I so love that title that I couldn’t wait to use it here! It dropped in my lap during a conversation with my favorite aunt about our ancestors in merry old England.
My Aunt Jo will be 83 next week, and I’ve been making it a point to visit her as often as I can. She’s the eldest keeper of the memories now, and I’m learning much about my mother’s side of the family.
Turns out I’m named after my great-grandmother Jane. My mother wanted to “modernize it” back in ’54, so she added a “t” to the end. Great-grammy never made it to the United States; she died in England. Great-grampy brought his three children, all in their teens, through Ellis Island in 19-oh-something.
I asked what town we hailed from. Where was Jane buried? And my aunt said it stared with a W. My mom said it was something like “Woolly,” and suddenly my aunt remembered and blurted out, “Wookey Hole!”
Wookey Hole? Seriously? (My mind flashed immediately to Chebacca, the Wookie on Star Wars. Thankfully, I remembered he came from the planet Kashyyyk, and therefore we couldn’t possibly be related.)
I came home and googled Wookey Hole. Yep, it actually exists, and is located about 25 miles from Bath. The Wookey Hole Caves are the major claim to fame for the small town, and guided tours are just 16 pounds per person.
The legend of the Wookey Witch is explained in detail on the website, but I’m betting “the witch” was more like a giant stalagmite working its way up from the floor of the cave. Nevertheless, now that the London Olympics are behind us, I’m making plans to visit the land of my foremothers in the very near future!