notable. In nineteenth century England, men using herbs medicinally were known as ‘cunning men.’ One source describes a travelling cunning man,
“He travelled only by night, and his accoutrements included a basket of herbs gathered in the light of the moon.”[1]
Until as late as the twentieth century a familiar rural sight throughout the winter months was the Wild Herb Men. This gang of labourers claimed they had a right to dig for wild and baneful herb roots under an ancient Tudor charter,
“They unoficially dug roots of the ‘weird plants’, used in country pharmacy, horsemanry and witchcraft.”[2]
Those who specialised in horsemanry were sometimes known as “horse witches” and were renowned in farming communities for their power of bewitching and immobilising horses and other farm animals. This select group of rural men closely guarded secret recipes that ‘acted as allurements and charms.’[3]
One of their most prized plants was the yew, which they termed ‘savage.‘ A document written by a Norfolk vicar describes men asking permission to take yew from his churchyard as it was the only one locally that had the correct properties.
Horse witches made use of many toxic plants. Suspicion surrounded not only the plants themselves, but also those who were prepared to use them. As late as 1958, one local resident ‘…regarded it as witchcraft and said if he couldn’t manage horses without that sort of thing, he’d do without it.’[4]
HEMLOCK (Conium maculatum)
Our second deadly plant, hemlock has a cultural history dating back to Ancient Greece, where Socrates committed suicide by drinking it as a tea preparation. It consequently developed a reputation as a poison for ‘respectable men’.
In Greek mythology, it was used by the sorceress Circe to despatch male enemies, with indirect references to its ability to kill off male libido. Hemlock is also frequently represented as sacred to the goddess Hecate. It seems that the trope of the powerful female, at one with deadly plants and determined to destroy male potency has been embedded in our culture for thousands of years.
We return again to Shakespeare, with his remarkable ability to shape contemporary public attitudes. Once more, he stirs up his audiences with a description of,
“Root of hemlock, digged i’the dark.”
This line informs the audience that the witches are certainly using hemlock for nefarious purposes; common knowledge of the time stated that the root was the most toxic part. Proof if proof were needed for the great British public that the witches had deadly intent.
Playwright Ben Johnson mentions hemlock in “The Witches’ Song,” a direct reference to heinous propaganda circulating at the time as a result of King James I’s ‘Daemonologie’, The ninth witch sings:
“And I ha’ beene plucking (plants among)
Hemlock, henbane, adder’s-tongue,
Night-shade, moone-wort, libbards-bane;
And twise by the dogges was like to be tane.”
The entwining of hemlock and witchcraft continued well into the seventeenth century, with herbalist Nicholas Culpeper discussing the plant in ‘The English Physitian.’ Culpeper was arrested for witchcraft in 1642, partly due to his knowledge and use of herbs but was acquitted and released.
DEADLY NIGHTSHADE (Atropa belladonna)
Deadly nightshade, or belladonna was traditionally used as a poison, but those with expert knowledge could combine it with other ingredients to create a form of primitive anaesthesia, derivatives of which are still used today.
It is named after one of the Greek Fates, Atropos, a powerful and deadly female character. It is also sacred to Bellona, the Roman goddess of war; a repeat of the perpetual cultural link between the poisonous plant and the ‘femme fatale.’
The suspicion of females using baneful plants to trick unwitting males continued as women administered belladonna to their eyes, dilating their pupils and enabling them to ‘bewitch’ men (hence the Italian name ‘bella donna,’ or ‘beautiful woman.’) In another romantic context, it is thought that the sleeping draught Shakespeare’s Juliet drank may have been laced with deadly nightshade.
In traditional witchcraft, belladonna was an integral ingredient of flying ointment. Tudor physicians recorded recipes, and persecutory tracts such as ‘Daemonologie’ and the ‘Malleus Maleficarum’ specifically quote the use of flying ointment as part of trial protocol, going so far as to suggest that the very use of herbs and charms in itself is an effective way of identifying a witch. The ‘Discoverie of Witchcraft’ mentions deadly nightshade, stating that it was applied, and:
‘…then they rubbe all parts of their bodies, til they look red, and verie hot.’
Belladonna also appears frequently in folkloric traditions as a ‘witch’s ingredient.’ Children were told that if they ate the berries, they would come face to face with the devil himself. Some legends stated that those who had been enchanted, for good or bad, could have the spell lifted by a witch placing a wreath of deadly nightshade on their head.
This is one of the very rare recorded cultural or literary references to witches performing a benevolent service in relation to a deadly plant. From the historical records mentioned, we can see that communities were aware of the witches’ use of baneful herbs, but in the typical double standards of the day, prepared to request and pay for their skills, yet equally content to report them for the use of the plants. Every day of their lives, these brave women were walking the fine line between a reputation of life-giving healer and unwitting killer.
From time immemorial, these poisonous plants and their properties become entangled with the imagery of mysteriously powerful, murderous females, particularly dangerous as they are prepared to despatch the highest members of society; privileged males who were writing and peddling propaganda that destroyed thousands of lives. In a tragic paradox, the toxicity and deathly nature of the plants themselves evolved into a representation of those who used them, forging a reputation of the witch in the public conscience that remains to this day.
As we strive to educate ourselves, let us in the name of balance redress this inaccurate perception and become advocates for the portrayal of witchraft in its true form – a magickal and wondrous pathway that embraces diversity; a beacon of light guiding us all through darkness as the wheel of the year continues to turn.
Published in ‘Witchology’, Spring 2023
[1] Pennick, N ‘Witchcraft & Secret Societies of Rural England’
[2] As above
[3] Butler, S ‘Goodbye Old Friend’
[4] Unknown Authors, ‘Veterinary Cures & Recipes: The Horseman’s Words & Charms,’ by kind courtesy of the Norfolk Record Office (M521630_147_502X2)
Lucy Spirit ~ Portfolio 
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