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paulkincaidRather amused by this extract from a letter written by Lee Miller in the summer of 1939. The letter is quoted more extensively in The Lives of Lee Miller by Antony Penrose:
"On the way down we passed Stonehenge and realised we'd be returning on the longest day - you know, Druids, sun rays on the altar and devil worship. So we spent the night at Amesbury in a pub so close to the main road that the devil worshippers from London whistling past on high-powered broomsticks sounded more and more excitingly sinister. Up in the pale blue pre-dawn - slightly dripping - to find several thousand people waiting - sheepishly wrapped in feather quilts, motoring goggles - jodhpurs - mink, and me in my Holy Land coat comfortably gloating at the lot. There were a great many people who looked like professional devil worshippers - some in the pay of the little men - witches who had hacked there, and one wonderful descendant of Merlin in leather kit, long gray hair, and slightly stubbly beard (a female!). There was no sunrise. Forlorn and frustrated folklorists sought the shelter of their cars with shawls dragging in the mud, and twenty young hearties formed in circles etc to the harmonica music - breaking into Old English folkdancing as if it were quite natural to be flinging around in what was almost sleet."
I rather like the notion of high-powered broomsticks.
"On the way down we passed Stonehenge and realised we'd be returning on the longest day - you know, Druids, sun rays on the altar and devil worship. So we spent the night at Amesbury in a pub so close to the main road that the devil worshippers from London whistling past on high-powered broomsticks sounded more and more excitingly sinister. Up in the pale blue pre-dawn - slightly dripping - to find several thousand people waiting - sheepishly wrapped in feather quilts, motoring goggles - jodhpurs - mink, and me in my Holy Land coat comfortably gloating at the lot. There were a great many people who looked like professional devil worshippers - some in the pay of the little men - witches who had hacked there, and one wonderful descendant of Merlin in leather kit, long gray hair, and slightly stubbly beard (a female!). There was no sunrise. Forlorn and frustrated folklorists sought the shelter of their cars with shawls dragging in the mud, and twenty young hearties formed in circles etc to the harmonica music - breaking into Old English folkdancing as if it were quite natural to be flinging around in what was almost sleet."
I rather like the notion of high-powered broomsticks.
