Some say the devil’s
dead, the devil’s dead, the devil’s dead;
some say the devil’s
dead and buried in Cold
Harbour
Others say he’s rose
again, others say he’s rose again;
others say he’s rose
again, apprenticed to a barber.
SCENE: Inside an old inn.
Villagers are seated at tables, talking and laughing. Jack the middle-aged keeper serves behind
the bar (right of stage) and his daughter Bess
collects glasses and chats with the customers. There are subdued sounds of a
storm outside and often rain is blown against the inn’s windows (back of stage).
The old inn door (also back of stage) bursts open to admit Arthur, a well-bearded fisherman, and the
sound of the wind howling. Arthur
struggles to close the door, then removes his sodden overcoat and hangs it on a
stand just inside the door, before walking slowly to the bar, greeting people
he recognises as he passes the tables.
Arthur: A foul night, Jack.
Jack: Aye, Art, ’tis filth.
Arthur: The Devil’s work, I’d say.
They
just brought in a boat, she hit the rocks on Beezel’s Bay.
Jack: Not one of ours?
Arthur: Nay, one I never saw, called Summer Breeze.
Jack: She don’t sound sturdy for a storm. A
pint?
Arthur: Aye, if y’please.
I
heard young Ned, the lifeguard, say, no bodies was on board,
I’d
wager they’re Cold
Harbour
Jack: Aye, some folks say, the Devil’s dead
and buried deep down there.
Arthur: ’Tis true.
Jack: But if he’s dead, then how’s he workin’ rain
and air?
Arthur: He’s hauntin’, Jack, his spirit’s with us,
though he sleeps below.
Ah,
evenin’ Bill.
Bill: Hello there, Art. One more, Jack,
’fore I go.
Jack: So what’s your thinkin’, Bill, this
storm, the Devil haunts the sea?
Bill: He haunts? You think the Devil’s dead?
Jack: ’Tis
Art says that, not me.
Bill: Aye, that’s the story fisherfolk hold
dear, when storms come through,
they
hear his voice in howlin’ winds, in’t so, Art?
Arthur: Aye, ’tis true.
Bill: But others say, the Devil rose from
death and came ashore,
he’s
’prenticed to a barber now, sweeps hairs from off the floor.
Arthur: ’Tis prattle, Bill – why’d Satan choose a
barber, of all types?
Jack: Perhaps he likes that pole, y’know,
the white an’ blood-red stripes.
Bess: That may be, Father, for they used to
bloodlet, days gone by,
do
surgeries, take teeth, e’en put a leech upon your eye!
Jack: What, leeches? Nay, Bess, you’ve been
readin’ nonsense books again.
Bess: ’Tis my encyclopaedia.
Jack: Look – glasses! Ern and Gwen!
She’s
always at that book of hers.
Bill: She’s right about the leech,
the
takin’ teeth as well, enough to make you shout an’ screech!
If
I was Satan, then I reckons, that’s the life I’d lead,
instead
of lyin’ out at sea, all dead and wrapped in weed.
Arthur: Well, each his own, but if you knew the
ocean, all its might,
and
seen a corpse come shoreward, blue and bloated, ghastly sight,
well,
then you’d see, ’tis Devil’s work.
Bill: I reckon that I would,
though
bein’ a barber’s boy, and leechin’, that still sounds quite good.
Jack: Perhaps the Devil’s harboured and apprenticed, takes two forms.
Bess: Aye, daily doin’ surgeries, but nightly
makin’ storms!* * *
Here is the Poem of the Month for February, originally published on the official Happenstance website <(:-)
And here are the P-i-R's notes:
Welcome to Poem of the Month for February!
The P-i-R has composed something a little different this month: ‘Devil’s Deeds’ consists of a scene inspired by the song performed before Happenstance launch into the dance entitled ‘Much Wenlock’.
I had thought there might be a connection between the town and the lyrics, but my sources proved vague on this: ‘What is it all about, you ask? Goodness knows!’
Readers will note that the lines take the form of an eight-verse fourteener. I’ve written notes on this to accompany my ‘The Winchcombe Morris side of yore’, here: http://happenstancepoetry.blogspot.co.uk/2014/05/the-winchcombe-morris-side-of-yore.html
And here is a video of Happenstance performing ‘Much Wenlock’, in Tewkesbury on Boxing Day 2015: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BmEIt4Qdh-8
Huzzah!
<(:-)
<(:-)
