Lancashire Witches Walk

The Lancashire Witches

One voice for ten dragged this way once
by superstition, ignorance.
Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.

Witch: female, cunning, manless, old,
daughter of such, of evil faith;
in the murk of Pendle Hill, a crone.

Here, heavy storm-clouds, ill-will brewed,
over fields, fells, farms, blighted woods.
On the wind's breath, curse of crow and rook.

From poverty, no poetry
but weird spells, half-prayer, half-threat;
sharp pins in the little dolls of death.

At daylight's gate, the things we fear
darken and form. That tree, that rock,
a slattern's shape with the devil's dog.

Something upholds us in its palm-
landscape, history, place and time-
and, above, the same old witness moon

below which Demdike, Chattox, shrieked,
like hags, unloved, an underclass,
badly fed, unwell. Their eyes were red.

But that was then- when difference
made ghouls of neighbours; child beggars,
feral, filthy, threatened in their cowls.

Grim skies, the grey remorse of rain;
sunset's crimson shame; four seasons,
centuries, turning, in Lancashire,

away from Castle, Jury, Judge,
huge crowd, rough rope, short drop, no grave;
only future tourists who might grieve.

Carol Ann Duffy

Today I've been to the launch of the 51 mile walking route to commemorate the 400 yrs since the infamous witch trials. Carol Ann Duffy, Poet Laureate, was specially commissioned to write a poem for the project which has explored the history, made art and create the walking route. The event unveiled the last cast iron waymarker on the route at Williamson Park where the witches where hung. Its a bit of a dour piece of poetry and each verse is cast into the markers.

Carol Ann Duffy is charming and engaging and it was a privilege to hear her read her own poem.