The Last Wellkeeper of Britain

Our Brythonic ancestors seemed to have a thing for sacred springs, using them as places to petition for healing and to honor local spirits. These practices didn’t die out with the advent of Christianity but rather became absorbed, with ‘holy wells’ being dedicated to various saints, many of which are thinly veiled Christianised versions of Celtic/Gaulish deities. Many scholars see an obvious continuation of the worship of  local deities in the cults of various Catholic saints.

The Madron Well in Cornwall, also known as St. Madern's Well or St. Maddern's Well, has a rich and storied history that dates back many centuries and appears to be a good example of a Christianised pagan sacred site. Its origins are believed to be pre-Christian, with the well initially serving as a sacred site before the advent of Christianity in the British Isles. 

According to local history, the well is named after St. Madern (or Madron), a 6th-century Celtic Christian saint who resided in the area. It is said that St. Madern was renowned for his healing abilities and that he used the waters of the well to cure ailments and provide comfort to the afflicted. The well subsequently became associated with his name and legacy.

However, there is so little information available about St. Madern that it has been suggested by historians that he never existed at all. Others have suggested he was a hermit from Brittany who was born in Cornwall, but this seems odd, given that the site of the well is not where he lived and therefore he could hardly dispense cures from its water. It is perhaps more likely that he has 

been confused with a known female saint of a similar name, St Madryn.

 While this Christianisation often served to obscure the pagan origins of many saints, it also inadvertently helped preserve their veneration, and many of the sites of once-pagan saints became Christian sites of both worship and prayer, particularly for healing.

Madron Well is certainly renowned for its healing properties. Pilgrims and visitors still come from far and wide to visit the waters, even though the well is now little more than a trickle, believing that they hold the power to cure a variety of ailments, both physical and spiritual. Historically. Madron used to supply water for the entire parish (also called Madron) in a tangible example of the Goddess’ abundance.

The act of dipping oneself in the well's waters or tying offerings to nearby trees or bushes (often strips of fabrics known as ‘clooties’ which are believed to rot as the pain or illness subside) was both a form of devotion and a means of invoking the healing energies of the water.

Surrounding the well today are several trees adorned with colorful ribbons and cloth strips, showing that the clootie tradition is alive and well and still an integral part of holy well veneration. Visitors still tie their offerings to the trees while making wishes or seeking blessings. This practice is reminiscent of similar contemporary traditions found at other sacred sites in the ‘Celtic’ world, from stone circles to sacred groves.

Just a little way up the path from the clootie trees and the wellhead is a ruined chapel, a scheduled Ancient Monument believed to date as far back as the 12th century, dedicated to the elusive St Madern. Take a visit to it today and you're still likely to find  homemade temporary altars set up there, consisting of flowers or other offerings, showing the site is very much still in use. On my own trips there, I find the chapel feels as powerful energetically as the well itself, and I am not surprised so many visitors are drawn there, whether pagan, Christian or anything else. In 1873 folklorist William Bottrell said this about the well;

Much has been written of the remarkable cures effected by its holy waters, and the intercession of St. Madron, or Motran; when it was so famous that the maimed, halt, and lame, made pilgrimages from distant parts to the heathy moor.

He also described how, on Wednesdays in May, children would be bathed in the well in order to cure them of skin diseases and minor ailments. Young people would drop pins and stones in the water, divining their future love affairs from the bubbles raised. It was from a local woman of Madron, who he describes as ‘a highly reputed charmer’ that Bottrell learned of An Katty.

For Madron was also the site of Britain’s last living wellkeeper, An Katty. The tradition of well keeping has deep roots in British culture and history, just as the wells themselves have held a special place in the hearts and minds of local people and pilgrims for centuries.

Wellkeepers, often local individuals and typically women, were found at holy wells, helping to supply ‘cures’ and to pray for the sick. It was a tradition often frowned upon as pagan by local clergy, particularly after the Reformation, and as a superstition after the Enlightenment, but local legends suggest that at one time these custodians of the sacred waters were integral to the community and held a position of respect and responsibility.

For some, well keepers were seen as mediators between the earthly realm and the supernatural. They were thought to have a special connection to the saints or spirits associated with the well and could offer prayers, blessings, or guidance to those seeking solace, healing, or divine favor.

An Katty was the keeper when the well and chapel were still regularly visited as sites of healing cures, especially for eye problems, skin diseases in children and back pain. It was also associated with divination, and An Katty is believed to have told fortunes there, especially for young women who visited on May Day and Midsummer, wanting to know about their marriage prospects. She refused to take money, instead requesting payments of yarn or food. In keeping with the tradition of the well being used to help ailing children, she helped the women who came there with the ritual, telling Bottrell;

First she had the child stripped as naked as it was born; then it was plunged three times against the sun; next the creature was passed quickly nine times around the spring, going from east to west, or with the sun; the child was then dressed, rolled up in something warm, and laid to sleep near the water; if it slept, and plenty of bubbles rose in the well, it was a good sign. I asked if a prayer, charm or anything was spoken during the operations? "Why, no, to be sure," my old friend replied, "don't ’e know any better, there musn’t be a word spoken all the time they are near the water, it would spoil the spell; and a piece rented, not cut, from the child's clothes, or from that of anybody using the well must be left near it for good luck; ever so small a bit will do.

She also told Bottrell that she had no knowledge of any saint ever being associated with the well, that it was a ‘Wishing Well’ and the power came from there, not from the chapel. Needless to say, the local Anglican clergy disapproved of both her and the seasonal traditions, and after An Katty died, there was no-one to take her place. 

Later on in the century, Methodists started to hold services at the ruined chapel, and the well itself was used less. But while the tradition of the well keeper may have died out, the animist impulse behind it may still offer us something for a time in which our relationship with the land has never been more strained.