'Thout, tout a tout, throughout and about!' — Have you ever seen a witch, dressed all in black and flying silhouetted against the full moon? Whether or not you have had this doubtful privilege, have you ever wondered why these creatures were so keen on the broomstick as a means of transport?

This was not their only vehicle, mind you. They also flew on staves, forks, upon the backs of demons in animal form, or more rarely without any visible means of support, and in fact the number of this eerie sisterhood who actually confessed to flying on broomsticks is remarkably small, according to Purnell's Man Myth and Magic. This same source tells us too that they were believed to travel on hobby horses, bunches of straw, wisps of grass, or even in eggshells.

The broomstick was formerly the emblem of the virtuous housewife, since it was an indoor, domestic implement, and until some time in the 20th century in parts of the British Isles, a woman would prop up a broom outside her home when she went out, or even push it up the chimney with its end sticking out.

Perhaps her purpose was to guard her home by being symbolically present in the form of a broom. And since witches and devils, as enemies of domesticity, used to preside over smoky chimneys, and enter and leave houses by them, there was a lot of sense in blocking this aperture with a broom in earlier times, or even in placing a poker against the top of the grate, thus forming a cross over the hearth, the symbolic centre of the home.

Man Myth and Magic also informs us that the belief that witches flew on broomsticks was probably partly based on the fact that they used them in ritual dances, while their male counterparts would use pitchforks.

In some such dances they would hold a stick between their legs and jump high into the air, thus giving confused and frightened observers the idea that they were flying. In fact, the famous 14th century witch, Alice Kyteler, had a staff which she used to grease with a certain ointment, and afterwards 'amble and gallop wherever she pleased', though there is no actual indication that she flew, while the 13th century tract, Errores Gazariorum states that at her initiation every witch was presented with a stick annointed with flying ointment.

In fact, the earliest known confession of flying on a broom came from a man named Guillaume Edelin in 1453, and in 1563 a man on the English Channel island of Guernsey related seeing his aged mother 'straddle a broomstick and whisk up the chimney and out of the house on it'.

Confessions of flying up the chimney, however, were somewhat rare. Meanwhile, the lawyer and witch-hunter Jean Bodin, in his Demonomanie of 1580, maintained that the flight of witches on broomsticks, black rams or whatever was only illusory, and that it was only their spirits which flew, while their bodies actually remained at home.

Tibetan Buddhism records such acts as being practised even in the early 20th century, and in fact the British government in India kept several of these 'fleet-of-footers' on its payroll as messengers. Glen Mullin in The Flying Mystics of Tibetan Buddhism records that 'One British officer... reported that a letter given to a Tibetan fleet-of-footer in Darjeeling in the morning could be delivered to Lhasa by the afternoon... The same messenger would return the following day with a signed and sealed response.'

In fact, there are two schools of thought on the flight of the flimflamming, fiendish fey — i.e. the witch. While most writers on the subject conceded that they flew, with or without the aid of flying ointments and such like, many insisted that their confessions of flight were products of hallucinations or vivid dreams.

In the 9th century, the Canon Episcopi dismissed the whole thing as Satan-inspired fantasies, 'so that the victim believes that these things, which only her spirit experiences (are experienced) in the body'.

Flying ointments have received a lot of scholarly attention, especially from 16th and 17th century writers. All recipes mentioned contained extracts from highly poisonous plants like deadly nightshade and hemlock, along with the boiled fat and bone marrow of unbaptised babies stolen from home or grave.

Reginald Scott's Discoverie of Witchcraft (1584) recorded that all required baby parts were 'seethed in a cauldron', and that the resultant grease formed the ointment's base. Cinqefoil, poplar leaves, soot, even the innocent parsley which Craig Clairborne mentions in his Herb and Spice Cook Book (1963) as being symbolic of victory and revelry, were further likely ingredients.

In his preface to Margaret Murray's Witch-Cult in Western Europe, Professor A.J. Clark noted that the strong poisons contained in flying ointments, especially if contacting scratches or vermin bites on the skin, would have definite physiological effects.

Aconite, he wrote, produces irregular heart action, while deadly nightshade and hemlock could produce excitement and delirium, along with which delusions including those related to flight could be experienced.

Regarding flying dreams, John Cotta in The Triall of Witchcraft (1616) quoted an Italian story about a woman who fell into such a deep trance after anointing herself with the requisite ointment that she could not be roused, even when shaken or beaten.

Finally, she awoke and declared that she had been flying over seas and mountains, whereas she had been fast asleep in her own room all the time.

Other methods of flight such as the use of seven-league boots no doubt depended on being in a deep state of meditation. And travel covering phenomenal distances with each footstep, was not confined to witches.

Tibetan Buddhism records such acts as being practised even in the early 20th century, and in fact the British government in India kept several of these 'fleet-of-footers' on its payroll as messengers. Glen Mullin in The Flying Mystics of Tibetan Buddhism records that 'One British officer... reported that a letter given to a Tibetan fleet-of-footer in Darjeeling in the morning could be delivered to Lhasa by the afternoon... The same messenger would return the following day with a signed and sealed response.'

Finally, Man Myth and Magic informs us that in the late 18th century the whole question of witches in flight 'was thrashed out in an English court of law,' where Lord Mansfield declared in his famous judgement that he knew of no law prohibiting flying in England, and that anyone who wished to fly was perfectly free to do so.

Therefore, why, from the moment of its sanction, did reports of British witches in the air, apart from the isolated East Anglian ladies of the night who skimmed church spires, cease to be heard throughout the next 50 years? Had Lord Mansfield's august opinion robbed them of their Succes de scandale?