The Church of Wenslow Haze

The sea that batters the eastern coast

Has often subdued the land,

Five hundred years have seen the retreat

Of a mile of cliffs and sand,

When tides are low in the summertime

From beneath the distant swell,

The villagers lying abed at night

Hear the tolling of a bell.

 

The bell resounds up the village street

And rattles the cobblestones,

As the villagers close the shutters tight

And lock the doors of their homes,

They hear the thump of a wooden stump

As it echoes along the street,

The wooden leg of the mate, John Clegg

From Drake’s Armada Fleet!

 

The thump is steady and purposeful

As it heads towards the sea,

Where the bell still rings for matins

As in 1563,

When priests were burned for popery

In the England of those days,

They used the little singing cakes

In the Church of Wenslow Haze!

 

John Clegg was a surly protestant

In the service of the Queen,

So the use of the cakes for massing bread -

He thought it was quite obscene!

The vicar had leant to the Roman Church,

The Reverend Walter Raise,

And Clegg had stood and harangued him there

In the Church of Wenslow Haze.

 

‘You’ll bring your Popish habits here

At the risk of mortal pain,

I fought for the Queen Elizabeth

To see off the King of Spain,

If you don’t revert to the massing bread

And the Book of Common Prayer,

I’ll see to the piling of f*****s

When they burn you in the square!’

 

But Walter Raise would never be stayed

By the threats of an ignorant tar,

He said: ‘I only answer to God

For the what and the where we are!

The form is not as important as

The salving of the soul,

You’d better look to your own before

The Devil takes you all!’

 

But Clegg had waited for matins, he

Returned with a burning brand,

Set fire to the ancient tapestries

The pews and the altar stand,

He raised his cutlass and brought it down

On the Romish vicar’s head,

And he cursed the Church of Wenslow Haze

As the vicar lay there, dead!

 

The sea rose up in a sudden storm

And it swept across the land,

Engulfed the Church of Wenslow Haze

As if raised by God’s own hand,

The land had tilted beneath the sea

And the church, it settled deep,

With the bodies of Clegg and Walter Raise

And the bell-tower, and the keep!

 

So now when the tide repents and drops

To a fathom, over the bell,

The toll rings out from the surly deep

Like a call to the fiends from hell,

And a stump sounds over the cobblestones

As Clegg, for his soul’s sake pays,

He carries a burning fire brand

To the Church of Wenslow Haze.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Becky C Strukamp]

First congrats on this being published in "THe Magical Mythical Mystery Compendium"

Another fine poem from a master story teller. I could listen to someone recite your poetry all day. It flows ever so freely and the story builds and takes on life. You are an outstanding poet/writer!

[Mockingbird]

excellent rhyme and rhythm. this narrative poem also sounds historical in facts reminiscent of oliver wendell holmes. great work.

[Coyote Poetry]

One day I will return to Europe. To sit and ponder history inside old structures with so much history. I enjoyed this tale. Greed of men led them to bad places. I like the payment the Vicar received. Thank you for your always entertaining stories.
Coyote

[Patricia B. Hepler]

The story, imagery and cadence..excellent. Enjoyed thoroughly. pat

[Cristina Moldoveanu]

A wise and picturesque poem. Your gift of creating vivid images and well constructed stories is admirable. This story is a pleasurable read, leaving behind many questions unanswered and a sad feeling .

[Barbara Walker]

Your talent for tone and cadence is remarkable for each poem you write! I never tire of reading your work!

[Serenity Faith]

Oh my goodness! I do believe I have fallen in love with your writing Good Sir. Your stories through poetry intrigue me and keep me on edge of my screen. You are a great poet indeed. There's nothing to correct or criticize in any way, shape or form....All I can do is bring you praise. ^_^

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

For me the lengtened form of imagery packed wording lends ot the fact that you need the reader to realise the time scape in which you work. "like a call to the fiends of hell" this strikes a cord with any reader, regardless of experience, those times are unearthed when we all call upon the foes, we reather not admit it, but it's there, a very well versed piece, well done, good read.

[.]

Wow, this is an incredible read
Great job, David:) I love the imagery.

[...]

What a gift you have, Mr Pagat! Always enjoy the read and you never disappoint :)

[Kimberly "Melody" Carne..]

David, as always pefection. I'd tip my hat if had one to tip, a story poem that should be timeless.