Wild Woodbury Bere Regis - A poetical story
Ray Wills, the Gypsy Poet, was commissioned to write and perform this poem at September’s 2023 Wild Woodbury Performing Arts Festival, Bere Regis, Dorset.
Wild Woodbury Bere Regis
(A poetical story)
Upon Woodbury Hill
The St Marys chapel stood
high on the Woodbury hill
so rich with its Anchoret's well.
Where a festival and a fair was held
with Its tales all to be told
of its waters of health
and its tablet of gold
with its spring water deep
down 200 feet or more
in its water below.
Once Gypsies camped near Woodbury hill
it was the home of fairs
folks remember it still
with fortune telling booths and village gal's
olé in the tooth along with blacksmiths
tending hooves so well
Where Hardy penned and folks did boast
he shot at the famous fairground galleries the most
for as Hardy said Bere it were a blinkering place
for thousands came to this kingly place
Since way back in the 12th century
they sold ponies there and gathered some
on the hill of Hardy's Green
long before the days of Wareham inn the Rising sun
there were thin men and fat ones and bearded ladies too
miles away from the port of Poole
The Kingsbere Fair.
it grows there in the September autumn weeks
and the cold wind it blows
and all the durzet dialect
volks doth speaks.
The Gypsies worked the fairgrounds
and volks drank in the Sailor inn on the hill
where the villagers tapped the sweet ale
and volks sipped of the well waters
its waters of health
to give them that zing
and make them feel well.
With two headed calves,
dancers and performers alike
locals charged the Grokels
to park all their bikes
with coconut shies and nine pin stalls
there was lots of fun for girl and boy did like
It was held each September for a week
where folks did travel
across from local n Dorchester streets
from faraway places
Birmingham, Bristol Exeter
and also all of their london Cockney chums
with oyster day and penny day to greet some
It boasted it was the biggest in the south
those days are gone now
though the hill still stands so proud
with woodland copses
and green pleasant grounds
it lorded over this little town
Was where old Fred Bartlett
had his families fairgrounds stalls
such an attraction for each boy n girl.
Hardy- Local Bere villagers said
“They be Gipsy vo’k up yon",
Twas where the Gypsy folk gathered
so frequent its true,
whilst their tents and their benders
were on gallows hill
amongst the trees and the leas
in the autumn mornings early dew
Gallows hill was where once Judge Jeffries
did give out his deathly deal
the volks in the village
they do remember him still.
The Batemans and Hughes families
camped on the gallows hill
where Caroline Hughes
was born one morn
you can hear her singing reels
It was where they took the census
and paid all their lordly
Drax tithes and dues each autumn
though their clothes were sad and worn.
I walked awhile where Bere stream doth flow
I gazed at the water cress fields and springs below
whilst the cold breeze blew upon the downs
where fields of yellow cups all bedded down
the trees were so tall and bare without their leaves
amidst the cloudy skies in the cool day breeze
Where Barnes once built their homes of bricks
where Johnny Barnes got up to all his usual fancy tricks
with village gals and games of chase and kiss
Where St Johns church
and Durbervilles crest
still haunt the views
upon the lanes and twisted hues
where lovers walked two by two
yet my dreams and thoughts
were of me and you
Sir John he was no Romany
but he were a Rai
for he could talk the Romani
and gave them all the loving eye.
He had crafted a living
within the world of the free
from all of their money offerings
at the pilgrimage fees
For to take of the well waters
with its sacred promise so heavenly
and so he grew rich
and wealthy tis true.
Sir John Squire the Abbot
gave pretty Emily the eye
and took her down
to the Bere meadow below
n courted her there among the rye
She were born a Fancy
Emily washer name twere true
a daughter of Gideon
at oer in Poole.
She called all the yappy barking Jucks
each and every one
all by their mongrel names
she could do the Dukerrin fortune
and read all their leaves
and play all the card games with ease.
She could milk a goat
and ride a horse bare back and wild
she could identify ink caps,
puff balls wide
She knew where to find
wild watercress, field mushrooms and sorrel
there in wild Woodbury
in the early morning dew.
Where she danced in the meadows
without any shoes
He was her champion
he was her knight
her king of the Rai
she loved him dearly
he was her guy
She saw him daily
he made her heart leap
day times thoughts were only of him
night times she had no sleep
kisses in the moonlight
walks in the Woodbury trees
among the Woodbury meadows
rivers and streams
He bedded her down
upon the grassy deep mossy dew
and it was there he did love her
and gave her his love crown anew.
In Woodbury wild
he took him a pretty fancy Gypsy dame
he gave her his truce
and in Bere Regis St Johns church
he gave her his name.
In Woodbury country
where the cress it grew wild,
Sir John Squire the Abbot
took him a Gypsy damsel
he took him a bride.
Then there on a ridge
by the knap in the dell
he heard the St john church
chime out its bells so well
then Sir John he did say
they village bell ringers Emily
they do clang em so well
on this ere our wedding day
.
Then he promised her wealth from the well
upon the top of Woodbury hill ridge
when the cold wind blew
across the meadows
Farmer Doddings worked the land
horse and man in days gone bye
when chavvie urchins
and wild young zunners
ran the lanes and bitter tracks
they carried the sacks on their backs
and the young maids milked ole cows udders
There neath great tall oaks and vick tall stacks
through muds of Shitterton and farms a plenty
Hills of Woodbury and hard and frosted tracks
they walked the lanes old Sam, Joe n Mac
man and boy up Rye hill and back
Was where once there in the meadow
upon a time so long ago
the old Queen Elfreda
once had a mansion house
till twas laid low
After the murder of her stepson Edward
at Corfe Castle he died in the moat below
King John had a palace there too so long ago
in the old decayed village below.
On the Woodbury wilds downs
where in winter it doth heavily snow.
the meadows were rich
its springs all so deep
more than 200 feet below
where the cress beds grew
so green n sweet so wild and low.
Where Caroline Hughes sang her songs
in the spring
when the cuckoos first did call and sing
whilst at Stoborough meadows
the old folk tales do say
afore the varmer opens the gate
to let em all out
and they will all fly away.
Cuckoo cuckoo
Where the chaffinch did sing each spring day
where the wild winds blew free
and the varmers make hay,
where the chavies ran wild
and zunners ran free
on naked tip toes
not far from the Purbeck seas
afore the hard winters snow
At the Greyhound Inn
Kings Arms and The Royal Oak
they had a many brew
told many a joke
many a hearth tax gave out its smokes
tales told within them were of cows and man
long time ago in this fair land.
Though the Drax wall nearby
was 2 million bricks thick
all circled around the vast estate ditch
all his wealth took by his slavery rich
and the truth which be hid.
The bricks all were laboured
from the Doddings yards
3 brickyards brick maker men
where all of the Gypsies crafted them
all levelled like zen.
Whilst the waters
did springs there
in the Doddings farm gates
so deep underground
for it created the water cress
the wealth all around
The cress it grew green and so sweet
and its great wealth it grew
for the healing of man
from his head to his feet.
The Doddings farm grew
and the Drax properties too
though all under one roof
due to the Drax tithes
and his rich man crews
with their aristocratic golden rule.
Whilst the volks in their hundreds
they all travelled to Woodbury fair
from London and Dorchester towns
to the Woodbury hill pilgrimage
dell on the ground
For to taste n take of the wells waters
to make them young once again
and so well and so strong.
The thrush it doth sing there,
whilst down below in the bere village
the crows they did gather in the meadows
where the bere volks still tell.
those stories of old and tales of the well
The romance of the Abbot and the Gypsy
it was a long times ago
the great healing well waters
with its golden tablet so old
Beres rich cress beds
with their delicious springs
and of all the Gypsies
who danced there and sings
Beesom brooms on carts and wains
beers and cottons, boats and booths
shooting galleries for the young at heart
and old in the tooth
merry go rounds and swingboat rides
autumn nights and a Gypsy bride
By Ray Wills
(Photograph: Defensive earthworks at Woodbury Castle by Roger Cornfoot, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=14095113)