There'll auways be Romford

There'll auways be Romford or so-ige n' chips, sor-id mate

Arm from like Ornchurch, in case ya didn't know,

Me mum an dad were poor, we didn't ave much dough.

Its that dodgy taan, next Romford like innit,

Men aul look like bull dogs, an girls arn't aff in it.

It's a 'slag town’ innit, of orange tinged east enders,

Girls walk arand, with dodgy make up on benders.

Daun look at the lads, specil when they’re gattered,

They'll take it as a slur, an ya will be battered.

We had it aul like, brewery, pub an chippy,

Do what yer like, except d'ant be na ippy.

In Romford that made yar, a dodgy art-sider,

The lads would give yar, a proper street slider.

Off daun Romford markit, on sat-day arta-noon,

Barra boyz an veg, yar can't aff ear em croon.

Get yar pair-a caulies, for only artha pand,

Mate gies me that fiver, I'll puta sack in yar and.

There woz na ba-ar sight, than chippy wi spuds,

Got the right dough mate? Just daun't gi him na duds.

This flippin geezer adda, dodgy nine bob note,

Chippy lost is cool, ee took im, by the throat.

Ar ya ge-in ready/in an urri, to meet ya ancestors,

Before ya like spoil ya, cot-on polyesters.

I add to look away, we didn't ave a nurse,

Len sud-nly ee faund, another in is purse.

Its find a girl and bang er, for lads on Friday nights,

While girls walk arand, with dodgy make up an highlights.

Bu we woz aul appi, attending to ar thirst,

There'll always be Ornchurch, coz Romford ai'nt the worst.

Copyright Andrew Rea Lammastide 2019

Introduction

I wrote this to explore the accent that I tried desperately not to acquire. I grew up in this area, it could get a bit rough at times. In my day there was a kind of paranoia on the streets among young people, when you passed someone of similar age in a side street there was a temptation to look back, as often as not they would be doing the same.

The 'street slider' is my expression for being shoved to the side with great force with the clear intention of downing someone – it happened to me once close to Romford station, perhaps because I had long hair.

Cye-der Space

Introduction

This poem or song is a reworking of a previous poem called ‘Seidr Space’.

In Old Norse, seiðr was a type of sorcery which involved the incantation of galdors (spells that were sung or chanted). Practitioners of seiðr were predominantly women (vǫlva or seiðkona "seiðr woman"), although there were male practitioners (seiðmaðr "seiðr-man") as well. practitioners connected with the spiritual realm through chanting and prayer.

The reference to Danes is taken from the popular Anglo-Saxon clerical view that they ruined us by teaching us how to drink.

‘Wine that's made from the bee’ is of course a reference to mead.

Melomel is a drink made from honey and fruit.

Fun Introduction

The reader should imagine sitting in a barn in the West Country with a group of ploughmen have a privet drinking session while careful watch is kept out for the wives.

For the full fun effect the reader should sing the poem in a melodious voice with their best West Country accent preferably with a flagon or horn of the brew in their hand.

Cye-der Space

Sing like a ploughman, a spell or three,

Open th'portal, to 'eaven for ee.

We wonder what's going, on in his 'ead,

When 'e zezs those words, and we 'ear what’s said

Them ploughmen they knew, about cye-der space,

Drink y'load dun, in a special place.

Sit in fairy circle, watch th'quarters four,

In case someone open, that secrete door.

Wozzall with that wine, that's made from th'bee,

Drink like a Dane with, that melomel glee.

Chase it down with pace, bottoms up with grace,

Slipping and sliding, into cye-der space.

Take old apple juice, bring it to y'brain,

Down horn of cye-der, and drink like a Dane.

Those Danes them knew how, to raise horns sky high,

Priests didn't like they, they led us a rye.

Ample ap-ples make, some jolly good juice,

But sip too much and, thy tongue wilt come loose.

Pass 'orn to th'left, th'circle to trace,

Sipping and sliding, into cye-der space.

Copyright Andrew Rea June 2019

The Haegtesse Rides Out

The Haegtesse Rides Out

The clerical troupe, came padding along,

Riding sturdy steeds, on trodden path long.

In green shady wood, through vast dark forest,

Then thundering in, came a frightening guest.

A fearsome shrill voice, a terrible sound,

Pounding Heathen hoofs, thunder on the ground.

Women from the sky, ride out in a pack,

The helmet beings, behind our cold back.

We shiver and cringe, with nowhere to hide,

Their red eyes flaming, ever onward they ride.

Like ghosts of wild woods, thrashing and smashing,

Gliding through forest, thundering crashing.

Mighty cavalcade, women of power,

Tha mihtigan wif, make everyone cower.

Coming from the right, drawing up beside,

Clashing spears and shields, screaming on they cried.

Their three pronged weapons, with scarlet dripping,

Supernatural terror, branches ripping.

Shadowy shield-maidens, such curses they cast,

Swiftly traversing, and rushing straight past.

Ridding in straight line, Haegtesse ride out,

Wearing ragged tatters, they scream and shout.

Dark shadow goers, rip forest ahead,

The hags disappear, and leave us with dread.

Copyright Andrew Rea, April Fools Day 2019

Introduction

This poem is an expansion of a supposed sighting of the Haegtesse recorded in Anglo-Saxon writings.

As they went, praying, through a vast forest, heard a fearsome voice, assuredly from a kind of terrible being, on the right-hand side alongside them, terrifyingly making a great noise an old woman, with her garments ragged and holding in her hand a bloody three-pronged weapon, and in a swift course traversing the vast woods and rushing past, following after him in a straight line.

Plough Monday

Introduction

Up until the middle of the 19^th century it was common on Plough Monday, for the plough men to lead a procession through the streets and lanes, going from village to hamlet and farm to farm, collecting money and whatever else folk might give them.

The plough men roped themselves to the plough and dragged it about dressed in their clean smock-frocks worm over their jackets with ribbons on shoulders and hats.

The plough was decked with ribbons and other decorations, known as the Fools Plough.

Lead by a man dressed as an old woman known as Bessy who would rattle a money box. Small clusters of corn would be worn in her hat, but were quickly lost in lumberous dancing. Bessy was accompanied by a fool dressed in fantastic attire.

The women (Mollies) would ensure that their men (Johns) were well turned out and would shout after them: 'Larks John, thou does look smart surely'.

Threshers, reapers and carters would join in with their respective implements, even the smith and miller might attend, perhaps accompanied by Morris men.

The money collected was spent in a public house at the end of the day.

Plough Monday - early 19^th century

The plough procession, came winding along,

The quiet long rutted lanes.

Pulling the plough, from village to hamlet,

With plough hands at the reins.

Old woman 'Bessy', is leading the pack,

Hoping a cheerful glass.

And John the fool in, fantastic attire,

Seeking a little brass.

Twenty 'sons of the soil', in clean smock-frocks,

To the plough they are tied.

The 'old woman' prances a fetter dance,

'God speed the plough' she cried.

Threshers with their flails, reapers with sickles,

Carters cracking their whips.

Then smith and miller, join in the Morris,

With Bessy a dance trips.

A long bullocks tail, under jaunty gown,

Held in hand while dancing.

Small clusters of corn, in her finest hat,

Lost in graceless prancing.

Flowing ribbons pinned, on shoulders and hat,

Molly waves to her John.

'Larks John, thou does look smart surely' says she,

Drink your load down, go on!

Finally arrive, at the far farm house,

Molly's money box now filled.

After eating cheese, and hot spiced farm ale,

T'pub go the merry guild.

Copyright Andrew Rea Candelmas 2019

Twelfth Tide and Wassail the Apple Tree

Twelfth Tide Poem and Wassail the Apple Tree poem as recently performed ('in the round'). at Spoken Word London

https://www.youtube.com/watch?reload=9&v=J0RwiJRMGhw&feature=youtu.be

Portal Active on Utube

A recent rendition of Portal Active

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XCd9ks-oTl0&feature=youtu.be

Dweorgh II (Against a Dwarf II) from the Lacnunga manuscript.

Introduction to 'Charming a Dwarf'

This poem is based on With Dweorgh II (Against a Dwarf II) from the Lacnunga manuscript.

With Dweorgh II is a charm seemingly to banish a dwarf. Scholars differ both in the translation of this text and its interpretation. The first part describes writing the names of seven saints on wafers, these to be taken to the afflicted, each day of three by a virgin and hung around their neck. This part of the charm is distinctly Christian and has clearly been added or changed over the course of time. It is significant that the names are those of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus who awoke from a long sleep into which they had gone to escape persecution.

The second part of the charm is a spoken text that the leech (healer) is to sing three times into each ear and three times above the head. The text refers to a spider wight (supernatural spider creature), there is reference to the afflicted being ridden like a horse. The mara/mare may be used as a scan for incubus/succubus and rides its victim like a horse, hence nightmare. As wights such as elves can cause nightmares, then it seems dwarves can too. Compare High German alpdruck (elf pressure) meaning nightmare. The charm may serve as a kind of dream-therapy to protect against nightmares and/or sleep Paralysis.

Reference to a cooling affect may be alluding to reducing a fever (in other texts we see the use of a herb known as dweorge dwosle (destroyer of dwarves, believed to be pennyroyal) used to treat symptoms of fever. Note also that there is a medieval Italian manuscript which refers to 'riving as if vexed by a dwarf'.

The calling of Eastre, the Goddess of the Dawn is based on an alternative possible translation of an incomplete word in the charm which otherwise reads as dwarf.

Finally the beasts sister comes to the aid and brings things to an end and swears that this shall never again harm the sick or the anyone that knows how to cast the charm.

The charm in Anglo-Saxon:

Wið dweorh man sceal niman VII lytle oflætan swylce man mid ofrað, et wri[t]an þas naman on ælcre oflætan: Maximian(us), Malchus, Iohannes, Martimianus, Dionisius, Constantinus, Serafion. Þænne eft þ(æt) galdor, þ(æt) heræfter cweð man sceal singan, ærest on þ(æt) wynstre eare, þænne on þæt swiðre eare, þænne [b]ufan þæs mannes moldan. Et ga þænne an mædenman to et ho hit on his sweoran, et do man swa þry dagas; him bið sona sel.

“Hēr cōm ingangan, inspidenwiht. Hæfde hi(m) his haman on handa,

Leg[d]e þē his tēage an swēoran. Sōna swā hy of þǣm lande cōman

cwæð þ(æt) þū his hæncgest wǣre, Ongunnan hi(m) of þǣm lande līþan.

þā ongunnan hi(m) ðā liþu cōlian. Þa cō(m) ingangan dēores sweostar.

Þa g(e)ændade hēo, et āðas swōr

ðæt nǣfre þis ðǣ(m) ādlegan derian ne mōste,

ne þǣm þe þis galdor begytan mihte, oððe þe þis galdor ongalan cūþe.

Am(en). Fiað.”

Translation:

Against a dwarf, one must take seven little wafers such as one might offer, and write these names on each wafer: Maximianus, Malchus, Iohannes, Martimianus, Dionisius, Constantinus, Serafion. Then the galdor that is hereafter spoken of one must sing, first in the left ear, then in the right ear, then above the persons head. And then let a virgin go to him and hang it on his neck, and do this for three days; he will soon be well.

“Here came walking in a spider-creature.

With his coat in his hand, saying you were his horse;

He laid his fetters on your neck. He started sailing from the land;

As soon as he came away from land, his limbs started cooling.

Then the beast‟s sister came walking in.

Then she ended it and swore oaths. That this must never hurt the sick,

Nor he who could obtain this charm, Nor he who could chant this charm.

Amen. Let it be so.”

For further reading:

A good set of notes on the subject:

http://wodening.englatheod.org/eric/dwarf.html

A thesis on the possible link with sleep paralysis:

http://athenaeum.libs.uga.edu/bitstream/handle/10724/11287/lewis_matthew_c_200905_ma.pdf?sequence=1

My reworking of the charm :

Charming a Dwarf

Here cometh hither, a creature stalked past,

Had his bridle held tight.

He said that thee beest his mare to ride,

Until dark day be light.

Last night he awoke, but limbs would not move,

Dwarf sat on chest to scare.

Paralysed and bound, like a spider's pray,

Was ridden like a mare.

With quill in thine hand, and magic to charm,

Runes on wafers to write.

I call on thee Eástre, Goddess of Dawn,

Banish dwarves of dark night.

Help this weapon man, so vexed with terror,

This nightmare dwarf to fight.

He will no mare be, to take for a ride,

Put this dark dwarf to flight.

Leech came and he sung, spider spell nine times,

Thrice sung into left ear.

Then thrice to the right, and thrice above head,

To cast out dwarfish fear.

Virgin brings to hut, seven small wafers,

His neck to hang around.

She will come three days, with thin wafers new,

Until the spell is bound.

Spider sworeth oaths, and maketh an end,

This dwarf shalt never more harm.

Never let this creature, hurt this weapon man,

Nor those with skill to charm.

So mote it be

Copyright Andrew Rea midsummer 2013