Widcombe

Vivi’s email stated that she had never seen the goddess in real life. That might not sound a very promising start for an interview, but you will soon see why we booked her.

Her house was a small family two bed in Widcombe, with pictures on the fridge, and a basket of washing near the stairs. There wasn’t much sign of her interest in Sulis Minerva, bar a small felt owl on the window sill. 

Us: So Vivi, I think it is probably best if you explain why we are here.

V: Well disappointingly, I haven’t ever seen Sulis Minerva. I’ve read all the reports of sightings on your webpage, and in terms of knowledge and interest in the goddess of the Roman Baths,  I know more than any of them. 

I’ve been looking for her for over a decade. Worshipping her really. I’ve read all the books, completed rituals, thrown a small fortune of coins into the waters. Yet you have all these people who have claimed to see her without doing squat. Most of them didn’t even know it was the goddess.  

You might think I am frustrated or annoyed. But no. I have my owl. 

Us: Your owl? 

V: Yes. The little felt one up there. 

I was at an expo for work. Nothing exciting. A platform for different stationery providers, office furniture stalls, that kind of thing. A fun day trip out of the office. My mission was to get a new paper supplier, not find a metaphysical talisman. 

Until I walked past a stall, and someone called out ‘Excuse me, would you like an owl?’

They were a business storage company. Barn Owl storage solutions, something like that. Their concept was ‘the Barn Owl keeps watch on your belongings.’ I assume that is not literal. 

On their stall were a row of  little owl toys…gonks, is that the word? The little furry balls with goggly eyes, feet, and tails on the log. These had felt tufts above the eyes. 

Their salesperson handed them out to everyone who passed by, but I swear when she offered me one there was a connection. I said yes to her question. This was a nod to Sulis Minerva. 

So far, a fun coincidence. But still only a cloth owl. Not a direct portal to the goddess, but a reminder to keep looking. 

Now this is where it gets weird. 

That little owl moved.  

To be clear, I have not seen it move. I assume it cannot walk. I understand it doesn’t have bones or muscles.  But I always keep it below my computer monitor, away from the paperwork and the folders. We don’t hot desk, and the cleaners leave our desks alone to avoid data protection breaches. Honestly, it’s only me who sits here.  

But one day I found my owl on top of a file on the other side of the desk. Another time in my drawer next to the spare staples. Once inside a lever arch folder I opened, looking up at me with googly eyes. 

Us: Now, trust me, we’ve been working on this project over the last six months. We are open to weird ideas. But are you sure it isn’t the cleaners? Or one of your co-workers tricking you?

V: Fair points. And I cannot say for certain that this isn’t a trick, or over zealous cleaning . But if so, it’s been going on for over a year. You think the culprit would have got bored. And why go into my drawers? That’s pretty serious if you get caught. 

I have tried to gather data on when these moves happen. And I reckon it is when the pressure ramps up at work. When my stress levels increase, and I feel like it’s not worth going back there.

Us: So if we were to take your story as true, why do you think she moves your owl at times of stress?

V: I recorded this interview to show you and your readers that there is proof of something afoot in Bath outside of anecdotes about women showing up near water. There are forces at work here. 

That she can give me these signs is proof in the power of the goddess. That is why she is still around to this day in such prominence. To keep us going. It is  why the city rose from the ashes after Roman domination, and has been a religious and economic center for thousands of years. Our city remains safe in this valley, protected and hemmed in by water.  She is not a creature to be spotted, but a guiding light.

Even if my owl is a coincidence, it works for me. Every time I see that owl peeking out from behind my coffee cup, I remember that I shouldn’t take this job too seriously. That I must enjoy the fact I live in a very special place.  

Crossing the river to Widcombe