BROOM TALES

October 16, 2021

During the difficult days of the COVID-19 pandemic, Clare and I are doing what we can to help those in need. Each week in this space, I will ask you to consider helping one of the local nonprofit agencies that offers critical care in our community. This week, please volunteer for, or donate, as you are able, to the Children’s Advocacy Center of Spartanburg, Cherokee, and Union, an organization that provides services for children and families who have been affected by sexual or physical abuse. To make a gift to the Children’s Advocacy Center, or to learn more about this important work, visit cacsp.org.

A few years ago, Clare and I enjoyed a meal at a local eatery in early October. As we finished our meal, I noticed two ladies standing at the checkout. While waiting to pay their tab, they examined a display of brooms placed near the door by the local Lion’s Club. The available selections featured brooms of various sizes and prices.

“You need a broom for Halloween,” one said to the other.

“Are you saying I’m a witch?” her companion asked.

“I’m just saying, you need a broom.”

“I haven’t been called a witch lately, but I have been called something close to that.”

“I’ve been called that too. Maybe we both need a broom.”

I thought about witches I have known. When I was growing up there was an old woman who lived way down beyond my house where the pavement ended and the road turned to red dirt. She had a big, black cast-iron pot in her yard and several mean dogs. One day I walked down there by myself. I heard a shotgun blast. I was pretty sure she shot at me. I thought she might have been a witch.

When I was in high school English class, I encountered three witches as characters in William Shakespeare’s play Macbeth. I can still remember their chant.

Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

At Halloween, the image of witches riding across the sky on magical broomsticks is common. Where did the notion that witches ride brooms originate? It developed during the early 16^th Century in Europe. Witchcraft hysteria erupted in the region and spread like wildfire, punctuated by brutal mass executions of women accused of being witches. Between 1580 and 1630, an estimated 50,000 people were burned at the stake, of whom 80% were women, most over the age of 40.

It was during this time that Shakespeare wrote Macbeth—originally published in 1606. At that time, throughout England, rye was the bread of the common folk. It was a staple in every home. Rye bread that aged became host to a mold called ergot. In high doses, ergot could be lethal. In smaller doses, it became quite popular among herbalists as a cure. It’s mentioned in the plays of Shakespeare and in writings from the witchcraft age.

Medicinal preparations made from ergot helped to relieve migraine headaches by constricting the swollen blood vessels that caused the pain. One ergot derivative was also useful in preventing hemorrhaging following childbirth by causing uterine muscles to contract. It was also used to ease menstrual difficulties.

Some ancient herbalists applied ergot ointment to the female body using a smooth stick, as, for example, a broomstick. However, ergot is also a source of LSD and the hallucinogenic effects are powerful. Women given this treatment often experienced altered states of consciousness including fanciful flights. Some who observed women under the influence of the drug were convinced that the women were possessed by demons and therefore they were thought to be witches. So brooms, magical flights, and witches became connected in the public mind.

Novelist J. K. Rowling gave us the high-tech broomstick in her popular fantasies about Harry Potter. The first broomstick Harry owned was the Nimbus Two Thousand. The amazing transport allowed Harry to fly through the air, especially in Quidditch matches. But in a competition at Hogwarts in Harry’s third year, he was attacked by Dementors. Rendered unconscious, Harry fell off his broom. The errant Nimbus flew into the Whomping Willow. The tree objected to being hit and smashed Harry’s broom to bits. Later in the epic tale, Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black, replaced the Nimbus with a Firebolt, a considerable upgrade in the broomstick world.

In our own house just this week, a young red-haired Ginny Weasley flew through our family room in a Hogwarts robe as she excitedly prepared her costume for Halloween. Our little witch—my nine-year-old granddaughter—rode a very old, very reliable fireplace broom.

Aside from Ginny Weasley, my most recent encounter with a witch was in a television commercial for GEICO insurance. A witch with a sinister laugh flies around a broom manufacturing plant. She stops to snag a fresh broom from one of the intimidated employees and continues her giddy flight. Two guys, one playing the mandolin, the second, a guitar, croon that those who choose GEICO insurance are happier than a witch in a broom factory.

Brooms have been used for centuries to sweep caves, campsites, cabins, and castles. In America, making brooms is considered a heritage craft. All American brooms were handmade prior to the eighteenth century. They were unrefined round brooms made from fibrous materials such as grass, straw, hay, fine twigs, or corn husks. The broom sweep was tied onto a handle made from a tree branch. Cordage used to tie the broom was woven from hemp and flax. Homemade brooms swept clean the floor and the hearth, but they fell apart easily.

In 1797 a Massachusetts farmer, Levi Dickenson, made a broom for his wife. He used the tassels left over from his harvested sorghum. His version swept better than others. Dickson started making brooms for his neighbors.

After the invention of the foot-treadle broom machine in 1810, broom shops appeared in many communities. Like the Lion’s Club display at the restaurant, customers were offered a choice of buying a small handled broom for use in tight areas around the fireplace or a long-handled one to sweep the open wood or dirt floors in their homes.

The less ornate craftsmanship of the Shakers changed the design of the round broom in the mid-1820′s. They eliminated the woven stems up the handle and introduced wire to bind their brooms to the handle. Using a vise to press the broom flat, it was stitched with linen cord.

By1830, the United States was producing enough brooms to export to other countries in South America and in Europe. The American broom industry thrived until 1994 when foreign brooms were permitted to be imported into the United States, duty-free.

Brooms play an important role in southern legend and lore. Jumping over the broom is a euphemism for marriage. The exact origin of the custom is uncertain. A commonly held belief is that the practice has roots in Africa. While the origins of this tradition are rooted in a tragic, forced act by enslavers—African slaves in the United States were not permitted legal marriage—centuries later, in some African-American communities, the act of jumping the broom is now a treasured tradition.

Some anthropologists believe that jumping over the broom at weddings was first known in Wales, originating either among the Welsh people themselves or among gypsies living in Wales. If so, the custom must have come to the colonies through Welsh settlers and then transferred to the slaves of the South. When a couple jumps over the broom together, their marriage is confirmed, and they will enjoy a good life together.

The Irish have a saying worth remembering. “A new broom sweeps clean, but the old broom knows the corners”

My grandmother used to say, “Never take an old broom to a new house.” This may explain the southern custom of giving a new broom as a housewarming gift.

Not too long ago, one of our grandsons was helping me sweep the back porch. I used a grandfather-size broom; he used a child’s broom. I was reminded of a couple of old broom superstitions.