I've been trying to think what I could say about this (other than, "Shame!" and, as Sister Tarsisus taught me to say of evil things done in my name: "Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!") that hasn't already been said. And then I decided that there really wasn't anything I could say that Jacob Bronowsk hadn't already said.
(And, of course, Oliver Cromwell ought to have taken his own advice.)
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."