by
Sasha Fenton
During the 1980s, many BAPS members travelled around the country giving readings at festivals. We stayed in small guest houses, and after our day’s work was finished and we had eaten, we often sat around in one of the rooms, talking about mind, body, spirit matters. We all had different areas of knowledge and different skills, and none of us were in the habit of hugging knowledge to ourselves, so these gatherings often became wonderful mini-workshops. On the night in question, a young reflexologist, who I shall call Jessica, decided to demonstrate her skills to us. Seven of us met up in a bedroom that had two double beds which we pushed together, and we sat on the beds with our feet lined up ready for Jessica’s demonstration.
There is no need for me to disguise the names of Jessica’s guinea pigs, but I cannot remember who all of them were, apart from Barbara Ellen, Berenice Watt and Malcolm Wright, among others. Malcolm was the only man, and he sat in the middle of the bed with three women on each side of him. Malcolm is very tall and he has long, bony feet, so these stood up head and shoulders, so to speak, above our female tootsies. Malcolm also has both the Sun and Moon in Pisces (a sign that rules the feet) so his are sensitive, delicate, and they are often the bane of his life.
Jessica started to talk, making her points by pressing, pulling and fiddling with each person’s feet in turn. This was my first encounter with reflexology and I thought that it was either a rough business, or that Jessica was pummelling us with far too much enthusiasm. I have had reflexology on a number of occasions and no other reflexologist’s ministrations were anything like Jessica’s.
When Jessica got to Malcolm, she was in full flow. I can’t for the life of me remember what she was saying, but I will never forget what happened next. She got hold of Malcolm’s big toe and gave it an almighty twist. Malcolm shrieked in pain, and in an effort to get away from the agony, his whole body convulsed and he ended up not only lying across the two beds but also across the laps of the six women. He was still crying and moaning with pain when - after a brief hiatus - we all fell about laughing. This, of course, was just the moment that the landlady burst into the room.
She must have thought that we were killing each other, destroying the place or worse still, engaged in an orgy. When she saw the seven of us piled on the bed, still crying with laughter, and with Malcolm somewhere in the middle of the heap, she was convinced that it was the latter. Fortunately, she did no more than glare at us and stamped out of the room, but how quiet we all were at breakfast the next day!
Spring 2004