Cambridgeshire mourns the loss of its Romany poet

Kathleen Cunningham, Cambridgeshire’s Romany poet, has died after a long struggle with illness. She’ll be remembered for continuing the long Gypsy tradition of capturing the past in poetry.

Kathleen Cunningham wrote as a child, but as an adult the pressures of raising a family and being moved from place to place kept her from it. In later life, when illness struck, she realised that her grandchildren weren’t learning much about the history of her people, so she returned to it in order to permanently preserve and pass on the memories of her youth.

“I realised if I didn’t get my old life into some form of writing, my grandchildren wouldn’t know anything about it,” she said. She was passionate that young Gypsies and Travellers should learn from the wisdom of their ancestors, who may not have been as rich as their descendants, but in her view were probably happier. In poetry books, such as “A Moving Way of Life” and “Jel Akai Chavvies” (Come here children) she wrote in the Romany language and illustrated the pages herself with colourful scenes from her own childhood.

In 2005, she turned to family history. Her book, the “Great Romany Showman”, went far back into her own family’s history. From the Fens of Cambridgeshire to the fairgrounds of Ireland, via Scotland and northern horse fairs, she told a British Gypsy history from the inside. In it she recalled stories she heard as a child about her grandfather Esau Carman and blended them with her own poems and drawings to capture a world she was determined should always be remembered

 

Her funeral will be held at 2:00pm at Parson’s Drove Church near Wisbech in Cambridgeshire on October 31st and guests are welcome to return to Parsons Drove Village Hall after the service. The funeral procession will leave her home at 1.15pm.

The Old Turf Fen

By Kathleen Cunningham

Just outside March in Cambridgeshire, I can

remember when.

There used to be a place there called

Chatteris old turf fen.

It used to be full of Romanies but things were

oh! So different then.

You could pull on when you wanted to, and

park just where you pleased.

Stake your horse, light your fire, hang

washing out in the breeze.

And just whenever you wanted to you could go

and move away,

Up the Great North Road to Appleby you

could spend weeks, months or days,

Travelling where you wanted to, selling

baskets, pegs or lace,

From May until October for you knew there

was a place,

Without a doubt within your heart when you

came back again,

There would be a spot for you on the Chatteris

old turf fen.

You didn’t have to ask the council or the local

people there,

You didn’t have to be in the ‘Showmans Guild’

or part of the Status Fair.

You just hitched up your horse, and moved

where fancy called,

For the common land belonged to everyone,

and welcomed one and all,

The men would race their dogs and pony traps

across its vast expanse,

Play ‘Pitch and Toss’ and horseshoe quoits,

sit around an outside fire, play music, sing and dance.

Of all the modern Gipsy sites there never will

be one of them,

that will have the atmosphere and

character of ‘The Chatters Old Turf Fen!”.