The Courier & Advertiser (Angus and Dundee)
How I’ve twigged on to divining once more following a big garage clear-out
The endless rain has affected our three daily walks. The countryside is awash with standing water. Hamish makes it clear that he strongly disapproves of getting his coat wet. He really would rather hurry home and cosy up to a warm radiator. But I’m not about to buy a trendy wee dog coat to keep him dry. He gets a good towelling down after each outing.
It’s been so bad that the Doyenne decided the best thing we could do was make a long overdue start on tidying the garage.
There were boxes that hadn’t been opened since we came to this house 12 years ago.
She had got the bit between her teeth and we would have a massive clear out of all the treasures that I knew would come in useful some day. After all it had only taken 40 years for me to find a use for the piece of canvas that we had carted round several house moves.
I opened a box which contained knitting needles. In the first flush of being a new bride the Doyenne decided to knit me a tank top which were all the fashion at the time. She bought a pattern and we chose colours of wool that I liked.
In the evenings we sat companionably together while she knitted away and I read the paper, commenting gravely on the troubled state of the world. If I’d had a pipe I should have smoked it.
What I’m coming to is that among the knitting needles was a blue painted L-shaped rod.
It was one of a pair of divining rods given to me by the late Captain Mel Evans RN (Retd.) of Clearbank Farm, Stracathro.
He was an original character and entertaining company, for he had no reverence for meaningless authority and expressed his opinions robustly.
He was interested in the Earth’s energy lines, which were what he believed the rods responded to. He taught me how to use them. The tips of the short arms were balanced on the palms of my hands, and the long arms pointed out in front of me. If the two long arms swung inwards and met, divination was at work.
I was able to trace the line of our water supply through the garden of the old manse where we lived. And I traced the line of an old drainage system in the steading buildings which was blocked and needed cleared.
In the early days of North Sea oil exploration Mel was granted a licence to drill for oil on his own land. Everyone hooted with laughter at the very thought. But the last laugh would have been his if he had drilled and struck oil.
He did, however, start the Stracathro Service Station – “Ye may gang faur, and fare waur” – opposite the hospital entrance. Look how successful that has been.
There are conflicting views about divining for it is difficult to objectively determine whether it actually works. There is no scientific explanation as to why it should work, you either believe or you don’t.
Traditionally a forked hazel twig, like a catapult, was the favoured device for divining.
Holding the two arms with the handle facing forward the diviner seeks to locate and trace underground streams, pipes, grave sites and the like. When the handle twitches downwards you have located whatever it is you are looking for.
Thinking to give it another go I cut a twig from a hazel bush and went with the Doyenne into a field where I know a stream running through it has been piped and covered over.
Perhaps I wasn’t in the right part of the field or maybe I’d lost the old magic, but I didn’t get so much as a quiver. I’ll just have to start believing harder.
More and more hotels are welcoming dogs these days. They used to be seen as potential trouble but in my experience it’s badly trained owners who are the problem rather than their dogs. This is borne out in a notice the Doyenne came across.
“Dogs are welcome in this hotel. We never had a dog that smoked in bed and set fire to the blankets. We never had a dog that stole our towels and played the TV too loud, or had a noisy fight with his travelling companion. We never had a dog that got drunk and broke up the furniture... So if your dog can vouch for you, you’re welcome too. (The Management).”
At a talk I gave recently a member of the audience mentioned that he bought the The P&J, from Monday to Friday, but bought his Courier on Saturdays to read my column.
It’s a win-win situation for the publishers who publish both papers, but what a compliment to me – it fair warmed my heart. I must remember to lift my cap to him the next time I see him.
Traditionally, a forked hazel twig, like a catapult, was the favoured device