Shuckstack #19
Dear ones
Are you there? Rap one for yes, twice for no.
Regular readers will know that I dislike summer with a burning passion: the sticky heat, the awful predisposition of the unattractive to strip, the enforced jollity like a dozen New Year’s Eves rolled into one…it is no wonder that it was summer when my beast-spirit animal Shuck found himself beserk with fury in Bungay.
On which note, his festival approaches on August 2 to 4. Have you made a note in your pocket book? My friends the Norfolk Folklore Society will be presenting a curious night in the banqueting hall of the most haunted pub in Bungay on the night of Sunday August 4, the Pyramid Stage of the town, one might surmise.
Staying close to the shadows and wooded places, I wait for the release of rain on these unrelenting days of heat, but even rain offers little release. It falls with a low, sighing sound on the green earth, the sun never wholly veiled. But the world is rain-jewelled afterwards, glistening and the sweet wafts of eglantine float from the hedges, reminding me that the glorious, relentless march towards the darkness has begun.
Of course, staying away from the heat and light does make one far more productive, and during the nights of deepest violet blue dusted with gold I have been busy with my business partners Mr Matthew Willis and Mrs Siofra Connor. We are almost ready to publish, dear hearts, we stand on the brink of unleashing the Beast: Shuck 7.
News will reach you soon of our new offering: can you guess the theme? It is one so very close to us, in more ways than one.
All this sunshine leaves me weary and dull-headed, so I shall leave you with the tantalising promise of the new. I do love the smell of freshly-printed paper, friends.
Ever yours, Ada
Good things come to those who wait: a new edition of Shuck
We are gathering the musk, amber, aloe, mint, pennyroyal and marjoram, dusting off the horseshoe-shaped chair, preparing a tincture of powdered ivory and eagle dung and rubbing our sides with oil of roses, vigorously. It is almost time to birth the seventh edition of Shuck Zine.
Other projects have consumed us for far too long, but we almost ready to reveal what is behind the black curtain and the name of our new offspring.
It is, if we say so ourselves (and friends, we do) a fine and wonderful creation filled with tales that we have not seen elsewhere, a treasure chest of strange delights.
Keep your eyes peeled, all. The news will come soon and we will be tempting your hands to your purses to swap coins for joy.
St Swithin’s Day: will it rain for 40 days? Probably
Forgive us for feeling that we’ve had many St Swithin’s Days already in 2024 when the rain has fallen for what feels like 40 years rather than days. But it is July which boasts the Saint’s day that most be the most famous piece of weather folklore in Britain.
St Swithin’s Day, if it does rain
Full 40 days it will remain.
St Swithin’s Day, if it be fair
For 40 days, t’will rain no more.
The lack of a proper rhyme at the end has always really annoyed me.
History tells us that St Swithin was a monk who died in 862AD, having asked that his body be buried in the churchyard of the old cathedral at Winchester in a spot where “the sweet rain from heaven” might wet his grave.
A century later, when he was canonised, his remains were moved into the cathedral and it was said that his spirit was so outraged that it rained for the next 40 days.
Norwich has its own St Swithin’s: the church now used as Norwich Arts Centre. Simon Knott of the brilliant norfolkchurches.co.uk informs us that as you step into the auditorium and look towards the stage, you are entering through what was once the sanctuary and are looking towards the tower which was demolished in the 1880s when it was deemed unsafe. Look carefully and you can still see some spectacular memorials. And, perhaps, the ghost of Kurt Cobain who first played here the day before Halloween in 1989.
(There are many other St Swithin churches in Norfolk. But Nirvana only played at one of them).
The Devil’s Dish
In Mossymere Wood, near Corpusty, it is said that the Devil took his chance to seize a patch of ground after a crime against God was committed in this quiet corner of the county.
The Devil’s Dish is a depression within in the wood which came into being when, in 1717, several oak trees sunk into the ground and water rose up to create a small sinkhole, or solution hole.
A solution hole appears when chalk underground dissolves, creating holes which then collapse and create depressions in the ground: or that’s the scientific answer, folklore, of course, has created something far more poetic.
It is said that shortly before the Devil’s Dish was created, human remains and ‘relics’ had been discovered in the area and, instead of taking the bones to a consecrated site for a Christian burial, those that found them swiftly covered them at the site and walked away.
Local folklore dictates that God did not look kindly upon such a blasphemous act.
On July 23 1717, there was a thunderous crack as the earth appeared to open and the trees that stood on the spot where the illegal burial had taken place were swallowed by the ground and what appeared to be boiling water replaced them.
The bubbling water that sprung up where the mighty oaks had once stood proudly was seen as a sign of God’s displeasure and the Devil’s tenure at this quiet spot.
This tale of the Devil’s Dish was being told in the area as late as 1993, the story having been revisited when part of an early medieval cooking pot was discovered at the bottom of the 60ft depression in August 1987.
Norfolk Heritage Explorer (www.heritage.norfolk.gov.uk) notes that the story of the trees that disappeared into the ground and the water that replaced them was still being told until relatively recently.
“In September 1993, a groom at Elmerdale Farm told E Rose that this story was still being told locally, but with the addition that human burials has been found in the wood not long before, which were covered up again rather than being removed to the churchyard, so this was taken as a sign of Divine displeasure.”
Edwin Rose added that ‘relics’ were also said to have been found and were investigated by The Philosophical Society.
Shortly after the Devil’s Dish appeared, Mossymere Woods was bought in 1736 from the impoverished Potts family by Horatio, the first Lord Walpole (the brother of Sir Robert Walpole, who became Britain’s first prime minister). Horatio had also bought nearby Wolterton Hall in 1722 and was keen to increase his estate by buying piecemeal packages of land.
Another story is associated with the woods here, the sad story of two woodmen who were trapped in the forest in deep snow and forced to shelter at the keeper’s cottage in Mossymere Wood.
The gamekeeper, keen to be a good host, washed the sheets before making up the beds and as a result the poor men caught pneumonia and died. One hopes their funeral did take place on consecrated ground, or history could well repeat itself…
The magic of St Margaret’s Well in Wereham
In TK Cromwell’s 1829 Excursions in the County of Norfolk, the author records that: “…to the west of Wereham Church, Norfolk, a well, called St. Margaret’s, was much frequented in the times of Popery. Here, on St. Margaret’s Day, the people regaled themselves with ale and cakes, music and dancing. Alms were given, and offerings and vows made, at sainted wells of this kind.” St Margaret’s Day is on July 20.
First seen on maps in 1450 and last in 1885, St Margaret’s Well is now sadly buried under the road at Margaret’s Hill. We do not recommend drinking ale, eating cakes or dancing in the middle of the Tarmac.
Another piece of St Margaret’s Day folklore is that the day is often expected to see rain which was once called ‘St Margaret’s Flood’.
We are very fond of this photograph of Wereham’s most famous residents, Billy the Seal, who used to live in the village pond in the 1930s. He would visit the local pub, The George and Dragon, for a pint of beer and was pictures on the village sign by the pond. Pic from www.werehamvillagehall.co.uk
Somewhere strange to visit in Norfolk this month: Great Yarmouth Bridge
Built in 1829, the Great Yarmouth Suspension Bridge spanned the River Bure until its tragic collapse a little more than 16 years later: it was one of the most shocking disasters of the Victorian age.
On the second day of May in 1845, a spectacle was planned by Cooke’s Royal Circus which had arrived in Yarmouth for a season: Nelson the Clown would float in a tub along the River Bure, pulled by four geese.
A great crowd gathered along the riverbanks, desperate to catch a glimpse of this unusual stunt, with a large number of people crowding on to the suspension bridge at North Quay for a bird’s eye view.
As Nelson played to the crowd, waving, the crowd pressed against the bridge’s balustrade for a closer look and as they did so, the suspension cables snapped, the bridge came tumbling down into the river and everyone fell into the water.
Despite the best efforts of locals, 79 people died, including 58 children in what became known as the Great Yarmouth Suspension Bridge Disaster.
Drowned in seven-foot-deep water, those that survived the disaster were tended to by people who lived nearby in their houses or at the nearby Vauxhall Gardens.
When it became clear there was no one else to save, rescuers turned their attention to bringing bodies out of the water so their families could claim them for burial.
Laid out at the Norwich Arms Inn, The Admiral Collingwood and Swan public houses, the dead were laid out – the oldest and youngest victims were both Mary Anns – little Mary Ann Lake, aged two, and Mary Ann Ditcham, aged 64.
The Norwich Mercury described the aftermath of the event: “In every street are to be seen one or more bodies extended on biers, returning to that home from which but short minutes before they had passed in health and life.
“The consternation, the agony of the town is not to be described – it is as if some dread punishment was felt to have fallen upon its inhabitants – every face is horror stricken, every eye is dim.”
And what of Nelson? How can you go on to make people laugh after being so close to such tragedy? He kept performing, including in Yarmouth and even repeated his river stunt, time and time again. There’s no business like show business.
A memorial to the events of May 2, 1845 stands on the banks of the river close to where the tragic collapse occurred. Installed in 2013, a large stone book depicts the disaster through three images, a young family, the collapse, and Nelson with his four geese.
It lists the names and ages of the victims. Many of their graves are close by, in St Nicholas’ church’s graveyard: little George Beloe’s grave includes a carving of the disaster as it happened – he was just nine when he drowned.