The Witches of Long Compton

Gold cherry
Poem of the week

By onemorething

Sat, 30 Dec 2023
  • 1440 reads
22 comments
 

An explanation - this started with a folktale about Old Nan (I called my grandma, Nan) and her murder and accusation of being a witch, her support by the witches of Long Compton and a white hare that served as a sighted warning on nights when boys were hunting rabbits. There are also women of the mist in Somerset, known to herd deer by a hillfort, trendle is an old word for circle. Harfang is an C18th word for a snowy owl derived from the Swedish for hare-catcher (thanks to Cian on Twitter for that one).  Gleek means trick. I think most of the words I've made up are self-explanatory...

 

Moonset in the loamy dark,

moorblooded, Old Nan is out

soulfishing again, wimple-faced,

minding the harfang 

on a hushwinged hunt of his own.

What fear there is of grey-haired women, 

the rattle and jankle of a carapace,

though the truth is more terrifying

if we can find it amongst the ashes

of lies. The truth is, that his heart, 

being made of nought, but bread ---

I plucked it out and fed it,

piece by doughy piece,

to the waiting birds. 

I am a woman of the mist, myself, now,

herding red deer on the trendle,

gathering bones as I go

without a gleek: listen to the white hare's tale - 

my wisdom is beautiful. 
 

Image is a Vinterhare by Bruno Liljefors in the public domain here: https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bruno_Liljefors_-_Vinterhare_1917.jpg

Certificate 12
Poem
Unclassified

Comments

Submitted by Turlough on

Having formerly lived in Wiltshire for many a moon, I would have calculated from your words that you had set this poem in that part of the world, even if you hadn't told me.

Superstition, antiquity and mystery; this is the stuff of the Somerset Levels and the Marlborough Downs. You took me back there. Thank you!

Turlough

Submitted by onemorething on

Thanks, am a Dartmoor baby so love the folklore of the West Country (well, ok, everywhere, but it feels especially resonant to me). Wiltshire is a beautiful county and yes, rich in folklore. Thank you for reading it and glad it reminded you of where you lived. 

 

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

The imagery in this poem is spellbinding (which is quite apt I suppose) - thank you very much for this special piece onemore. Harfang is a word I've heard in a children's story, I'm sure of it - perhaps the Narnia Chronicles?

 

Submitted by Di_Hard on

Silver Chair, where the giants lived, who wanted to put them in a pie? ps thinking that might have been like hoar fang, because in a snowy place? If fang means catch in Swedish, he could've been hinting at snowy trap.
Maybe the old word for owl would mean white catcher?

 

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

You are right Di - and it was definitely harfang! Well done for remembering!

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Ah, thanks insert. I think Narnia is right. Though there's this wonderful person on Twitter who regularly gives a choice of four amazing words to choose from that marandina and I bicker over favourites from. 

 

Submitted by Di_Hard on

I loved the idea of finding truth in the ashes of lies. Also liked very much "moorblooded". We used to go to Dartmoor when I was little, it does seem to get into one's blood, or the feeling of who one is, forever. And the moor itself is like a big heart that you can go round and round in, like blood, on its paths.

 

Submitted by onemorething on

My roots are Dartmoor so I feel connected to it. Your description of it is perfect. 

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Your poem was so interesting to read, and it's great to read something new about Witches, I have a particular interest in the Wiccan ways from way back, yet I knew nothing of the Witches Of Long Compton, so you've introduced something new to me.

Thank you for that Rachel.

Happy New Year.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Well, we have similar interests and sympathies. Happy New Year to you too, Jenny and thanks for reading it. 

 

Submitted by D G Moody on

What an eerie evocative poem, the language of the mists and hidden places. I really can't add any more praise to what has already been offered above. 

Dougie Moody

Submitted by onemorething on

Thanks Dougie, I'm keen on the eerie. Thanks for reading it. :)

 

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

Ending the year on a very high point, this is our Facebook and X Pick of the Day!

Please share on social media if you enjoyed it as much as I did

 

Submitted by onemorething on

What a lovely New Year's Eve gift! Thank you! I've just returned from a walk in hail, rain and high winds so this has helped warm me back up too!

 

Submitted by marandina on

"I am a woman of the mist, myself, now,

herding red deer on the trendle,"

A mystical reverie that transends the boundaries of mere language. Words are a beautiful thing. Just wonderful. Paul

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Words are beautiful, I agree. Am very happy you enjoyed it. Thanks, Paul. x

 

Submitted by airyfairy on

Enthralling in the purest sense - I was absolutely in its thrall from the first line. I love the idea of being a woman of the mist, and there is indeed a fear of grey-haired women. I didn't know about the Long Compton witches, so the poem sent me to the internet - what a fascinating story. Thank you for the poem and the new knowledge! Happy New Year!

Submitted by onemorething on

Oh, thanks airyfairy! Happy New Year to you too! x

 

Submitted by celticman on

wisdom is indeed beautiful. 

 

Submitted by onemorething on

It is, indeed,CM. Thanks for reading.

 

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

This is our Poem of the Week - Congratulations!

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Blimey, thanks very, very much indeed!