Wands have been symbols of power for millennia. They denote civic office and, since at least the 1300s, they have symbolised and conveyed magic power. In the grimoire The Oathbound book of Honorius, hazel and laurel staffs are used for magical operations such as summoning demons. They are four sided with names and figures written upon them. In the fourteenth century Italian text, The Key of Solomon, demons are conjured and lost items are found with procedures which involve the use of wands and staffs. The former are made from hazel or other nut wood, the staffs from elder, cane or rosewood. They must be of one year’s growth only and must be cut with a single stroke on a propitious day at sunrise. They should be inscribed with figures on a similarly suitable day and at an auspicious time. The text recommends that wands should be long enough for a person to draw a circle around themselves.
In the ballad of the same name, the witch Allison Gross makes her magic with a conjurer’s staff:
“Then out she has taken a silver wand
She’s turned her three times round and round
She muttered such words till my strength it did fail
And she’s turned me into an ugly worm.”
In the ballad The Laily Worm and the Mackerel of the Sea, a silver wand is used to reverse the spell and to turn the worm back into a gentle knight.
Both William Lilly and Elias Ashmole, whose rituals for conjuring fairies have been preserved for us, make ample reference to the use of wands in their ceremonies. Reginald Scot records similar practices in Discourse on witches.
Ida Rentoul Outhwaite, A fairy flies through the night sky.
Given these magical associations, it was inevitable that those fairies being summoned should acquire their own wands too and this image has certainly become embedded in our iconography and therefore, so it would seem, in our visions of them.
Wands are not mentioned very much in traditional British folklore, but Evans Wentz mentions a Breton tale in which a white fairy wand is used to enter Faery: it is struck twice against a rock in a cross shape in order to open the portal to fairyland. Wentz also suggests that the faes’ wands may be derived from those believed to have been used by druids. (Fairy faith pp.202 & 343-4; Luzel, Contes popularies, vol.1, p.3 ‘La fille qui se maria un mort’)
The fairy wand makes a central appearance in the traditional story ‘Kate Crackernuts’ which is from Orkney. Princess Kate was victim of a jealous stepmother, who used magic to cover her good looks with a sheep’s head. Her stepsister, also called Kate, was angry at what her mother had done; together the two escape from their palace and go to live in another kingdom. There stepsister Kate discovers that the prince of the realm lies sick in his bed because he goes to dance under the hill with the fairies every night and, even more importantly, that a fairy child in the knoll possesses a wand which will cure her sister. By rolling hazelnuts, she is able to distract the little boy and seize the wand, enabling her to free her sister of the sheep’s head. Faithful Kate then cures the elf-addled prince and everyone (of course) then marries and lives happily ever after.
However, Marjorie Johnson’s Seeing fairies provides us with a dozen modern examples of faes wielding wands. The wand is often the attribute of an individual fairy identified as a fairy queen by witnesses, a distinguished person who will often wear a crown or coronet as well- though in one sighting in a Nottingham dentist’s surgery, a group of ballet dancing fairies each waved a wand. It should be remarked that the crowns and tiaras seen on the brows of these faery queens may be another human interpolation: as with wands, there’s no necessary reason why the fays should imitate our indicators of rank- nor that these regalia should signify the same things to them, even if they do.
The wands seen by Johnson’s witnesses are noted as being made of silver, gold or crystal; a couple emit light; a quarter of them have stars on the end. In one case, the wand produces magic- a twist of it by the fairy queen fills a room with other dancing fairies.
The wand seems to have become inseparable from the fairy in the minds of many. Literature, art and supernatural experiences all reinforce each other. We perhaps expect to see a wand, meaning that- whatever the fae may actually be holding- there’s a tendency for it to be labelled as a wand regardless.
Here’s Fairy led by English poet Mary Webb (1881-1927) as a closing example of what has shaped our perceptions so powerfully:
“The fairy people flouted me,
Mocked me, shouted me–
They chased me down the dreamy hill and beat me with a wand.
Within the wood they found me, put spells on me and bound me
And left me at the edge of day in John the miller’s pond.
Beneath the eerie starlight
Their hair shone curd-white;
Their bodies were all twisted like a lichened apple-tree;
Feather-light and swift they moved,
And never one the other loved,
For all were full of ancient dreams and dark designs on me.
With noise of leafy singing
And white wands swinging,
They marched away amid the grass that swayed to let them through.
Between the yellow tansies
Their eyes, like purple pansies,
Peered back on me before they passed all trackless in the dew.”
There’s more on faery magic and its deployment (and a great deal less about pretty girls in lip gloss and eye shadow wielding wands) in my Darker Side of Faery (2021):