It’s a thing: croning nights

Caroline O’ Donoghue explains why women are ditching traditional girls’ nights out for quasi-witchcraft sessions

a few months ago, something incredible happened. One of my dearest friends – a girl who, in the last three years, had gone through two major, heart- crushing breakups – bought a house. On her own. In London. She didn’t have family wealth, and she didn’t have shares in a tech company. She just worked really bloody hard, saved her money and did it.

When she invited me over to eat Deliveroo on her floor, I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to celebrate what she had achieved. She had won big in a system that says only couples can get houses. But there are no cards at Clintons for this. There are no ceremonies for, ‘ You’re really owning this single woman thing.’ I had an idea: you know who would know how to celebrate this? Witches.

I’ve noticed it’s becoming surprisingly common to wade into our collectively witchy past and pull out activities to bond over. In my ( granted, highly nerdy and very specific) group of friends, it has become completely normal to bring tarot cards to the pub. Another friend, rather than arrange a hen night for her best mate, instead decided to throw a ‘hag night’, complete with chanting and pseudo-wiccan moon rituals. It was amazing how, despite so many women coming together from so many areas of the bride’s life, everyone got on-board. Even for those uninterested in the occult, it provided a fun – and very welcome – respite from the straight-from- a-bag ‘girls’ night’ activities that, too frequently, place all their emphasis on the men that aren’t there. Penis straws, L-plates and dildos were replaced with spells, crystals and a weird craft table.

So, armed with my tarot cards and a Wiccan spell I found online, I went over to my friend’s new home to throw her a house blessing ceremony. The ceremony was short; I will share it with you here. It is best if you have a drink, so as not to feel silly – which you will, at first, but you’ll get used to it.

Get some milk, honey, salt, oil (the spell said frankincense, but we just used some bath oil), noisemakers ( glass ramekins that we rattled with spoons) and start the following chant, throwing a bit of salt as you do: ‘ By the elements I purify and charge this portal.’ The portal is the window. You can call it a window if you want, but portal will make you feel a bit more legit. Dab your fingertips in the milk and honey, then throw that at the window as flamboyantly as you can. Now say: ‘By milk and honey I ensure prosperity and peace within this place.’ Finally, flick some of the oil at the window. Say this, loudly: ‘ With oil I seal this portal and protect all within.’

We did this for every window and door in the little house, tentatively at first, and bellowing loudly by the end. We read poems and lit candles, and did everything we could imagine an old crone, living in a cottage at the edge of a forest, might do. Wasn’t the witch from Hansel and Gretel just a struggling homeowner, after all? Would she have resorted to eating children if someone had bothered to throw her a party once in a while?

That’s why releasing our inner crone that night felt so important. It’s not just about buying someone a drink and saying ‘well done’. It’s taking the time and effort to give the women in your life a ritual of victory where there was none before. It’s saying: you did something, and it was hard, and I see you, and I celebrate it. It’s something I know I’ll repeat, for every woman I know who needs celebrating.